As I’ve been browsing blog posts and twitter this morning, I’ve been reminded that today is International Women’s Day.
And it seems like a good day to share this story, although this is not the post I was hoping to write about this subject.
For around five wonderful weeks I knew I was pregnant. I did the pee test (I did four!). I had the blood test. I booked in with my obstetrician. I booked the hospital. We even bought a new (bigger) car! (Well, we needed to do that anyway, we just did it a bit sooner). I was surprised and so happy. I never really thought I would have a sibling for Connor, but I always hoped. And just when I had really come to accept it wouldn’t happen, it did. Or at least, it seemed to.
But it was not to be. I had my first appointment and scan with my OB on Wednesday, and my little baby’s heart was not beating. It was late in the afternoon but she phoned around various specialist ultrasound clinics until she found one that could see me straight away, just to be sure. And it was sure.
So I had a trip to hospital yesterday morning and now I’m feeling a bit sore and sorry for myself, but I’m ok. Surprisingly so, really. I suppose a part of me always thought that a second miracle was too good to be true.
But you know, that’s not really what I wanted to focus on with this post. It was an awful thing and one that I wish no person had to experience, but which I know is so common. But if it has to happen, I feel so lucky and know I am so privileged to have it happen in the way I experienced it. Thanks to so many amazing women (and my amazing husband) who have helped and are helping me through it.
My lovely OB. Funny how so many people still assume a doctor must be a man. She felt she did a bad job telling me the result of the scan, but her slight awkwardness really demonstrated to me that she cared, that it was difficult for her too, and that she wasn’t treating me as a number. It must be a difficult balance, as a doctor, to be compassionate but also professional, to deal with the medical issues as well as the emotional ones.
The ultrasound technician, who must hate delivering such news, but who was very kind and gentle.
The registered nurse who did my hospital admission the next morning. I could not have asked for a gentler, more empathetic person.
The nurse who looked after me in the short stay ward, another fantastic caring kind person who is a credit to her profession.
(I must also mention the anaesthetist, even though he’s a man, heh heh. He was very kind too, although he lost points for basically telling me I was a wimp when he put the needle in my hand! I probably was, but he didn’t need to tease me!)
My mum, who was so devastated but who took on the task of telling all my brothers, and my mother in law, who looked after Connor for us and who cooked a mountain of food so we didn’t have to worry about cooking last night or possibly even tonight as well!
My wonderful friends. Thank you xx
So many amazing women, who made such a personally devastating experience so much easier to bear. Such excellent examples of how we, as people (not just women) should treat each other all the time.