TO SEE PART 1
I walked out the building, got in my car and began to drive home. It is funny how in those moments, the rest of the world is still moving on. Cars are speeding by, people are shopping, going on lunch break from work…and I was sandwiched in grief.
My parents were coming down in a few weeks and Jeff had purchased concert tickets for us all to enjoy. My Dad is a talented musician and my Mom enjoys outings with all of us, so we were looking forward to it. In light of what just happened, I was grateful to know my parents would be with us soon. I guess no matter how old I am, there is something special about sharing my joys and griefs with my parents and knowing they completely support us.
My miscarriage symptoms continued to occur after the shot administration and I became concerned when it did not let up several weeks later. The same day my parents were coming into town, my doctor fit me in her schedule. I explained my symptoms and she was concerned. She asked me if I had any pain. I had slight pain – nothing to be concerned with, in my opinion. After several questions (I don’t remember them all), my doctor was concerned that I might still be in danger of a ruptured tube. A ruptured tube is a serious medical issue…it can cause a woman to bleed to death. They wanted to take me to surgery that same day. She wanted to maneuver a scope inside of me (laparoscopy procedure) and see if there was a remaining pregnancy in my tube. I really did not think I needed the surgery at all. I called one of the doctors in my church, and explained my scenario to get a second opinion. He agreed with her. It was better to be safe than sorry. I spoke with Jeff, and he agreed it is not worth the risk to pass on the surgical procedure. We needed to know for sure that I was safe.
My parents were already on the road dressed for a concert! We contacted them and told them the situation. They quickly responded that God, knowing surgery would be needed, allowed it to happen when they were coming into town. God worked it all together for the good. (By the way, any of you that haven’t met my parents – well…they are simply the best).
I was taken to the hospital and began the “proceedings”. First, I sat across a fake oak desk answering the lady’s insurance questions. Then, they took me to a room where I was to dress in hospital garb and to remove my wedding band, watch, earrings, and any other thing that I might have worn that day. Then, I was taken to a waiting area, on a hospital bed, to await my surgery.
This was my first surgery and every indication I received from others told me it was no big deal at all. In fact, one of my friends told me her dad looked at surgery as a vacation away from everything. He felt like he had gone on a golf outing the last time he was in surgery, he was so relaxed upon waking up.
The room was very stark and commercial feeling. Cement floors, white walls, and stainless steel flanked my surroundings. There was not an ounce of warmth to be felt.
In contradiction to the staunchness of the room, Jeff tried to keep me light-hearted. I still had the ache of loss and disappointment so near to my heart, but as Jeff teased me, I couldn’t help but laugh…even if my heart was hurting and I was nervous about surgery.
Repeatedly I was asked my first, middle, and last name. My date of birth, if I was allergic to medications, if all my permanent teeth had grown in, if I ate fat-free or light yogurt and so on and so forth. Well, at least some of those questions were asked. Person after person asked me the exact same questions. I figured it was for my safety, though I remember finding it a little annoying.
The anesthesiologist came to my bedside and explained a few things in regards to anesthesia and asked me the same list of questions. Jeff was asked to leave and I was administered anesthesia drugs. This is the last thing I remember in that waiting area. I was out for my ‘golf game’.
All the sudden, I woke up vomiting profusely. There were four or five nurses surrounding me hurrying to help me. My mind was in complete action, but my body could not function and my words were coming out slurry. I felt sick. So sick. The nurses were wearing masks around me and were dressed in baby blue scrubs. I knew in an instant that surgery was not like a “golf outing”. I was miserable!
The room was cold and I was looking for my husband. Where was Jeff? I started crying like a baby, “I just want to go home, I just want to go home.” A nurse responded, “We’re trying to help you get ready to go home honey.” I remember resenting that response. It was patronizing. No – I wanted to go home now!!!!! Of course, I had no way of expressing myself clearly – all I could do was sob uncontrollably.
I heard scuffling and one of the nurses calling out to nearby staff – “Go get her husband.” Soon, Jeff appeared. I was still crying and saying that I wanted to go home. By the time I was able to leave the hospital, I was still vomiting, so I was given a bag to throw up in on the way home.
Anyone that knows me, knows that I like my house to be in perfect cleanliness and order ANYTIME someone comes over. There is just something in me driving me to household perfection in light of incoming visitors. Therefore, I had air freshener plug-ins all over our house.
I entered our home and a wave of lilac scent came over me and induced more vomiting. I remember garbling out to my husband, “Take the Plug-Ins out!!!”
I had prepared the bed for my parents to sleep in and Jeff and I were going to sleep in the guest room. I somehow mumbled to them that I still wanted to keep the sleep arrangements. I did not want my parents sleeping on a couch or in the guest room (that had a somewhat deflated waterbed). I slumped on the couch and apparently slept a very long time.
I woke up about 14 hours later hearing my family talking to each other. Now, I felt the pain from surgery. It dawned on me that God did not make our bodies to be cut into! It hurts! I had three small incisions from the surgery that served as entrance zones for their scope. To move at all caused pain. To sit up, lay down, etc, etc. I felt miserable. I literally could not imagine how people with major surgery could work through their recovery.
I quickly determined that I never again wanted surgery, and still feel the same today. The thought of someone telling me I have to have surgery would seriously cause me to ask serious questions, such as: ‘Will I die if I don’t get surgery?’ If the answer is yes, my next question would be, ‘Is it wrong before God to choose heaven instead of surgery?’
A few weeks later, after some physical healing had taken place, I prayed an unforgettable, heart-felt prayer. “Lord, I ask you to please not allow me to get pregnant if it will end in another miscarriage.”
“Please, Lord, don’t let me lose another baby. Please, Lord….Please.”