After our July loss, I actually was "okay." I was sad, I cried a lot, but I didn't sink into that deep depression/anger stage that I had spent most of the past six months in. See, I am a proactive person. I am a planner. Definite type A. I want to know what the plan is and I felt that now that we had suffered through our third loss, this was it. We would get referred to a specialist, we would find out what was wrong. We could fix it, get pregnant, stay pregnant.
I was in for a bit of a surprise.
Remember when I was told about my beta for the last miscarriage and the nurse told me the doctor wanted to see me (I swear, I did not ask to see the doctor or for testing) and would want to do more testing? So, ten days after our loss, my husband and I went into the OBs office.
It was his first time going with me, and he was shocked that they would just have me sit in the waiting room with all of the other preggers. At least this time, they didn't forget that I was there, and she was only a half hour behind. They still didn't make an effort to get me in a room any earlier, so we sat there, both trying to ignore the happy melon bellies around us.
We got back to the room and I changed into the thin gown. The nurse came in a took my temperature and raised an eyebrow. It was 101.5 degrees. "Have you been having a lot of pain?"
I'd been having some mild back cramps and been feeling a little lousy for the past week, but I figured that was to be expected. I told her about my symptoms and she wrote them down.
Another half hour later and the doctor breezed in. She sat down in a chair and asked the pertinent questions about my last miscarriage. Date of ovulation, date of BFP, cramps during the miscarriage, etc. I then made the mistake of asking about further testing.
She sighed and told us that in her professional opinion, we had no problem. The only problem that we did have was that I was checking too early for pregnancy. She said that if every woman of child bearing age trying to get pregnant started checking at 9 DPO, everyone would have three "miscarriages," and that I needed to stop calling them miscarriages, because they were chemical pregnancies. She said a true miscarriage was only after an ultrasound showed the presence of products of conception.
"Okay," I said, my voice starting to tremble. "Then what do we do next?"
"Wait three months and try again."
WHAT?! This didn't make sense to me. If the pregnancies were so insignificant that they couldn't even be called pregnancies, then why were they important enough that it required three months of waiting. So, that's pretty much what I said to her.
She referenced some study about how women who got pregnant immediately after a miscarriage were 2 times more likely to miscarry than women who waited three months. "But those women had miscarriages. You said mine weren't miscarriages," I pointed out.
She didn't like me throwing her words back at her, but I felt that she couldn't have it both ways. They couldn't be chemical pregnancies when she wanted them to be and miscarriages when it was convenient. They were either one or the other.
"Well, there are emotional reasons that I recommend a three month wait," she said this with a definite undertone. "You are really not emotionally stable right now."
Now, she was right about that. I was upset by this point, not crying, but fighting off tears, shaking a little in my thin paper gown and the air conditioned room. I had come in here expecting support, perhaps some respect for what we had been through, and instead was pretty much getting told that it was my fault we were going through all of this.
She then proceeded to give me another brief exam. I didn't want to her to touch me at that point, it felt like a violation.
"I am concerned about your fever," she said after she had finished the exam. "It could be an indication of infection. If it gets above 101 degrees, you should go to the emergency room."
My husband stepped in, "But her fever already is above 101."
She took my temperature again. It was still 101.5. "Well, just keep an eye on it. If it is still above 101 by tonight, go to the ER."
And she was gone.
It turned out that I had a kidney infection, but it took going to my primary care doctor to find that out. While I was there, she told me to check and see if my insurance required a referral for a specialist. If it did, she would give me one. If not, then she suggested just getting my records and going on my own. I called my insurance company and found out that they didn't require a referral.
I had a plan. We would find out what was wrong, I would get pregnant, I would stay pregnant. Well, I would stay pregnant for 11 weeks, anyway. But that's another post.