Decision-Making 101: The D&C

Post 1—Decision-Making 101: The Pills
Post 2—Decision-Making 101: The Other Pills
Post 3—Decision Making 101: The 2-Week Check-up

The doc said that because I had been bleeding for two weeks, we needed to have the d&c done as soon as possible. (dilation and curettage: a surgical procedure often performed after a first trimester miscarriage. Dilation means to open up the cervix; curettage means to remove the contents of the uterus. Curettage may be performed by scraping the uterine wall with a curette instrument or by a suction curettage (also called vacuum aspiration), using a vacuum-type instrument.)

She worried about letting the embryo get any larger…as I would be entering my second trimester soon.

We scheduled it for that Monday. It was Friday afternoon…and I was terrified.

I cried that night. I cried in bed on Saturday. I cried when doing dishes. I cried because I was terrified, and scared. I felt like a failure. Like I let everyone down. Like I let myself down… I finally realized that I did want to be a mom, and I threw that right out the window because my husband wasn’t ready to be a father, and I wasn’t ready to stop being selfish….

I cried a lot.

The entire weekend was me thinking of everything that could go wrong. It would happen the week before Christmas. What if the procedure went wrong? What if I was putting myself in danger? What would my family think? What kind of gift was I giving myself this holiday season??

I thought of myself in the operating room. Naked. In front of a room of doctors and anesthetician who I didn’t know. Legs propped up in stirrups. Using a surgical suction device inside my vagina and uterus. While I was completely unconscious.

What if they took advantage of me? What if I woke up mid-procedure? What if I needed to have this happen again… and I would need to be naked, unconscious, legs spread… again?

I know they’re doctors… and I know I should have trusted them. But all I could think about was my womanhood. Having zero modesty. Having no say in it. Not even being conscious for it. I cried.

I was in the hospital at 10 a.m.that Monday. My husband took the day off work to be with me. I was hooked up to IVs nearly immediately. The nurse that came in, Diane, asked me if I could fill out some paperwork. I said yes… and got teary eyed. It was all insurance paperwork and pretty much stated my name, social, date of birth, etc.

But then she hesitated before giving me a paper. And said she knew it would be hard…and said if I needed a minute, she could come back.

She handed me the paperwork that detailed what the hospital would do with the remains. That called me the “mother.” I lost it. I started bawling. No where on the form did it ask for the father. No where on the form did it ask about my feelings. It asked about whether I wanted to hold a funeral service… or whether I would allow the hospital to.

I relinquished my rights to the hospital. I signed my name on the line marked, “Mother.” I cried.

I was wheeled into another room, a few floors from where I was at. I was prepped by the anesthetician. And then I walked myself into the operating room. I climbed onto the table. I scooted my butt down to where the doctors could more easily slip my legs into stirrups.

I cried. And I am very glad I don’t remember anything after being given the drugs. I’m sure I would have just cried more.

I woke up in a recovery room, covered in warm blankets. People were asking me questions. I was lucid enough to correct a nurse who called me, “Theresa.” I watched TV, ate crackers and drank apple juice. I went to the bathroom while a nurse watched. And then around 4 p.m., I sat in a wheelchair, was taken to the car, and went home.

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~ by shespeakstruth on December 31, 2012.