Away from the past

June 7, 2010

"Who's your doctor?" the brunette with the baby in a carry seat sitting next to her asked the heavy set blond woman.

"Dr. C," she answered. "She's really soft spoken. Do you know her?" The brunette squinched her face and shook her head affirmatively.

"You don't like her?" the blond asked. Hmph. I know her. Soft spoken yes, but that woman was not straight with me about my choices when it came to how Harper needed to be delivered. Did I really tell her I was angry at her? I think I did. There on my hospital bed, tears flowing, I told her I was angry because I was told I had more choices than delivering my dead daughter when she had told me I did not. Let it go Abby. Let it go. Forgive. You have to forgive her and consider how things turned out a blessing. This anger is not going to do you any good. Let. It. Go.

In the exam room the nursing student began with her questions. And then she came to the one I knew she would come to. "And how many pregnancies have you had?"

"One," I said.

"And it was a live birth?" she asked looking at her paper.

"No. It was a still birth," I responded and looked at the floor.

"When was the date of your last period?" She moved on. No "I'm sorry." No eye contact. And did we really just refer to the most imporant thing in my life as "it?" I think we did. Both of us. I suppose keeping "it" impersonal is easier. Easier for who? Not for me, that's for sure.

I sat on the gurney in the paper outfit, legs dangling over the edge, and I thought about how other women answer that question. I thought about my friends who have been struggling to get pregnant and have had numerous miscarriages. They know how hard it is to answer that question too. I thought about how I used to feel so good about these appointments. I know that sounds crazy, but there used to be a part of me that walked out of the OB/GYN's office and felt like I was really taking care of myself. Now I dread it. Now I wish I could ignore it all. And so there was a part of me that was relieved when my doctor said she wanted to do tests to see if I was going through premature menopause. Thinking about my fertility is just downright painful sometimes. Yes, I'm only 35, but the nightsweats, change in my cycle, increase frequency in migraines, all those symptoms made her wonder. So we'll see.

The exam was traumatic for me. A rush of memories flooded me. When I was alone in the room again I stood to change my clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. My nose was red and my eyes were full of tears. Maybe if I wait a few minutes I won't look like I've been crying. I walked out of the office and as I waited for the elevator to arrive, I stepped into the hallway and peaked through the doors to the Labor and Delivery floor. Just through those doors is where I last saw Harper. I hesitated. Should I go down there to see the room? Part of me wanted to. But no. Not today. Besides, I doubt they would let me down there anyway. The elevator arrived and I went back to my life. Away from the hospital. Back to the present. Away from the past.