I relay a nerve-wracking two weeks to my therapist, remembering details like I’m stumbling upon them in a maze. I’m out of sorts. I’m coming out of my first prenatal appointment and an unexpected ER visit and I have more questions than answers. I’m clinging to every optimistic word from the doctors and snagged on wanting to be an “ideal,” or at least easy, patient for them. I work in healthcare too and I have so much respect for all healthcare workers. But doctors have also given me an unofficial diagnosis of “white coat syndrome,” my blood pressure reading higher than normal at even the most routine doctors appointments, and I think this anxiety stops me from piping up when something doesn’t feel right.
My therapist glows with a blue light from my computer and prompts me to ask myself next time I have questions, am I bothering someone, or am I reminding a system that dehumanizes us that I am a human being. I cry.
10 days later after the first visit, I’m back in the ER. As it turns out, when I call the nurse line to ask those questions, the answer is go to the ER. I know it isn’t looking good. They prepare me for a miscarriage. And yet, the doctor tells me, maybe in one more day, things could look better. She is delightful. It doesn’t match the nurse’s somber mood when she hands me my discharge paperwork.
I can’t say that I remembered my therapist’s suggestion in that moment. But when I went home and looked at my paperwork, I could read the writing on the wall. I booked an appointment at Planned Parenthood.
At this appointment, I’m sharing details like I’m in that maze still. The team is patient and kind. While I’m meeting with the counselor, the clinic manager comes in, having just spoken to the doctor. She confirms: this is not a viable pregnancy. She’s wearing a mask, but as she introduces herself to me, I think she is smiling. And I am smiling, too. To be clear, this outcome for my pregnancy is not what I wanted. But during this conversation, I feel pain and I feel human.
I am there for maybe 30 more minutes. The procedure itself takes about two or three. I think after the past few weeks, I’m willing to feel more physical pain to feel 100% mentally in control. I get ibuprofen beforehand and a numbing shot to the cervix, but I don’t opt for any other medication or sedation. To be honest, for me, it hurt a lot. I gasp and share that I totally underestimated the pain. The team member who will be in charge of the ultrasound afterward says I can hold her hand and grip as hard as I need to. I do.
They give me snacks and a doctors note and tell me symptoms to look out for in the next few weeks and watch me for 15 more minutes and have me check my bleeding and they release me to the world, to the rest of my life. I will never forget their kindness.
