This morning as I sat waiting in the one of the little alcove's at the RE's office (2-hour glucose), I watched women come and go. Most of them were in and out for bloodwork. But there was this one couple that went into the u/s room, the tech was with them, then came out and then the doctor went in.
It was then that I knew it probably wasn't good.
Five minutes later, they all came out and the couple sat across from me. She was crying, trying to hold it together. I wished I could have been invisible. I felt like I was intruding on her grief. I tried very hard to just focus on my book, and give them as much privacy as possible.
But then, my ears perked up at the words, "but it was measuring 10 weeks 2, and that's what I am. How is that?" The conversation went back to murmuring, but it confirmed what I had suspected. That I was witnessing a m/c - live and in-person. I always feel sad when I read about someone's m/c on the boards or on their blog. But it's very different to sit across from the mother when she's processing that information in real-time.
A part of me wanted to reach out and tell her how sorry I was. But I didn't want to intrude and this is such a personal battle and she was already dealing with so much. It was incredibly heart-breaking to watch.
The tech did impress me, when she came to answer their questions, she repeatedly referred to "the baby" - not the fetus, or it, but as a baby. And that gave me a great deal of personal comfort, to know that this clinic views life as I do - life starts at conception. Even a few cells, is a baby.
It was then that I knew it probably wasn't good.
Five minutes later, they all came out and the couple sat across from me. She was crying, trying to hold it together. I wished I could have been invisible. I felt like I was intruding on her grief. I tried very hard to just focus on my book, and give them as much privacy as possible.
But then, my ears perked up at the words, "but it was measuring 10 weeks 2, and that's what I am. How is that?" The conversation went back to murmuring, but it confirmed what I had suspected. That I was witnessing a m/c - live and in-person. I always feel sad when I read about someone's m/c on the boards or on their blog. But it's very different to sit across from the mother when she's processing that information in real-time.
A part of me wanted to reach out and tell her how sorry I was. But I didn't want to intrude and this is such a personal battle and she was already dealing with so much. It was incredibly heart-breaking to watch.
The tech did impress me, when she came to answer their questions, she repeatedly referred to "the baby" - not the fetus, or it, but as a baby. And that gave me a great deal of personal comfort, to know that this clinic views life as I do - life starts at conception. Even a few cells, is a baby.
This is such a well-written post. How difficult.... I agree with you on the tech's compassion. I think I would have struggled with the urge to comfort versus not intrude, too. My heart goes out to them through your story. :-(
ReplyDeleteAw, that is so sad. I know you must have felt torn between wanting to reach out and give them privacy.
ReplyDeleteWow, that would be hard. And I wouldn't have any clue what to do either.
ReplyDeleteHere from LFCA/Kirtsy. I think this is an incredibly powerful post. I've been that woman twice and always felt invisible. I can't imagine how hard it was to be on the other side of the situation.
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