We parked in a different parking garage this time. It was the
same one we parked in when we came to visit downtown Portland during one of
Alberto’s work trips to Vancouver, Wa in September 2011 (the tour we took then planted
the seed for us eventually moving to Portland). The walk to the clinic was
longer, and, I felt like people were looking at me. I felt like I had a stain
on me somewhere…an “I’m about to take the life of my child” stain and people
were looking at me and judging me. Or maybe it was just that I had a huge grey
wind breaker jacket on with a hood over my head and sunglasses on and I looked
a little suspicious? I don’t know. There were no protestors when we arrived back
at the building, thank goodness again, and for the second time we took the
elevator up to the 9th floor. Same as last time, they asked who I
was, I gave them my name, and they let us in. They asked us to have a seat and
someone would call us up shortly. Before we were called, Michele came out and
called another women into the back. I watched her as she watched her patient
walk to her (follow that?), and, she never once looked at me. I felt kind of
weird about it…like, although she was so great with us earlier in the day, I
was just another patient. Kind of made me sad, and made me think about all the
women she’s seen go through this process over the years.
Anyway, when we were
called back, we were taken to the first counseling room we’d went to earlier in
the day and we were told we would meet with the doctor and she’d answer any
questions we might have. At that time, I was given a couple pills to take (I
didn’t have to take them if I didn’t want to – but I did)…an antibiotic, an
ibuprofen, and a Vicodin. I forgot to mention this earlier, but, I was given a
small dose of ibuprofen and Vicodin before the laminaria and misoprostol was inserted.
Once I took the pills I was given, the doctor came in. She was a very nice
younger women, and, before getting into anything she told us she was sorry for
what we were going through. She then asked if we’d been given a rundown of what
the procedure entailed, to which we answered yes, and then she asked if we had
any questions. I was clear on what was going to happen at that point and so was
Alberto, so we told her we had none. Then she said the next time we saw her
would be in the OR and that we needn’t worry, it would be a fairly quick
procedure. She left and then we were asked to wait in the lobby again until we
were called back to begin the procedure (they wanted to give me a half an hour
of time to let the meds I took kick in).
What felt like a short period later (not a half an hour for
sure), we were called back by Michele and she took us to our pre-op room. She
showed us in, had Alberto have a seat, and asked me to go and empty my bladder
again. So, I put my stuff down in the box they’d placed for my personal effects
and went to the bathroom. As I was walking down the hall back to the pre-op
room, Michele stood there waiting and when I was close to her she asked if she
could give me a hug. I told her yes, and she hugged me…and the tears started to
flow, because, it felt extremely real at this point and I knew that I would
only have my sweet daughter safe in my womb for a little while longer. She
showed me in and asked me to undress again from the waist down and to wrap
myself in a blanket that she provided. She then said that there was a procedure
happening before mine and that Alberto and I would stay here until that
procedure was done and it was time for us to go to the OR. She left and Alberto
and I laid there on that very small bed, in a dimly lit holding room together,
crying our eyes out. He asked me to bare my stomach so that he could kiss her
one last time. I did, and he wrapped his arms around my waist and laid a sweet,
gentle kiss on my belly – he broke down and began to sob intensely. I sobbed,
too…for my baby, who I love so much and was not prepared to lose, and for my
husband…because he is heartbroken and falling apart right before my eyes and
there is nothing I can do to change it. And so we laid there together…holding
each other, comforting each other. And before we knew it, the time had come.
Michele knocked on the door, we pealed ourselves off the bed
in the pre-op room, and followed her to the OR. It was light in the OR. There were windows in the room and
the sun outside was shining a little through the clouds and into the room. I
looked up upon entering the room and saw a sort of origami arrangement hanging
from the ceiling. I am not sure why it was there, but, I assume it is something
for the patient to focus on if they choose to. Alberto walked in behind me and
Michele directed him to a chair sitting next to the operating table. She asked
him to sit in the chair with his back facing the other door in the room (this
is where the doctor would enter and) and his chest facing the head of the table
so he could see me and only me. She asked me to sit on the table, which was
lowered so that I could get onto it, and slide my bottom down to the very end of
it. The end of the table was broken down into knee supports (kind of like what
you would put your legs into when you’re pushing a child out) and she asked me
to lay my trunk and back down on the table and put my knees into the supports.
