Obstetrician Interview Narrative

Sitting in the bathroom waiting for the dip stick to tell our fate. A minute passes and two pink lines light up the test strip. It’s official we are expecting again. Flushed with delight and apprehension of confirming my pregnancy, I call the doctor to confirm. It’s a Friday, they cannot see me until Wednesday. With emotions raging through my head, feeling elated and nervous, I can’t wait to tell my husband. I know I should wait for confirmation but I am too excited. He is overjoyed at the news. Over the next few days, we are giddy with the possibility of another child. Already thinking of the future and what plans need to be changed. I set up the appointments and have my first obstetrician visit. The doctor’s office does all the vital tests, the blood results are fine and point to me being pregnant. They set up an ultrasound for me, so that we can check the baby and how far along I am. At the ultrasound appointment, I drink what must have been a gallon of water. Sitting there with a full bladder I wait to be called back. During the ultrasound, the technician is a friendly yet experienced lady. The room is dark and only the screen of the ultrasound gleams through the darkness. She makes small talk as she took her time doing her job. She is thorough and
precise, but she could not find the baby. She tells me that we would need to do an internal ultrasound. After emptying my bladder, we get started. It is very quiet in the dark room, as she searches for my little one. After thirty minutes of looking she tells me I am very early in my pregnancy. However that the egg is in place. I think that at least this is a good sign. The technician isn’t reassuring and sends me home very confused on Thursday. With many unanswered questions, I am supposed to wait until the following Tuesday to meet with the doctor. I am on pins and needles. On Friday, I start to bleed. I have always been told it is bad to bleed during pregnancy. With worry in my heart I called the nurse. She tells me it is nothing unusual, but most likely implantation bleeding. All weekend long I toss and turn in my sleep. Constantly praying and agonizing I feel helpless. What was happening to my baby? Dr. Google was no help or reassurance, as I typed questions to find out what was occurring. Looking for hope, I found only tragic stories and no good outcomes.
On Monday, I call the doctor’s office because the bleeding had gotten worse along with the horrible side and back pain. They still try to reassure me. While running errands with my son, I pass what I believe to be a blood clot. I wouldn’t find out till Tuesday morning that I was having a miscarriage. The blood clot is me losing my baby. I call Tuesday to let the doctor know what was going on only to have them confirm my worst fear with blood tests.
As my worst fear came to pass, I felt like I was living a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and never leave my bed. I felt as if I were dying on the inside. I balled like a baby bearing my soul to the nurse, receiving hugs from strangers in an effort to express sympathy. I don’t want their pity; all I want is my baby. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
I was having a miscarriage.
Three weeks have passed now, not a day elapses where I don’t find myself pondering.
. .. What my missing baby would have looked like? What kind of person would it have grown to become? I will never have a chance to hear that first heartbeat, feel the first kick, or find out if the baby was a boy or girl. I will never get to go through the pains of labor and see that light at the end of the tunnel, the one where you would have been placed in my arms. My arms will forever mourn with emptiness because I will never be able to hold you. I may have only known of you for two weeks, but I carried you for two months. My child should have entered this world in October, instead my baby will never see the light of
day.
Most will say that having knowledge of your unborn child for only two weeks, that you couldn’t possibly build a strong connection with it. Those people must not be parents. I feel envious when I see other mothers holding their bundles of joy. Sadly, for whatever reason, that is not our destiny.
I am so frustrated and angry right now. Yet I put on a strong face and keep moving forward. Trying not to let anyone know the internal struggle I am facing. I cry for no reason . . .