Overheard at the OB-GYN's office

Thursday was a big day for me. Meeting with the midwife, the surgeon who performed my d&e, and going to an acupuncturist who specializes in getting women knocked up. The midwife, as always, put my mind at ease. I have zero regrets about choosing to involve a midwife in our childbirth plans. I had heard there is an extra-added element of emotional comfort. And so far I have had the most incredibly patient, kind, and caring folks to deal with. Including the receptionist for the midwife's office who has had to talk me off the ledge about 10 times. Maria is the face (and voice) of that office and does everything in her power to make you feel cared for and human.

Unfortunately, this was not the case at the OB-GYN's office. In all fairness, the doctor who performed my surgery and who met with me on Thursday was wonderful. Sweet, caring, and patient as well. A young mother herself, she seemed to identify with the loss of a pregnancy. I wish everyone in her office could have a similar sensitivity.

When I walked in for my followup appointment her receptionist did not even make eye contact with me. I scribbled my name on the sign-in sheet and sat down directly across from her "unwelcome" window, waiting for her to acknowledge me. This never occurred. She was focused on her task at hand, making lots of phonecalls to other patients in a somewhat controlled voice. Since I was sitting within earshot I could hear her phonecalls word for word. And suddenly, I realized who she was calling.

"Hi Cassandra, your appointment is tomorrow at 3pm. Don't have anything to eat or drink after midnight. Go to the Same Day Surgery on the 2nd floor of the Main Building..."

A few boring facts that evoked an instant flashback to the phonecall I had received just two weeks earlier. She was calling all of the women who had miscarried and setting up their surgeries. At first, I felt sorry for myself. I immediately remembered the sadness of accepting the loss of my pregnancy. Feelings flooded back that I had managed to either push past or push deep down for the last two weeks. What were the chances that I would be sitting there, within earshot, at the exact time the receptionist would be calling all these women? Didn't she have a clue that someone like me might be sitting in the waiting room? Couldn't she see my discomfort? Why didn't she slide her damn window closed to muffle the words I did not want to hear?

Once I got over my own mixture of anger, sadness, and sick irony, I started to feel something else. Empathy for these other women. And the harsh reality that this receptionist probably made phonecalls like this to women like me several times a week. There are so many of us. So many women who were so happy to have conceived... so happy to be growing a baby in her belly... and then so sad to have her hopes suddenly destroyed by miscarriage. It made me think not only about the phonecalls that receptionist has made in the past - probably thousands - but the phonecalls she will make in the future.

My midwife told me that 1 in 5 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. She said it's a lot more than you'd ever think. But once you have one - you realize there are so many other women out there, just like you. Instead of looking at miscarriage like an epidemic, I'd rather think about the community that we can, and should, create. Those of us who have gone through it can help the others who may one day experience it themselves. We need to be here for each other. And not keep our miscarriages tucked up inside. We should be able to talk about them, share our feelings, and most importantly - move on.

Thursday evening's appointment at the acupuncturist renewed my feelings of hope. She was an OB in China, but for the past 11 years she has solely performed acupuncture in the US. Mostly on women with fertility problems or who have had miscarriages. Her walls were covered with letters and pictures of all of the babies she helped bring into the world. Part way through my treatment, she told me to look at the wall and picture my letter up there. I smiled to myself and told her, I already had.