The Procedure, Part 2

I forgot to include a couple of things in yesterday's post that happened before we went to Dr. Jerk. We went back in to the perinatologist to get the preliminary results of the amnio. Nothing. Everything looked clean. No chromosomal anomalies. The genetic counselor went over the results with us. She said they were surprised, but had no reason to doubt the results. She said that, in this case, "It was just one of those things." Something went wrong somewhere, but we'd probably never know exactly what. She said that these things just happen sometimes. Nothing we could do about it. She said that some couples found this result a little comforting, because they see it as exonerating their DNA. I don't get that. I didn't find it comforting in the slightest. I would have liked to know what was wrong, have some kind of conclusion. Not knowing just left it to my mind to come with all sorts of ways it was my fault: poor nutrition, too much cold medicine, too much coffee, ambivalent feelings about being pregnant. In the deepest, darkest parts of my mind, accessible only while lying awake in the middle of the night, I was sure the last one was it.

The counselor told us that we could ask for an autopsy. She didn't think it would tell us much of anything that we didn't already know, but maybe they would find something. She said that we could tell Dr. Jerk that we wanted an autopsy and he could take care of the arrangements. We'd have to pay for it ourselves, but if we really wanted to leave no stone unturned, she would recommend it. We left with that to chew on, and her assurance that she would send us a complete report of the amnio results.

So, back to Dr. Jerk. Unfortunately, this relationship was going to be just as bad, if not worse, than the one with the OB. Why didn't I see that coming?

We went into Dr. J's office, like a real office with a desk and books, and sat down to go over our records. Blah, blah, blah, what you already know. Turns out, the OB wasn't kidding about his bad bedside manner. He was brusque, and a bit of an asshole, really. But, whatever, we weren't there to date him. He asked if I was having trouble sleeping. Yes, I was. He asked if I'd like something to help me sleep. I said yes, actually, that would be great. I was tired of lying awake every night, weeping and going over everything again, and again, and again. He added a box to a pile of pill vials he had on his desk that he was going to send home with us. Here's a fun fact - When you're at 20 weeks, The Procedure is a two day process. They start opening your cervix on the first day, both mechanically and chemically, then you go back the second day for the rest of it. He outlined for us what was going to happen, went over all the pills and what time I had to take them, then asked if we had any questions. We'd decided to at least talk to him about having an autopsy, so I brought it up. He got all pissy and extra brusque and told us that wasn't possible. I told him that the perinatologist told us to ask for it (so it was clear we weren't just talking out of our hats). This whole discussion just seemed to piss him off. We went back and forth for a while until he finally snapped, "There won't be anything left intact enough to perform an autopsy on!"

Yeah.

I think he was trying to shock us into submission or something. Just like the OB, he clearly wasn't used to patients questioning his authority. He thought he'd cow us with the harsh reality. In truth, we didn't really care all that much about having an autopsy. We knew it would be futile. I continued to argue a bit more, just on principle, but eventually we agreed to just forget it. We then went in for yet another sonogram. He was quick about it, but said, after looking around a bit, "Yep, just an empty skull." I just looked away. Seriously, at this point if I had tried to respond, I would have ended up punching him. I just wanted the whole creepy experience over. We went into the exam room, I got up in the stirrups, and he inserted a set of little seaweed sticks into my cervix. These would slowly expand overnight, opening my cervix. No anesthesia, no drugs, just, "Ready? Here we go." It was over soon, but I was gasping with how much it hurt. He said it wouldn't hurt for long and sent us home with strict instructions to call the emergency number if I started bleeding.

Worst. night. ever. I was in pain (he was such a liar), I was grieving, I didn't want to ever go back there again, but I knew I was going back. Oh, and the sleeping pills he gave me? Turns out the son-of-a-bitch gave me a sample of Lexipro. Lexipro is an antidepressant, not a sleeping aid. In fact, even if I was depressed, it takes two weeks for Lexipro to work, and he gave me a two week sample. Wtf?! I was so angry and exhausted and sick and sad.

