Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Maybe D&E stands for Dead End

The weird thing is, I called my RE today to run some unusual symptoms by him. Namely, the uncomfortable, if not downright painful, feeling that my reproductive organs were going to fall into the toilet during my first pee of the day. Brewing a bladder infection, I figured. (Never had one, but preferred that self-diagnosis to a self-diagnosed hyperextended uterus.)

So I left a message with the RE's receptionist. But, the day wore on (okay I waited around for an hour) and I am on vacation at my parents', so I headed down to the beach.

Anywho, my mother followed behind a short while later and reported having spoken to the RE. (We compared notes on his lovely phone etiquette and honey-dipped voice.) She was impressed by the fact that the good doctor had deigned to call me back himself.

Turns out (and this is the weird part), he had been trying to get in touch with me, today, via my home phone to relay the results of the karyotyping of my latest miscarriage. So, we seem to be star-crossed, the RE and I. I mean, of all the days in the last three weeks, I choose to ovulate (RE's diagnosis) on the very same day that he calls me. (Is it inappropriate to apply such an overtly romantic connotation to this coincidence? After all, he has seen more of my privates lately than my husband.)

So the truly sucky part is that there is no conclusive result from the karyotyping. Why? Because the lab didn't have success growing any chromosomes, or whatever it is they do. So I will never know why this pregnancy failed. One of the reasons I chose to have a D & E was that it would give me closure, some answers, and even peace of mind that, in fact, the pregnancy was very compromised. Now I will never have that luxury, so to speak. It may sound crass, but I wanted to know. I wanted some finality. And goddamn it, if I have to take a test, I want to know how I did!

Of course, the other way of looking at it is that I won't torture myself with statistics and future failure rates or whatever. But Jesus, people! Who f***ed up? Is it my doctor? Did he somehow screw up the D&E and not get a sufficient amount of tissue? (He discouraged this line of thinking in our phone conversation.) Did the lab misplace said tissue or run a faulty test? ("It happens," apparently.)

Okay, I can't sit here and get myself worked up. (I'll do that privately, with some Kleenex and a bottle of...oh, who am I kidding. I have to get up at the crack of ass tomorrow morning to chase my three-year old. There will be no consolation drinking for me tonight.)

It was a milestone, and I guess in this infertility battle, every milestone can be seen as some kind of backward/forward/sideways progress.

And I wanted to know.

I think it was a girl.


At 5:15 AM, Blogger Kath said...

Dear Casey, I am so very sorry for your losses, particularly this latest one, which must still hurt immensely. I wish there had been an answer for you. Hoping great happiness is around the corner.


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