And Then There Were None

This post and the info within may surprise all but the Barren Bitches Brigade, except for the small fact that I am the one writing it. It certainly is not for the faint of heart. Blood and Clots of an unpleasantly suspicious nature will be mentioned, often in the same sentence. Fuck and its derivatives will figure prominently. Etc.

Also, in honour of my conversation with David, which was an eye-opener [he rang me – he rang me, how sweet is that?? - from Israel bcs of this. Well actually not, that started out as the greatest motivator but then the rubbish behind this very post happened and then he rang.] – anyway, if you are a religious Jew, I will be immodest.

TUESDAY, CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT
Awaited period arrives in all its glory as I stand outside a Catholic Church, during a wake. Never one to miss potential symbolism, I promptly decided it would be quite like the Pope [especially this one, have you taken a good look at his face? The Huns, The Huns, RUN LITTLE ONES, RUN TO THE FOREST AND DON’T LOOK BACK] to somehow arrange for occult sects to invoke something or other or pull a lever or other and have me exsanguinate to death right there on the steps. I say my goodbyes as I feel the blood literally gushing out of me, and then a solid gushy feeling, as if a a murder of crows, an unkindness of ravens a band of clots had fused together and slithered all the way down my wapooha. When I got home I had blood halfway up my crotch, and the solid feeling had been caused by a clot colony that was humungous and could easily fit inside my palm (what I usually call the size of a small African nation but a bit too big this time). I also had blood trails all the way down into my socks. I took 2 Ibuprufens and went to bed, and

WEDNESDAY
I was supposed to go meet my friend Shrimpy so we could work together, and I didn’t manage to leave till 3 pm or something bcs I bled through 2 pairs of pants and the bathroom, good grief the bathroom looked like a CSI scene, there were even droplets on the mirror, the let’s-perch-on-the-bidet manoeuvre seemed to have been a bit too much and the blood felt too liquidy. Those of you fortunate enough to have bidets (don’t see how the rest of the world can live, truly I don’t), do you know when you’re washing yourself and the cold water eventually stops you from bleeding for a little while, so you can quite easily get your knickers and the new pad? I soaked in cold water for 15 minutes and kept on bleeding, and this is when I first thought something wasn’t right. When I got to her place I felt that solid gushy feeling again only more so, so I rushed to the bathroom and the clots/clots/clot colony was so big I felt it could be something else, so I called her in and she took a look at it – she’s a dr. – and said: “Hmm yes, looks like you’re miscarrying.” “It does a bit, doesn’t it,” I replied. There was even a membrane surrounding it, oh well. I was still a bit incredulous bcs this is me, and everyone knows my ovaries don’t work, and the dr. keeps reminding me I will very probably need assistance to get pg, so I was dreading a tumour or myoma far more.

THURSDAY
I’d managed to make an appointment yesterday so went in to see Dr. She too thought cyst and myoma, especially after feeling my uterus. As an afterthought she said, Just to be absolutely safe buy a pregnancy test and I said All right and left thinking what havoc a myoma could wreak and would I have a womb/tubes/ovaries at the end of it all. So I drove to the chemist’s and had this conversation with the woman who spent at least 4 years in the university bfr being able to have it:

She: But are you more than a few days late? Bcs this test doesn’t read “early late” so well.
Me: It’s all right, it won’t make a difference.
S: Well it will, it won’t pick up the HCG (Human Chorionic Gonadotropin) if it’s only a day or two late.
M: It really doesn’t matter, I don’t need to find out whether I am pg, only whether I was, see?
S: ?? But how does that work?
M: Could I just have the test please? I simply need to find out whether I’m miscarrying, thank you.