Then Michele walked around the table and explained how the laughing gas would
work. She said it would be turned on during the procedure and the mask would
sit on my chest so that it’s easily accessible to me, but, I didn’t have to use
it if I didn’t want to. If I wanted to use it, I would pick the mask up and cover
both my nose and mouth with it and breathe in deeply. She explained that it
would work instantaneously when I am breathing it in and that it would stop working
fairly quickly once I am not breathing it in. She went on to say that laughing gas
is used during the procedure to take the edge off and give the patient a “sunnier
disposition”. I did not want to take the edge off…I wanted to be 100% present
and aware of what was happening during the procedure, so, I had decided in my
mind that I would not use it before the procedure had even started. Next,
Michele sat down next to me, in a chair like Alberto’s just on the opposite
side of my body, and she told me that the doctor would be in shortly. She said
that the procedure is very quick and that once it was over, she would walk me
back to the recovery room where I could stay as long as I needed.
The next thing I knew, the doctor was walking into the OR
and she sat down in front of the table with my bent legs (in the knee supports)
flanking her. She told me that she would verbalize every single step to me so
that I was aware of what was happening at all times. Then she got started…
The first thing she did was remove the gauze that was
holding the misoprostol (it actually was probably dissolved at this point) and
laminaria in my cervix. It didn’t hurt, but, it was uncomfortable because it’s
a dry piece of cloth coming out of a very sensitive, narrow canal. Imagine what
it feels like if someone were to stick a piece of gauze down your throat and
then pull it out…not painful, but, irritating. Right? Anyway, after she took
the gauze out she rubbed the opening of my cervix with iodine to clean it, and
then she injected my cervix with a local anesthetic to numb it. At this point,
physically I felt fine. But, I felt physically and emotionally paralyzed. I
wasn’t crying, or feeling sad, or upset…I wasn’t feeling anything. It just felt
like I was laying there, immobile; paralyzed. Unable to move or say anything.
Like things were happening all around me and I wasn’t participating in any of
those things…I was just lying there, powerless. I don’t think I was looking at
Alberto at this point, but, I feel like he was looking at me. Focused on me,
ready to support me through this experience. He must’ve felt powerless, too. He
had no idea what I was feeling or what I was thinking, likewise, I didn’t know
what he was thinking or feeling either. Once my cervix was numbed, the doctor
told me that she was going to insert the first of the dilators. I heard what
she said, but, I wasn’t prepared for the excruciating pain that would radiate
through my body with its insertion. It took me off guard and I gasped in pain
and I immediately began wailing and crying. It was so incredibly painful. At
that point, I needed to focus on Alberto because I was experiencing a pain I
had never experienced before…and I didn’t know if I could do it. I didn’t know
if I could feel additional pain with TWO MORE dilators…on top of the constant
pain I was already trying to manage. Because…I have had a child. Although I did
not naturally birth her, I did push for almost 2 hours with her and I know what
that pain can feel like. But this was a different pain. This pain came from
something prying my cervix open when it was not ready to be opened. Some foreign
matter, forcing it into submission. The doctor inserted the second of the
dilators and I was still not ready, because, it hurt worse than the first. I
again gasped and wailed, crying out sounds that I know were so difficult for
Alberto to hear. He held my hand and although crying himself, he remained
focused on me…trying to be strong and get me through this procedure. By this
time, I was just on overload with pain and I felt intense contracting in my
lower stomach and pelvic region. I felt my butt rise off the table and up into
the air and tense up…in an effort to mitigate the pain, I think. I was crying
and sobbing uncontrollably as the doctor inserted the last of the dilators and
I cried out loudly in horror and pain…because, I knew…I knew that this was the
point where I would lose my baby. Alberto must have been on emotional overdrive
watching, in horror as I went through this incredibly horrendous procedure,
because he began bawling and cried out “Fuck!”. The doctor explained that she
would now gently empty the contents of my uterus with a gentle suction, and, I
am not sure how I heard her because I was crying and crying out sounds of intense
physical and emotional distress. It was just overwhelmingly painful, and, I can
still here the doctor’s voice in my head saying “we’re almost there Jennifer,
you’re doing great”…and, then it was over. The procedure was over, but, my
emotional distress was rising. I was still holding Alberto’s hand, but, I was
shaking profusely and mumbling things (I don’t know what it was that I was
saying). I was in shock, and, I couldn’t move…I couldn’t stop crying…I couldn’t
stop mumbling things. I was devastated. Just shattered. My baby, my baby girl
was gone, and I now know what it means when someone says “my baby was ripped
from my womb”. I literally know what it feels like to physically have my child
ripped from my womb.