We went back the next morning, again first into his office. I confronted him about the Lexipro. "Why did you ask if I wanted a sleep aid and then give me an antidepressant?! Do you think that I'm depressed, or that I might become depressed?!" "Well, yes, that would be the point," he said. He said that with the hormone changes following The Procedure, many women become depressed, especially given the circumstances of our situation. Then why didn't he ask me if I wanted an antidepressant?! Aaarrgghh!!

We went back into the exam room, back into the stirrups. They put in an IV so they could administer Versed. Versed is a sedative/hypnotic. It doesn't knock you out, but the idea is you aren't really aware of what is going on, and you don't remember what happened when it's over. They also put some sort of topical anesthetic on my cervix (or maybe they injected some into my cervix, I don't really remember exactly), and began. It was a horrible, horrible experience. The Versed didn't work on me the way it was advertised. I was aware of everything that was being done to me. I don't remember the exact order of events, but I remember what happened. It was all extremely painful. Something painful would happen and I would gasp and groan, then that part would be over and I would kind of drift off, then I'd be shocked by the onset of another painful act and would gasp in surprise and cry, "It hurts! It hurts!" Then that would be over and I would drift off again, and so on, on and on, for about half an hour or so (maybe longer, that's not really clear for me). Essentially, the Versed had the effect of not letting me brace myself for the painful parts, so I felt like I was being assaulted over and over again, completely out of the blue. Awful. Poor Orion was there with me, sitting by my head, holding my hand. He said later that it was all he could do not to haul off and deck Dr. Jerk every time I gasped in pain. When it was all over, the doctor asked how I was doing and I told him that it was extremely painful. He told me that he thought that the Versed had lowered my inhibitions a bit and that's why I was making so much noise during The Procedure. Fucker. If I had to do it all over again, I would have asked to be knocked out, really knocked out, completely. I know some clinics will put you under. Either that or have no sedative at all. I don't know why they would perform such a painful procedure on someone and not knock them out. They don't perform other kinds of procedures that painful without anesthetic. I can't help but think it's punitive. I'm not all women-are-great-and-men-suck, but I guarantee you that if they were performing some procedure on penises that was half as painful, they'd offer a spinal block and morphine.

After a while, the nurse came back and gave me a RhoGam shot (since Orion is O+ and I'm a negative blood type) and the biggest maxi-pad I'd ever seen to put in my pants. I got dressed and we went for one last meeting with Dr. J in his office. I was all sweaty and disheveled and felt like I was sitting on a log, with that giant pad. He gave us aftercare instructions and emphasized that I should try to remain active today, not go home and lie down. Great. I asked if he could please give me a prescription for an actual sleep aid, which he did. He at least had the sense to look contrite about it. We made an appointment for a follow-up some weeks later and left. I never went back there again.

We drove back to Lawrence and I tried not to doze in the passenger seat. It was midday by this time, and I hadn't eaten anything yet, so we decided to stop at a cafe downtown and maybe stay to eat, or more likely pick up something to go. We walked in and started looking at the menu, when I started to feel a bit queasy. I told Orion I wanted to go, so we bought some scones and left. As soon as we walked out the door, a wave of nausea came over me and I threw up into one of the big concrete tree planters that line the street. Awesome. I never throw up, so I was completely taken by surprise and mortified. Later, I was telling my mom and she said, "Oh yeah, that's one of the side effects of Versed, or any drug like that really, it will almost always make you throw up as it wears off. Didn't they warn you about that?" Hah! Right.

We went home and knocked around a bit, and then decided to go see a movie. I didn't know if that was still in the spirit of staying "active", but it would keep me from crashing on the couch, and the idea of sitting in the dark and being distracted was very appealing to me. We went to the theater and found seats. I have no memory of what movie it was. I think we picked something loud and stupid and in no way sad. I probably don't remember because I didn't actually get to see any of it. As Orion came back from the snack bar and sat down, he dumped the entire 32 oz. cup of Sprite onto my lap. Oh, don't worry, I didn't feel too wet because it was all absorbed by the giant maxi-pad in my pants. I looked up at him and the look on his face was so pathetic that I burst out laughing. He joined in and we both laughed for a good long time. We left the theater and went home, and after changing my pants, I fell asleep on the couch.