She was unconvinced but did fetch the test. And the test, ah the test showed 2 pink lines immediately, lightning fast. My first, isn't that a moment to remember, and I, I unhinged my jaw and made it terribly hard for myself to give the good Dr. the news, and she, she unhinged her jaw and stammered Well, this changes everything, forget abt all the ultrasounds and regular checkups I ordered, come see me on Sat at the hospital, we’ll see if you’ll a need a D&C – and this is where I entered a parallel universe where I actually am treated as someone who conceives something other than notions. I was shocked as the bloody hell bcs fuck, I do not do pregnant, at all. And I had, obviously. Only too late now, gone. Or going, at the very least. And you know what the truth is? The truth is that, amidst the shock, part of me was just relieved and grateful bcs I’d smoked a lot the previous months, and taken a fair amount of anti-inflammatory for my ears, and my folic acid reserve must be non-existent bcs I was on the pill all those years to give my ovaries the chance to rest and reabsorb the cysts that lived in/on them – and sod it if it didn’t work! – and I kept forgetting to take it and we all know what happens to folicacidless embryos, and I felt like I’d barely avoided giving birth to the new Miles Vorkosigan, with the distinct disadvantage that this child would not be protected by being a Vor, and we’re a few centuries behind so no synthetic legs etc, and the meds, have I mentioned the medication and the smoking and the stress and the late nights working? So yes, relief. E. was somewhat happy, strangely enough. He told me At least we know we can make babies. I didn’t have the heart to detail the fact that getting pregnant and staying pregnant are two very different things, who knows. Immediately the horrid humour began, with my telling him it was his turn to clean the litterbox bcs I was too busy miscarrying, or that he should save me the last cookie bcs I was eating for one and a half. WELL, I think they are! [A while ago E. said something beastly and I said something nasty in return and then went out again to go exchange 2 books bcs if there was time when I needed books, this is it. I am now back and E. and I are not talking to each other right now. As a matter of fact I have not seen him since I came back.]

I went to Shrimpy’s to work but at around 10 pm or something my lower back was killing me and I was feeling very tired so I came back home. I had barely bled all day, and there were no clots anywhere – not the pad, not my legs, not my socks as sometimes happens. Good. BY the time I got home I was shaking w cold and tiredness and was a bit feverish. I took one Ibuprofen and fell asleep easily and early, and woke up at 3.30 am and couldn’t fall back to sleep again so got up and emailed a few women asking if there was anything natural I could take to ensure all would come out and I would not need to have a scientific-looking sort of spoon up my cooter, forcibly into my womb to then literally scrape it raw – and I am not too sure we are given general anaesthesia for it here, and btw, I do not not not want a GA, they make me want to die and I cannot even puke and it takes me at least 6 h to be able to even lift my head and speak. Sadly, and as expected, mostly you need to cross your fingers and leave your cervix wide open, if you personally can manage that little trick. I also emailed Persephone and David bcs I wanted to know if there was a special prayer to be said when miscarrying and well, in Judaism we’re not even supposed to truly mourn that which quite wasn’t, and the modesty bit got me thinking a lot [and basically maybe I should have emailed David’s wife Zahava but I’ve never even talked to her so I couldn’t very well address her directly plus I didn’t think asking it would be considered inapropriate by religious Jews, so sorry David - he was nothing but sweet and great and Treppy-like, as expected, this guilt is all my own bcs I should have known better] and hell, it’s just another bloody mess I choose to ignore right now.

FRIDAY
In the morning I realised I’d bled again but not as much and still no clots to be seen, so that reinforced my notion that this was the last stage of this miscarriage. In a way I felt also lucky. See, I never found out I was pg, I found out I’d been, no hope to cling onto, no fear to cling onto for the added 8 months, just a Never Would Have Been presented to me as painlessly as possible. I am not making loads of money while in vet school and E., who is an archaeologist, has been looking for work for a while now, has even branched off from his area of expertise – and nothing. It is my firm belief that you cannot simply want your children, you must prepare for them, economically more so than emotionally (I’ll never be prepared emotionally). I believe the parents must be the ultimate providers, as much as the family might be delighted help theirs is not the ultimate responsibility, and no one should embark upon parenthood bfr they’ve amassed at least a fair amount of money (read also: ensured they can put enough away every month), in case things go awry for some reason during the pregnancy or the first year. So, on our own we have my money and his savings – thank God he is the organised type! – but this was definitely not the time to get pregnant. I cannot imagine being pregnant and fretting over money – along with fucking vet school, that’d be enough to kill an embryo – and well no worries, I’ve done that already.

