Decision-Making 101: The 2-Week Check-up

Post 1—Decision-Making 101: The Pills
Post 2—Decision-Making 101: The Other Pills

After I took the last pills (misoprostol), I was supposed to segue into my period. The heavy bleeding would eventually taper off, my body would take care of everything on it’s own, and in two weeks I’d be given a clean bill of health at my check-up.

But the week after I took the pills, I was in Wyoming recuperating on a pre-planned vacation. I decided to not alter this, as I would be with family and close friends.. I thought this would help my mental state. But my period was heavy. I wasn’t able to sleep. My body still ached. And the hormones were guiding my every thought. My quarter-life crisis was still in full-effect. I could barely see straight. I wanted to move back to Wyoming… be with my friends…. be with my family… see if I could actually fall in love and start a life with someone that I wouldn’t regret making a baby with.

I altered a few friendships while I was there. Friends that knew what had happened, but didn’t know how to act around me. Or didn’t recognize the signs of something deeper. When all I really needed was a couple really good friends to understand, I felt like I was sort of asked to go away. It hurt. It all hurt.

I came back home with a heavy heart. The vacation wasn’t really much of a vacation, as it dealt with a lot of phone calls and a lot of crying. I wasn’t dealing well with life in general. I felt like I was drowning, without anyone to listen. This was becoming my everyday…

My period did lighten up. For a couple days, I tried to not wear a pad. But then one day, the bleeding started again. Just as heavy. Just as draining. I had been bleeding for two weeks straight. I was exhausted.

I called my doctor, who said it sounded like things didn’t take care of themselves like they should have. She rescheduled my 2-week appointment for an ultrasound at a local hospital. Where I went, alone. I was the only person in the radiology department that was under the age of 60. I felt like they all knew why I was there. None of them smiled. I didn’t have anything to smile about either.

The appointment took nearly an hour. An hour of someone looking inside my uterus. Of a plastic rod being shoved into my vagina and taking pictures. Another person who got to see all of me.

And then I got dressed and drove to work. Waiting for the phone call to come from the doctor.

And it did. She called when I was nearly to work. With bad news. My uterine lining was too thick. My body hadn’t expelled anything. I was still pregnant.

I nearly crashed the car. My eyes started to tingle, and my body grew cold. I tried to respond to her but couldn’t. My words got lost in my throat. And the tears fell down my face. I knew what this meant… I knew that I couldn’t keep the baby. That the pills would have caused severe harm, and if I had changed my mind and decided to carry to term the baby would be born with severe deformities.

I would have to go in and have the embryo surgically removed.

The one thing I didn’t ever want. The one part of this whole process I was absolutely 100% morally opposed to.

I got off the phone and sat in my car, alone in the parking lot. I cried. A lot. I called a friend at work who was expecting me to help with an event that day and broke down to her. She took over my shift and asked me to go home. To be safe. And to go home.

I couldn’t even see the windshield… the pain and grief just flooded me. I called my husband to let him know I was going home. To ask him to come home early if he could. To tell him how sad and miserable I was. How broken I felt.

He didn’t come home early. I sat and cried by myself. I felt ridiculously alone and kept apologizing, over and over, to someone who I felt could hear me…. but who I knew couldn’t.

I felt, and still do to some extent, like a complete selfish failure.


~ by shespeakstruth on December 31, 2012.