Follow-up

It took a little longer than I thought, but alas GF has finally relented and is allowing me to share some of her writing. World, meet GF…

I had a doctor's appointment the other day - a 'post op' follow up after the miscarriage and associated procedure which wiped out all vestiges of the warm and nurturing home my swollen uterus had once been. It was with the maternity emergency room doctor who had taken care of me that night - an excruciatingly young resident who didn't look old enough for the "Doctor" title at the beginning of her name, but who had a compassion far beyond her years. She would check my recovery - make sure my body had returned to something resembling 'normal' and that I wasn't 'cracking' under the devastation of losing something so precious. It was a necessary appointment - closure of sorts… but I didn't want closure. I wanted my baby back. Obviously this wasn't going to be easy.

The appointment was at the "Women's Health Center" of a large, inner-city hospital (not the hospital where "it" happened). It's not a scary place… not in the middle of the day at least… but walking through those long hallways, you get a sense that this is where people go when they have no place else. For a moment my mind flashed back to a similar place many years ago. I was about 3 and had gotten chemicals in my eye. It was late at night and we had no insurance, so my mom had no choice but to take me to the emergency room of our city's "General Hospital". Some people say that a child that young can't remember, but I do. I remember that it was crowded, and it smelled bad... and I remember the fight that ended in a stabbing just a few feet away from where I sat - crimson red blood all over that white, shiny floor. Looking back now, I guess an emergency room is about the best place to be if you're going to get stabbed… Ugh - what a terrible thing to think! I took a deep breath and pulled myself back to the present - didn't need anymore of that trip down memory lane.

I got to the clinic a few minutes early, and found an open chair underneath the television set where a soap opera was blaring away. I sat down and picked up a magazine. As I flipped mindlessly through the pages, I became aware of some of the people sitting around me. To the right, a very young couple - maybe 17 or 18... He was trying to poke her in the belly. "Why you do that to me? Stop it. You be buggin' me," she said as he laughed and wound up for another go at her. A few minutes later I heard, "Get it fix. I don't wan' hear no more complainin' - just get it fix." Not sure what "it" was, but I wondered if getting it "fix" was anything like getting it "fixed". I looked up when they called her in a few minutes after that. She was about 6 months pregnant - and he was still poking her in the belly. She let loose with a string of curse words that would make a New York City cabbie proud as the door swung closed behind them. I wanted to scream at them both, "Go back to school! Learn about birth control and how to speak properly! Learn something worth teaching to your child!"

Across from me sat a blonde girl dressed in sweats and and a t-shirt that barely covered her huge, protruding tummy. How old was she? Fifteen, maybe… definitely no more than 16. She was slouched down in her chair, munching on potato chips and complaining to the friend that sat next to her. She didn't like being pregnant. Having a doctor's appointment was a pain in the ass. She was tired of looking like a "fat, bloated pig". It went on and on. I had to walk right past her when my name was called and it took every ounce of strength I had not to shake her until her teeth rattled on the way by. She sat there with a miracle that was nothing more than an inconvenience to her, and I had to walk into the examination room empty. Would that baby ever feel really wanted?

The appointment went fine. My body is healing and we can start trying again in about a month. Emotionally I am healing as well, though the doctor did say that if I'm still really sad in a few weeks, they can give me "a pill to help". Please. It seems to me that the day I'm NOT sad about this, is the day I'll need help. Of course she didn't offer me the pill that would help it all make sense and strengthen my faith that things happen for a reason. I guess that part isn't so easy.