Also, I felt lucky that this was such an early loss bcs see above, attachement, what attachment?, Wham Bam ByeBye Mam, those last clots had membranes, and the heavy bleeding was gone, if you’re going to have to lose a baby you might as well do it as swiftly as this. I know, with absolute certainty, that this pregnancy cannot be older than the 25th of February due to E.'s minor surgery recovery. I don’t know if it’s a 7-day week or an 8-day week but yes, Feb 25th is the earliest it could be.*

[Make no mistake here, this is what’s been solidifying within me, it doesn’t matter that we didn’t know early enough, that it is too early, that it wasn’t viable, it doesn’t matter that there is more shock and surprise than sadness, this could have been our baby, this gave wings to our diffuse idea of what having a baby is or could be like – and we lost a baby indeed, bcs otherwise it would be born and we would have it, as we want to. May be a minor loss but a loss it is.]

Friday was a shitty day, with fever in the afternoon and evening and general feelings of shittiness and vague pain even after 2 Ibuprofens, and I slept restlessly again.

SATURDAY
We went to the hospital at 10.30 am w a friend of E.’s and then I waited and waited and waited, and then dr. came and wanted to do an US but couldn’t bcs THE ONE MACHINE THAT EXISTS FOR ALL PREGGOS AND MISCARRIGOS IN THE WHOLE HOSPITAL WHICH SEES A TONNE OF WOMEN A DAY WAS IN USE. So I waited and waited and waited and then the US machine was returned to us and I was called in and she gelled my belly and I was so sure my uterus was void I said It’s empty, right? and she said Er, no, it isn’t, and I thought Fuck!, I thought it in English as I often do, and I lay there and wondered how it would be with the D&C and how soon I’d be allowed to go home, would it be early or late afternoon or would my having eaten be a problem and such was my fervour I almost didn’t hear it when she said, In fact, I’m wondering whether it could still be alive and I said WHHH??? and she turned the screen towards me and there was an embryo inside me, INSIDE ME, this is mad, this is demented. This is what pelvic and vaginal probing have taught us:

- Elongated gestational sac (bad sign)
- Heavy bleeding and clotting of course, and then some more bleeding, albeit less due to:
- Partially detached placenta, quite visible, as well as underlying hemorrhagic area
- Decreased mammary tension (boobs hurt far less than 2 days ago and seem smaller as well)
- Vitelline sac (nourishes embryo, is a sing of embryo vitality)
- Embryo measures right on target, of sorts, at 6W3D [*unless it's prior to Jan, 30, which would mean those 6W3D measurements are scary as hell and this is a very well-preserved dead embryo, which Dr thinks is not the case but at this point what do we know]
- She tought she saw a heart beat. Oh no, wait, Oh there, look, did you see that, it looked like… Oh no it wasn’t, oh maybe I’m seeing what I want to see, we’ll have to wait a fortnight for a clearer picture, come see me again on the 17th. TWO WEEKS FROM NOW.

I lost a tiny bit of my sanity when I saw that embryo INSIDE ME, the bit that is in charge of asking What part of the uterus did you say it was implanted in? and I’d like to have a beta now and one again in 2 days and so on so we know if it’s going up, which it won’t, or down, which seems natural, or staying put, which also seems natural, instead of waiting 2 weeks to find out what we already know, so if we know it now we might as well be sure of it sooner than later, yes?, and I was actually thinking too bad I cannot blog abt this bcs bloody hell, did I name my blog aptly and then I realised I could blog abt this, and then I realised I needed to blog abt it bcs I need you, much as I did when Uzi was missing and then dead, and I don't want to act like miscarrying is something I should be ashamed of, ever, though it is ugly and lonely and morose, and anyway tiny bits of sanity are all I’m prepared to lose this time, so this is my truth as we know it.

