Ten years ago today, I lost my first baby during the second trimester of pregnancy. Looking back, it’s remarkable that the pregnancy got as far as it did, having been fraught with problems from the very start.
The doctor I had at the time was absolutely dreadful. When I told her that I was having problems, she said I was being paranoid. She said that first trimester bleeding was “normal” and resolutely refused to refer me for an ultrasound. I tried to point out that every hit I got on Google disagreed with her, and she proceeded to make me feel like an idiot for having researched my symptoms.
What did I know, right? She was the doctor, and she made it very clear that she was the one with the knowledge.
Her attitude only got more arrogant and patronizing after my husband and I took matters into our own hands and went to the emergency room, where an immediate ultrasound was ordered. There was the baby, with a heartbeat and everything. The growth wasn’t what it should have been, but that did not deter the doctor. Apparently I was so stupid that I did not even know when my last period had been.
Not that I’m bitter or anything. I mean, the doctor had the worst bedside manner in the history of doctors, but it’s unlikely that better treatment would have changed the outcome. I was devastated when I lost my baby, but to be honest, I wasn’t all that surprised. No part of me had expected that this pregnancy would go to term.
The doctor could have helped prepare me, though. Perhaps if she had just been honest about what was almost inevitable, if she had told me where to go for support, the aftermath would have been easier to bear.
Or maybe it wouldn’t have.
Yes, it probably wouldn’t have.
I’m still mad at her though, after all these years. No-one deserves to be treated the way she treated me.
I always feel conflicted on this anniversary.
On the one hand, there is sadness, a feeling of loss, and a “what if” kind of wondering.
But on the other hand, if that baby had lived, I wouldn’t have George. And I just cannot imagine life without George.
Sometimes I wonder if perhaps the whole chain of events happened for a reason, that all along it was leading up to the arrival of this beautiful boy who had been waiting in the wings the whole time, just waiting for his moment to be born.
My baby took a piece of me with her when she died. But she gave me so much more by paving the way for George’s arrival.
