Lil tells… Part 3
‘I want to check first, to see if the little heart is still beating,’ said the gynecologist. Immediately I feel hopeful again.
Friday afternoon, just before the weekend I am allowed to report to the hospital in yes: the gynecology department. Sounds logical, because what I need is a gynecologist. But man, what a punishment it was to have to wait. Minutes felt like hours, and one heavily pregnant woman after another passed me with a huge belly. I remember a woman on the left. She smoked like a chimney because quitting would stress her out and stress was not good for her baby. In the background hung a giant poster that read: ‘Smoking during pregnancy is harmful’. I handled her very poorly. Of course, everyone for themselves and I really shouldn’t think anything of it, but that was a typical moment when you could really sweep me up. I dutifully swallowed my mama plus vitamins from day 1, drank smoothies like crazy, and sat alone in the sun with a cloth on my belly. Maybe I was a bit over the top myself but okay, okay, okay, I really don’t care. Really not. Because that’s just not my business.
With over half an hour delay, I am finally called by the gynecologist who kindly asks me to sit on ‘the chair’. It’s a chair that we women know and just seeing it gives me the creeps. ‘I want to do an internal ultrasound first, to see if the little heart is still beating.’ I notice that I am immediately hopeful. I still feel so nauseous, my breasts are still so sensitive and… Could it really be? Is that little one just pulling a fast one on us? I say nothing and actually just look at her a bit helplessly. ‘It happens regularly that a midwife is mistaken,’ she continues...
In the meantime, I am sitting on the chair, without underwear, still wearing my coat and boots. It feels strange. But what do I care. The only thing that matters is the little heart. ‘Try to relax,’ the gynecologist tells me. Yesssss. Because luckily this is not a matter of life or death for my child. I believe I relax and not much later the answer comes that hits hard again: the little heart is not beating. She estimates that the embryo has lived for about three months and probably stopped growing a week ago. A week ago on Friday afternoon I was with my friends. I told them that they would become the best aunts...
Once dressed, we discuss the options again. Wait and see, medication or curettage. I stick to my previous decision: medication. The gynecologist agrees. ‘It is the most chosen and least risky option for a young girl like you.’ Oh, and if I want to ‘just’ (read: needle phobia) have my blood drawn, because it could be that I am Rh (D)-positive and after my miscarriage I produce antibodies, and those antibodies could be dangerous for a subsequent pregnancy. I immediately think of my first miscarriage, where I was told nothing about this at the time. Could it have been my own body that produced antibodies? That the embryo attacked? That thought drives me crazy. I force myself to stay calm, because I don’t know much about this topic at all. In fact, we’re just going to check that blood type first. At the pharmacy, I pick up the medication and arrange with my mother to plan a cozy night in with movies, sushi, smoked salmon, raw milk cheeses, wine, and more that I as a ‘pregnant’ person was not allowed to have. No matter how much I missed it, my favorite food has never tasted so bad...
In the summer of 2019, I received the sad news of a missed abortion. After three months, it was seen on the second ultrasound that the heartbeat unfortunately no longer beat. In the coming weeks, I will take you with me every Tuesday morning on Amayzine to give this event in my life a better place and to make this subject less taboo, but especially to give others in a similar situation the feeling that they are not alone. Because together we are so much stronger. And alone, you are not. I promise you that.