We went to my private insurance hospital later which is as crème de la crème as they come, and there I was told the communicating entity that lives in the printer was spewing the words Client To Be Refused A Doctor At This Time, and the lady at admissions couldn’t tell me why and suggested I should have come bfr 2 pm and I snarled I’ll try to time my miscarriage better next time, how does that sound you bitch?, only the bitch part isn't true though it happened in my mind, this is how it is goes: you can ring their number Mon–Sat till 2 pm, after that time you’re on your own but you’re welcome to pay 123 Euros for the appointment alone, not to mention all the blood testing and US etc, even though the reason you got the medical insurance in the first place was – ARGH! I’ll ring them on Mon and if need be Shrimpy will order me a beta which I’ll pay for out of my own pocket if need be as well. I will know what I can know as soon as I can know it. (This is also why I don’t want to tell my parents anything till we know for sure what’s happening, no need to place them in pseudo-grandparental agony. Do you think it’s wrong? I have learnt in an amazingly short amount of time the difference btwn knowing the pregnancy is gone and experiencing the pregnancy as it withers and dies. In degree of lacerations I'd much rather they merely experience the former.)

Want to hear the funny, the truly hysterical in all senses, bit? Theres's some small piece of my soul that is still feeling tender and bruised and dislocated: after the US I went back to the Admissions counter so I could pay. The nice man said Oh no, you don’t have to pay anything. And I said But this is a hospital, I’ve never heard of such a thing, there were some exams involved, are you quite sure? I always have to pay! And he shook his head and said No no no, pregnant women don’t pay –

- and fuckfuckfuck, this isn’t me, this cannot be me, this is all wrong ARGH!!! And I badly need a fag and yet I am not smoking – and really, WHY THE BLOODY HELL NOT?

And so we wait.

-----------------------------------------------------------
COMMENTING RULES – please pay attention, I mean every single one of them:

1) If you know me in real life, please keep this to yourself. If I want anyone else to know I will tell them. It is and remains my choice. Also, it is not necessarily a good idea to talk to me abt this. Writing and talking are not and will never be the same.
2) Think twice bfr bringing God into this if it’s going to take the form of This is God’s will unless you are a) mentally ill and b) God himself. Other than that, you cannot possibly know what God wants or is, and therefore kindly refrain from inflicting inanity upon me.
3) Along the same lines, sentences like This is all for the best are best written somewhere else. Again, unless you’re mentally ill, God or a psychic refrain from bizarre quasi-retrospectively futurology.
4) I would truly appreciate your opinion, an honest one, be it good or bad. As I’ve had the chance to repeat ad lib last year, to me not knowing is far worse than any catastrophic scenario you may provide me with. Had I had the imagination to imagine today’s scenario, I’d have been much better prepared, and I might even have had my beta. I repeat, DO NOT FEEL AFRAID TO WRITE ABT BAD EXPERIENCES YOU'VE HAD OR HEARD ABT. They will help me know what to expect in all its different ways, I promise. [Also, I don't mind mentions of all things baby or pregnant - if you are pregnant and happily so, GOOD. That's exactly as it should be].
5) That being said, please DO NOT write anything along the lines of: I am sure…, or I just know that..., or anything that means you have access to information you cannot possibly have – we’ve discussed this above
6) Don’t say anything imbecilic. Don’t tell me to relax – it never changed my psoriasis, don’t think it will magically transform that which is shrinking as we speak into The Little Embryo That Could; don’t tell me we’re young; don’t tell me we can try again; you get the gist of it.
7) Morbid, dark, inappropriate humour welcome (Soper? Anyone?). Really.
8) E and I are talking to each other again. Neck-nuzzling known to occur.