And today I underwent the procedure I was trying to avoid two months ago when I forewent the D&C for a natural, astonishingly scary & painful miscarriage at home.
Today’s hysteroscopy/D&C was certainly unnatural, but really not scary or painful at all, thanks to the joys of a general anesthetic, which I’m pretty sure he used to spare me the emotional pain of dealing with the fact that it was probably the remains of my poor baby that wouldn’t come out. All things considered, if I ever have to go through this again – I’m choosing what’s behind curtain number two right away.
At least as long as curtain number two is actually a privacy shield in a very clean and professionally run surgical center.
The center itself was a hoot. Just off Park Avenue, so catering to the, uh, rich and catered-to, the waiting room looked like a boudoir that had seen better days. Brocade. Tassels on the lamps. Framed antique maps and prints from obscure children’s books. A fireplace. A samovar. Truly, all it needed was a woman in the corner, wearing negligee and smoking a ciggie with a long filter to complete the picture of weird decadence. I expected to see a hookah in there somewhere, but did not. Obviously I just didn’t look hard enough.
Past the waiting room, though, it was all business. The pre-op/recovery room was just a long maze of gurneys divided by privacy curtains. Very professional and antiseptic looking, except since most of their early-morning patients were post-colonoscopies being urged to pass all the air from their bowels, it was noisy and awfully surreal in a goofy sort of way.
The woman in the next gurney-slot over from me was an old dear in for a carpal tunnel excavation, “72 years young”, as she kept explaining to anyone who stood still long enough. Then she’d praise her doctor to the skies – “He’s a mensch, one of the good guys! I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for Dr. H.” Then she tried to hit on the anesthesiologist – which was understandable, because he was a cutie, but it was still sort of weird to be privy to her bizaare bed-top manner.
The center itself had all the bells & whistles – weird for someone like me who is used to bare-bones medical care, if any at all. But this was top-notch, and pretty cushy besides. My hospital gown had an attachment for what – for all intents and purposes – was a hairdryer. To keep me warm. Sounds goofy, but oh my, when I woke up shivering from the damned general anesthesia, I fell in love. I’d’ve stayed there all day if they’d left that thing running. I want one at home. As soon as those suckers are commercially available, I’m all over that…
The staff also kept up a running commentary of stupid jokes of the sort I tend to appreciate, though the nurse who insisted on probing for the complete story of my infertility was sort of annoying. I think she thought she was keeping my mind off the upcoming procedure, but really, what my mind needs to be taken off these days is the infertility – not the various treatments surrounding same. But everyone was kind. It would have been all right going there for a D&C. Next time I’ll know.
(I can’t believe I just wrote that. Scratch previous negative thought, please.)
And it looks like it wasn’t a polyp or a fibroid or some weird nasty tumorous growth. Just a remnant from the pregnancy that didn’t want to leave. When I asked my doctor how it went, he laughed and said, “You do know that this is the fourth time you’ve asked that.” Er, sorry. Anesthesia is weird. But he was kind and explained it all over again for me, and then a few minutes later popped back in to ask if I remembered what he’d said this time. I do like this man. I’m glad I lucked into him for my RE, but I sort of wish that he was a “regular” doctor simply because he’s the sort of doctor I could see remaining loyal to for just about ever. I trust this man more than I’ve ever trusted a doctor before, which makes this easier than it would be otherwise, I think. So anyway, he got everything out that should have come out, and let everything be that should be let be. And I’m on Estrace again – it felt funny opening up the pill bottle, recognizing the little lozenges, and then verifying that –Yes!- this time I get to take them Orally! Who would have thought the day would come when I would be thrilled to take a pill twice a day – down my THROAT!
Boy was a dear and came to pick me up. He also managed to get hold of his parents in Italy to tell them about the wedding next week. *sigh* Bad enough that it’s an “elopement”, which was really a practicalconsideration so that:
A) My parents won’t have to fly out.
B) His daughters won’t have to choose between being there & being pissy, or not being there & being branded bitches.
C) I won’t have to have a fuss made over me, or endure a wedding where lots of his friends show up, and none of mine can jet across the country to be there. The fact that his BFF agreed to (and is qualified to) do this just solved an awful lot of problems. This way it’ll be special, but not stupid. Because, you know? I’ve done this before. I really don’t need the party.
But I still suspect they’ll suspect I put him up to this, when truly, it’s just his scatterbrainedness. The market’s heaving and pitching this week has him mightily distracted, but still, I hope they’re not too weirded out by this – their eldest boy getting married without them…
But back to the IVF part of the blog. So anyway, I’m home, it’s over, I am bleeding a bit of bright red blood though really, less cramping and bleeding than I’d feared. And, according to my doctor, that should clear up quickly (at which point, the Estrace will probably trigger a period. At which point I need to schedule a new consultation with him to figure out what comes next.) And, at this point, I can finally (finally, finally, finally) consider my miscarriage complete.
This summer sucked. But it’s almost over. Here’s to new beginnings.