Despite being told that I have a "perfectly shaped uterus" and that my "ovaries respond like those of an 18 year old," I was the 1 in 100 who got severe hyperstimulation and required hospitalization. Then I was one of the minority that conceived twins, which in part, made me one of the minority that suffered from pre-term delivery. Then I was part of the minority that needed a procedure afterwards to remove tissue. Then, after a very uncomplicated recovery.. even after my 6 week check-up.. I end up being part of the minority that ends up having some sort of postnatal hemorrhaging completely out of nowhere.
I won't get too much into the 'icky' stuff. I will just say that I'm amazed my husband doesn't have post-traumatic stress from the things he saw that afternoon.
As we made our way to the emergency room, that old familiar feeling came rushing back in. This was all too familiar. This was the emergency room where we first found out I was pregnant. This was the emergency room where they checked on them at 14 weeks when our dog landed on my stomach -- the first ultrasound where they looked like perfect little people.
From the check-in desk, to the orderly, to the nurse, then finally the doctor, I had to tell my brutal story repeatedly. "I gave birth a little over six weeks ago to twins, but they were preterm. They didn't survive."
When I told the orderly and nurse, they were each apologetic. But when I started to tell the doctor.. "I delivered a little over six week ago at 19 weeks, two days.." He interrupted, "Oh. I hate to ask this, but was it planned termination -- an abortion, medical necessity, or..?"
I felt my heart recoil in bitter grief, my face scrunched up in disgust. "No. No. They lived for an hour before they died."
"Oh," he replied.
I mean, it was a valid question, but I remember thinking how bizarre it was that he didn't ask about preterm delivery first. But I couldn't dwell for long. Within seconds, he said they were going to do a pelvic and an ultrasound. My body clenched up from the emotional desire to just flee. This was going to hurt in a way I wasn't at all prepared for.. and I knew it.
As soon as the gel hit my abdomen, the tears started to pool. I wanted so badly to just let it out, but I knew the technician would think she was hurting me physically. So I just kept breathing. Breathing through all the thoughts of my children, and how I felt so totally empty now. There was no pressure or firmness deep within my abdomen. Another unnecessary reminder that they were truly gone.
After all the tests were done, the doctor came back in. At this point the bleeding had slowed down dramatically. "It definitely doesn't seem to be a normal period. With it being so sudden and then relatively quickly slowing down, it's possible that you still had a piece of placenta or tissue in there.. causing clotting. Sometimes this will cause it to pass, but you may end up needing a D & C."
I sat there sarcastically thinking, "I'm so glad they charged me $7k for my placenta removal procedure for them to not get it all anyway."
He interrupted my bitter thoughts, "So let's hope this took care of it. I'll just want you to follow up with your OB, since this isn't my specialty. Today, we're going to give you some Cytotec. It'll make your uterus contract but should stop the bleeding."
I was familiar with this drug. It's what they gave me after delivery to try to get my body to pass the tiny piece of placenta naturally. It didn't seem to cause any contractions at the time -- hence me needing to have it manually removed. (Which despite being put under for half an hour and told that it went perfectly, didn't seem to work anyway.)
Apparently, what they gave me this time was much stronger, or my body was much more sensitive to it. Within 20-30 minutes, it felt like the height of labor. The nurse chimed in, "The bleeding will probably get worse before it gets better."
Lovely.
"Here's your script. We want you to take this in intervals for the next 24 hours."
So here I was, essentially being told that I'll have to go through the labor process again. I'm truly amazed that I didn't have a complete emotional breakdown right then and there.
But instead, I chose to be grateful for my husband who left work to be there for me. He then had to take the rest of the day off to keep an eye on me. He then told me, "I'll have to make up these hours somehow. I guess I'll have to work on one of the days I took off to watch March Madness."
I broke down in tears immediately. Yes, I'm aware that sounds like an overreaction. But at this point, it was everything just piling on top of what had come before.
"You can't do that! No. Please don't. I can't take another thing away from you."
He looked blankly at me, stuck between wanting to console me and, I think, realizing it was true.
I continued, "It's always my problems, my medical bills.. I just keep taking away from you instead of adding to your life."
Even my husband didn't have a good response this time. He just sat there, holding my hand. The dutiful husband. He feels like it's his job to support me in every way. I just wish he didn't have to do it so often and to such extremes.
Luckily, the weekend was uneventful once the medication was over and contractions finally stopped. But just to top it all off, as I backed out of my garage this morning, there was a large crack across my windshield. Apparently, a rock or something must have hit it, then with the weather changes over the weekend, it just split.
*sigh*
All of this on top of being denied for my hospital stay by insurance... When can we get one thing to work in our favor? I feel like I need an entire field of lucky clovers right about now..
If you would like to help us get our second chance, please visit gofundme.com/shilorfund
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