Prenatal Visit #3 - A Doosie

How odd this all is.

This morning was prenatal visit #3 and once again, I was a ball of emotions and tears. Of course, this time, the doctor went over my basic history with pregnancies and deliveries. I hadn’t seen him since I was in the hospital with Andrew. He is a doctor that I do not enjoy seeing but find myself seeing him at least once in a pregnancy and always when I go into the hospital. In fact, he almost delivered Andrew and I was thankful that he didn’t. That is how much I do not favor being in his care.

Without much effort, he found the baby’s heartbeat and it was good and strong. I breathed a sigh of relief as I sat up to finish the appointment.

I wanted to get out there as soon as possible because of my dislike for this doctor. But on this day, he was a tad bit warmer than I normally find him. He actually had a bedside manner which helped with the conversation that followed. “I understand your last one died.” I thought I would be able to handle it as I replied, “yes” with control and unwavering candor. He looked at his laptop a bit more and I found myself adding, “He fought so hard at the beginning of his life and then lost it so early.”

He was patient and sympathetic.

“It was some kind of a fall correct?” He positioned his hands to type into his laptop.

“Yes.” I said as the knot formed in my throat.

“I just want to get this into your chart. So it was head trauma?”

Images of what may have happened at the moment that accident occurred flashed through my mind. His little body face down on our comforter in our bed room. His body lying on the bed in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit in the hospital all hooked up to tubes and machines with his eyes closed. The 50-some page autopsy report.

“No.” Tears formed in my eyes and my voice cracked. “The medical examiner actually couldn’t find a cause of death.” Something that still perplexed me. I looked down at the floor. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I had to try to collect myself.

“We know he was without oxygen for quite a while so he must have had brain damage but,” another pause and I found myself able to look up at the doctor as tears rolled down my cheeks. “it’s hard to know how much since he didn’t survive.”

 To my surprise, the doctor stopped typing and pursed his lips together while looking at me with care. “I’m sorry. That is hard. How old was he?”

 “Five and a half months.”

 He began typing again. And I looked around the room until I found myself looking at his shoes. “June 4 is the one year anniversary of his death.” I said as my voice officially destabilized and I sniffled still trying to maintain some level of control. (I wasn’t winning though and my will to fight was becoming less and less as we discussed the topic.)

 

He stopped typing again. I was shocked. This was showing some sensitivity I thought this doctor lacked. It was nice to see. Evidentally it must be a good day for him.

From there he tried to comfort by saying the usual “others have it worse” thing. Yes others do. Others have lost all their children and their spouse at once. There are great tragic events like floods and monsoons and earthquakes that kill many hundreds or thousands at a time. And that is tragic as well. But boy did I want to tell him to shut up. It may be worse for someone else, but I still hurt. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel the pain and the loss. It doesn’t mean I’m going to stop thinking of him when I wake up and when I lie down to go to sleep. It doesn’t mean that when I see another baby I don’t think of him. That when I see his picture I don’t feel this tremendous amount of sorrow over not having him around anymore. So DON’T TELL ME THAT SOMEONE HAS IT WORSE AS THOUGH THAT WILL SUDDENLY MAKE MY GRIEF, PAIN, AGONY AND LOSS DIMINISH.

 I have to walk through this awful grieving process. I have to try to help my children grieve. And I still have to keep moving on. And I am moving on. I am coping. And it’s awful but it’s what has to be done. And DON’T YOU DARE MINIMIZE IT BY SAYING THAT SOMEONE ELSE’S WORSE TRAGEDY, while it is a tragedy and awful, SHOULD MAKE ME INSTANTLY GET OVER THE PAIN OF LOSING MY DEAR, PRECIOUS SON!

Gosh, I hate these doctor visits.

I left there in a daze.

 Crying. Lost. Upset. Bewildered. Empty. Lonely. Alone.

 Crying and crying out. Hurting and hurting out. Upset.

I was unable to go to work for another 30 minutes or so. I had to take time to let it out. To cry. Then I went to work. Still crying. But I have a proposal going out. Maybe it would help me get my mind on something else. Getting things started at the office, while crying. I got my water with tears. Hoping no one would notice. And yet wanting someone to notice. Wishing I could get a hug from a friend.

 

How am I going to handle the anniversary of his death?  You want people to remember and  say something. And yet you don’t want anyone to notice. And yet if they don’t remember or say anything then you feel upset that no one remembered  or said anything. How odd is this. How odd this all is.