The D&C

One week ago, Monday, February 18, Erich and I got up before dawn and drove to the hospital. I wasn't really nervous about the procedure; I was more worried about the emotional upheaval associated with the absolute end of the pregnancy. We were going to the hospital, six months too soon, and we weren't going to get to take a baby back home with us.

There's something so peaceful about being awake when the sun comes up. It always makes me wish that I were an early riser, but I value my morning sleep too much to ever actually consider it.

We got to the surgical waiting room at 6:30 exactly--right on time! We signed in and were taken to a room where I changed into a hospital gown, got a bracelet and an IV. I signed forms and answered a bunch of questions. (I should have tallied the number of times I was asked if I was allergic to any medications because it felt like a thousand.) Then I had my first wheelchair ride ever to another room with curtains, where I waited on a bed and met more nurses, the anesthesiologist, and another doctor from the ob/gyn practice, Dr. P, who performed the procedure. She told me that she wouldn't see me after the procedure unless there was something to tell me. I thought it made sense that she wouldn't wait around for me to wake up if everything was normal. Everyone was nice and I felt well taken care of. Edward is a great hospital. My mom arrived around 8:00 and waited with me and Erich. We got to watch TV. And I got to experience the wonderful sensation of having to go to the bathroom without having had anything to drink, thanks to the wonders of IV.

Just a little after 8:30, my bed was wheeled to the operating room. It's odd to be wheeled around on a bed--it makes me feel pretty helpless, but there's something luxurious about it as well. The OR was overwhelming. It was a big room with a high ceiling and just lots of medical stuff all around. I hoisted myself onto the operating table, which came equipped with the most monstrous stirrups I've ever seen. They looked like bisected ski boots. Nurses were flurrying around, moving me every which way and preparing equipment. They stuck a big sticker on my back to monitor my heart. The anesthesiologist described everything he was doing. First he gave me some drugs to help ease the discomfort of what was going to go in next. The main drugs did hurt. It felt like my arm was being squeezed and twisted. I writhed in pain a little, and that's the last thing I remember.

As I woke up in the curtained waiting area, there was a nurse or two on my left attending to me. I think they asked me if I remembered getting a shot in my arm. I did not. Then there was one nurse and she told me I could keep dozing as there was nothing going on. But she told me what to expect (the shot was for making my uterus contract, yay!) and then informed me Dr. P would be there to talk to me. I turned my head to the right, and there was the face I did not expect to see! In my drugged state, I didn't have a chance to get worried, but I was very curious as to why I got to see the doctor a full hour after the short procedure began. She smiled and told me that when she was doing the procedure she saw a septum and I may have a bicornuate uterus--this may have caused my miscarriage. My absolute first gut reaction was to be glad there was a possible reason for the miscarriage. Everyone wants an explanation, and I didn't expect to get one, but here was a possibility presented to me. But my mind automatically leaped to the implications: what is my prognosis? I asked if it can be fixed and she said it could, and that we'd talk more about it in my follow-up appointment. Then she was gone.

My mind was reeling. It was hard to know what to think or feel. In fact, it was hard to even think or feel much at all due to the effects of the anesthesia. I thought about septate and bicornuate uteri. I had actually read about these things in a book on miscarriage I had gotten at the library. I remembered that a septate uterus is normal on the outside but has a septum on the inside. A bicornuate uterus is essentially heart-shaped. I didn't know what either of these meant as far as treatment and chances of success. I was so relieved and so scared at the same time. Obviously, we weren't dealing with a fertility problem (unless getting pregnant so easily the first time was a fluke), but if my anatomical problem will prevent me from staying pregnant, we weren't going to be able to abide by our original goal of getting pregnant again before my birthday (May 21). At the very least, I would have to get my problem fixed with surgery before we could have a baby.

I pondered these things as I was taken to a recovery room, cramping and bleeding. I sat in a big chair and a nurse covered me in warm blankets and then brought Erich and my mom to me. I tried to explain to them what Dr. P had told me. I tried to remember the look on her face and the tone of her voice when she talked to me. Her calm demeanor and pleasant European accent made her a little inscrutable, but I knew that nothing she did or said was alarming in nature. She had made it seem like this was something she had seen before. But it was impossible to know, and still is, until I can meet with her to gather more information.

I started to slowly feel more normal and the nurse came in to remove my IV. Erich helped me walk to the bathroom where I put my clothes back on. Not much time passed before Erich went to get the car and I was wheeled outside into the cold wind, on my way home. We were home by 11:30.

I spent way too much time the rest of the day and the next day, perched on my hard chair at my computer, looking for all the information I could find. There were almost no girls on the Nest who had been told they had a septum. But then one came through and pointed me to a good online resource for people with Müllerian Anomalies, which is what I apparently have. I read and Googled, took breaks, then Googled some more. But, sadly, Google could not tell me what my uterus looks like. (Sensing a theme here?)

By Wednesday I had had it. There was no sense in researching when I didn't have enough information about myself. I am glad I know what I know now, and I'll share my information in subsequent posts, but there had to be an end. I had learned my lesson of patience and I lost all desire to keep scouring the internet for answers. The answers will come, and it will start a week from tomorrow, when I have my follow-up appointment with Dr. P. In the grand scheme of things, two weeks is not too long to wait. And very hopefully, in the big picture, it won't even be too long before we have our first of several babies.

It was time to stop speculating and worrying about the future and start facing what had happened to me. I needed to acknowledge the baby we lost and mourn properly. I started this blog and forced myself to remember what it was like when we were expecting a baby. It was painful to draw it all out, but it needed to be done, and I'm so glad I did it. This hurts so much, but it is better than being numb. The future will take care of itself. We are letting go of what was never in our hands to begin with and taking charge of our healing.