Um hi, this is Tracy Morrison and I want to schedule a D&C.
“Hi Tracy, let me just look up your chart…..okay so let’s see here….um Tracy, so you are pregnant again?”
I am and I want the D&C as soon as possible.
“Why don’t we make an appointment with your doctor first and do an ultrasound and see how far along you are.”
No, this isn’t negotiable. I don’t want an ultrasound. I’ve had dozens of ultrasounds before and I know what it will show – it will show a pregnancy that is 5-6 weeks along with a little beating heart and then I’m going to fall in love with that beating heart right then and there. And then you are going to make me come back again in a week or so and there’s that heart again and then I fall in love just a little bit more. A week later we’ll do it all again and I’ll find myself not only falling in love even more, but I’ll find myself at Target buying a sleeper, some little socks and I’ll start listing baby names. And you know what happens about a week or maybe three weeks after that? I’ll be in Target again and feel it. Feel some light cramping or maybe not so light cramping and then a drip..drip…drip. And then the good times well they really start. I will find myself back in the ultrasound room to see what I already know. I will see my baby. My baby that I fell in love with. Gone. Just like the last time and the time before that and the time before that and the time before that.
So no, I don’t want that doctor’s appointment or that ultrasound or that heartbeat or that falling in love or seeing that baby or buying that sleeper or those sweet dreams of meeting my new baby for the first time. I just want a D&C tomorrow so I don’t have to hope anymore.
Sometimes I think back to that conversation. I remember that woman. Me. Sitting on her kitchen floor with her head on her knees as she sobbed-shouted into the phone. And how she hung-up on the nurse that day for being so unreasonable. Then I think about how the doctor called me about an hour later and told me he just wanted me to come in so he could give me a hug and buy me a coffee. The doctor who told me three months earlier that it would be a million to one chance for me to have more children and any pregnancy would almost certainly end in another loss. The doctor who finally took hope out of my heart and I started to heal.
The next day in his office as he told me he thought we should do an ultrasound just ‘to see.’ I remember yelling at him for his betrayal of my heart and my hopes as he ripped me opened and played with my fragile emotions of motherhood.
“But Tracy you’ve been given one last chance. Never walk away from one last chance. You never know when this could be the one.”
Sometimes I hover too long over her crib at night. Her crib. She’s three and a half and still in a crib. My baby. My chance. I stroke her baby-soft cheek and move her blond curls away from her eyes. My tears fall onto her blankets maybe filling her slumber with dreams of her own that will come true one day. The same tears I shed on that kitchen floor four years ago when I thought all hope was gone.
This post originally appeared in Mamalode, but disappeared after their site migration. So I’ve brought it here. Home. Where it belongs.