Michele must have sensed that it was not going to work to
have me go to the recovery room alone. She knew, from our reaction…from my
state, that I needed to be with my husband. That my distraught husband needed
to be with me. We needed to be together. So, instead of taking me to the
recovery room, she said that they were going to allow us to go back into the
pre-op room so that we could be together. She lead me into the room, laid me
down on a pad to catch any blood (she also stuck a pad between my legs), guided
Alberto into the room and told us to take as much time as we needed. Alberto
laid next to me and we just sobbed together. I still could not stop shaking, was
still in pain, and continued to mumble incoherently. There was a heating pad in
our room, so, Alberto grabbed it and placed it on my lower belly. It helped
physically, but, emotionally I was a f*cking wreck. Not long after that, there
was a knock on the door and it was our nurse. She said that she had heard that
we’d asked about getting foot prints of our daughter. When we asked (I don’t
remember who we asked), but, whoever it was said no. I was disappointed, but, I
understood. I guess our doctor took extra care during the procedure to remove
my sweet baby girl intact, because, they were able to get her foot prints. The
nurse sat them carefully in the box with my personal effects, we said thank
you, and she closed the door behind her. Alberto got up to retrieve them, he
looked at them, and he cried out and began crying hard. He asked me if I wanted
to see them and I said no – I wasn’t ready. He put them down and came back to
me. We laid a little longer and then I decided I needed to leave this place. I
could no longer be there. I pealed myself up off the bed and checked my
bleeding. It was heavy, so, I kept on the pad I had, Alberto helped me put my
clothes on, and then he handed me our baby’s foot prints. There were two different
attempts at it – both were precious prints. The tiniest feet I’ve ever seen…my
heart broke a little more, if that’s even possible. Then, there was a knock at
the door. It was Michele, she peaked in, said to someone in the hall “she’s
getting ready to leave” and then came and sat down beside me. She went over the
discharge paperwork (things to look for – a fever over 100 degrees, excess
bleeding, my prescriptions, etc.), I signed the discharge form (saying we’d
discussed everything), she helped me up, we said our goodbyes, and that was it.
Alberto and I walked out an alternate exit (bypassing the waiting room – thank goodness),
took the elevator to the ground floor and made our way to the street.
The walk back to the car felt so strange. I was empty. My
baby was gone, my heart was broken, and I was done. It felt like I was
floating, going through the motions. We’d decided that we would go straight to
Kaiser to pick up my prescription, so we got in the car and headed straight
there (I sent a text to my Mom asking her to pick Isla up from school since we’d
be late). Not before getting slightly lost, we arrived at Kaiser. I gave the
pharmacist assistant my prescriptions (for ibuprofen and vicodin), she said
they’d need to call for one of them and that she’d call me back up when the
prescriptions were filled. It didn’t take very long for them to call me back
up. The pharmacist explained how to take the medications, we paid for them, and
then we headed home.
When we got home, Isla was so excited to see us. We both
hugged and kissed her hello. She got distracted from something, so, I sat some
things on the counter and came across our baby girl’s foot prints. I showed
them to my Mom and she was moved by them – surprised that we’d gotten them and
amazed by how small they were. I walked away from my Mom, placed the foot
prints carefully on our counter and just stood there staring at them. Then, I
started to read some of the papers that were in the small brown paper bag I
left the clinic with and I felt my Mom’s hand on my back, rubbing it gently. I
began to cry. My Mom said something to me…I don’t remember what, but, I knew I
needed to go to my bedroom, lie down, and cry. My Mom followed me to my room.
She helped me in to our freshly laundered bed, tucked me into it, and told me
to grieve. She said it was okay to grieve and to cry. She said she loved me and
then she walked away. I ate a few gummi bears, but, then I just cried. I cried
for so many reasons…but, mainly, because my daughter was gone. At the start of
the day she was in my womb, safe and sound and now? She is gone. My womb is
empty and I am left to mourn death of my daughter and grieve the loss of her.
The rest of the night is a blur to me, and, I don’t remember
any specific details. I just know I took at least one dose of vicodin and that
I didn’t sleep well into the next day. But, that was to be expected…for I had
just faced the worse thing a parent could ever have to face.
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