Well, surgery never happened yesterday.
At 11:45am, I arrived at the hospital (hungry, as you can’t eat anything after 7am), and waited for 45 minutes. Then they put me in a room, did my blood pressure, pulse and O2 sat and asked me to put on the hospital gown.
After that I was moved to a very small waiting room. It had three chairs in it and would probably be best described as a cupboard. Another lady was shown into the cupboard and there we both sat, in silence, for 2 hours.
At that point (it was 3:30pm), we were told that the theatre had been overrun with emergencies and that we probably wouldn’t be seen today. We had the option of staying on, with a chance we might be seen by 8:30pm.
The other lady went home, rebooked in for the next day (today).
I sat there, paralysed by what to do. The boys were at home, I’d wanted to be back for their bedtime. Did I want to face another wait tomorrow? Should I wait it out tonight? Would the surgeon (or doctor, or whatever they were), be exhausted and prone to mistakes if I was tagged on right at the end of the day?
As I was pondering all this, close to tears, the nurse returned and said they had opened another theatre and I would be able to go into that one.
She then said she had a bed, and I was shown to a ward.
Ten minutes later the doctor came to see me. Not the one I was originally booked in with. Another doctor, from somewhere, that was going to take up the surplus in the new operating theatre.
She was the one who was going to perform the surgery.
She didn’t know this was my seventh miscarriage overall. She didn’t know that the baby was to be sent off for testing. She didn’t know about my history of haemorrhaging from the uterus. She didn’t know I’d had two blood transfusions and refused a third.
I asked her about my increased risk for this procedure and she listened, and said:
“What else are you going to do?”
I blinked. I said I was worried about miscarrying at home, but I was also scared of bleeding heavily during the operation. So she asked me how I was going to miscarry at home and manage two small children.
Again, I wasn’t sure what to say.
What I wanted her to do was talk me through it. To tell me there might be an increased risk of bleeding, but that it would be effectively managed, to tell me that this procedure wasn’t going to kill me, or leave me with no uterus. I wanted to feel confident that she would look after me.
She said yes, I was at increased risk of bleeding, but my only other choice was to have the miscarriage at home.
I started to get upset, I tried to explain my fears to her, I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. And then I realised she was smiling at me. She was nodding at me while I was talking with a huge grin on her face. I stopped mid-sentence.
Is something funny?
Why are you smiling?
<No response. She carries on smiling.>
Do you think this is funny? You’re smiling at me!
I’m just listening and thinking about what you are saying.
I took a deep breath and finished whatever I’d been saying. At that point I gave up. This woman obviously had no training in bedside manner.
She walked off.
I sat on the bed and cried.
And then I got up, got dressed and walked out.
I called a taxi and went straight home.
I couldn’t have let that woman operate on me. I didn’t know how many times she’d done the procedure (unlike the doctor I was originally booked in with, who does it daily). She seemed totally incapable of appreciating how I was feeling, or explaining the risks to me in a way I could process and weigh up. Not only that but she told me that scarring is only a risk if you have the procedure done two or three times and studies now show that this is untrue. There is up to a 30% chance of scarring from just ONE surgical management of miscarriage.
I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do now. I briefly spoke to the nurse before I left and she said to call back and book in if I change my mind, that won’t be a problem.
My husband needs to go back to work, I have two boys to look after, I have to get this baby out somehow.
I don’t want to be in this situation. I am frightened for my life. Do I bleed out in surgery, with the risk of a punctured uterus, damage to my bowel, maybe lose my uterus, possibly worse, maybe end up with a doctor or surgeon who panics, or makes a wrong decision, all the while I am unconscious. Or do I bleed at home and transfer to the hospital like I did last time?
This is an impossible decision.
Statistics mean nothing to me because with 7 miscarriages, 2 severe PPH, 2 blood transfusions and 1 near-fatal haemorrhage from a miscarriage, I am already an anomaly.
Bury head in sand?
I’ve just read this post back, and seriously, you’ve got to wonder why the fuck I would ever have tried for another baby. I am obviously completely bat-shit crazy. Who would ever do this to themselves??