I haven’t written in a while. Dealing with the miscarriage was a bit more than I’d bargained for. It’s been a roller coaster of emotions, and I’ve clung to Justin or shunned everyone for the entire ride. Nothing meant to anyone – it’s just how I deal with this shit.
I went to see my regular internist – FINALLY – for the first time since I found out I was pregnant. She’d been following my chart through medical records, since I called to tell them I was pregnant, and I could tell she was just as exhausted as I felt when she came into the room. We sat down and chatted, I told her everything of what had happened, with the hormone cream, the pregnancy, the first miscarriage, then the second, followed finally by the D&C, and the fact that I will never, in my born days, return to UAB OB for services, because I’ve never heard another human being, much less someone I’m paying for answers, say “I don’t know,” as much as my OB did. Granted, I have the weirdest body on earth, so there’s obviously some sketch going on in there.
But come on. I’m PAYING to come see you. The least you can do is throw me a bone, like a speculation or some shit. PRETEND like you’re the doctor in the room. I’ll take anything aside from shruggy shoulders.
So, Dr. C-H and I talked for upwards of an hour, and it was rejuvenating. I told her that I’d told OB that I did hormone cream and got pregnant. OB’s response: “Well, I don’t know if that’s what it was.” Me: “HA! No, I’m not asking for your opinion. I’m TELLING YOU WHAT HAPPENED.” OB: “I don’t know.” Me: *Facewindow*
The danger of docs is that a good many of them trust that because you haven’t been to “doctor school,” you have absolutely NO IDEA what you’re talking about, even though it’s YOUR body, and you’ve managed to live with it for your entire life. Like, no one else has inhabited it. No one else truly knows how much unprotected sex I’ve had and what a freakish anomaly this pregnancy was. And I’m FINE with it. I just wanted someone with schooled eyes to help me along – not the n00b they pulled in off the street, who’s name wasn’t even on the business cards. If ANYONE needed experienced hands and eyes, it was this nervous old lady with first-time pregnancy twins.
So, I ranted and cried and laughed with Dr C-H. She’s back from her double mastectomy, radiation and boob job, with her fashionable new short ‘do that looks AWESOME, and I couldn’t stop hugging her, because I’m truly relieved to be back under her care. I told her that if I ever get pregnant again, she’s just going to have to get the ok from the Board to treat me, even if she treats no one else, because my experience was truly horrendous.
She told me that I was right about everything that I told OB. She even said, “Did you not tell her that you have medical knowledge?” I said, “What does it matter? She wouldn’t listen to a thing I told her.” She put her head in her hands, shook it, grabbed my arm, and we moved on.
She did a full CBC, which magically came back as normal, gave me a new regimen of vitamins, as well as started me on a low dose of Celexa, since that’s been the only thing in my past that’s ever helped me. And instead of taking OB’s approach with “Wait at least two cycles before you get pregnant again,” she wisely said, “I want to see you get pregnant again…but let’s take the initiative to fix some stuff (talking about vitamin levels, fatigue and depression), before we EVEN traverse that road again.” THANK YOU.
What I’m ever going to do when we move, I don’t know…except pack her up and take her with me. It’s so rare to find a doctor with whom you really connect and to whom you can talk honestly. For everyone else, I feel like I’m just a number, a paycheck, someone to fill their daily quota.
To the good doctors out there, to the ones who really are in it because they want to help people – thank you. You have no idea the trust we put in you, and how fantastic it is that you regularly uphold that trust. You give me hope in medicine for the future.
Thank God I have a doctor who actually knows me better than I know myself. Thanks for listening.