Work sucked today. I went in early because I knew I’d lose time during the middle of the day due to my ultrasound. I checked in on time—no small feat—and was informed they were running 20 minutes behind. Waiting, waiting, running my battery down in the dungeon that is the radiology waiting room.
This girl was worth the wait. I love people who are forthcoming rather than distant—I feel like I can trust them more. She brought me into the ultrasound suite and casually asked for my version of why I was here today. The official consult request merely stated “OB ultrasound for viability.” I began to tell her and she looked at me strangely—“You know a lot of medical stuff.” I laughed, and responded that I’m a nurse, though I think many of my non-nurse friends know just as much, if not more, about their specific niche of baby-barriers.
It opened the door though. She mentioned she wasn’t supposed to be telling me as much as she was, and emphatically thanked her for being so open. My greatest fear all morning was being stuck with an uptight tech who wouldn’t tell me anything; some techs would hardly ever let me see the screen because these are “medical procedures,” not for fun. I completely get it—techs are under the gag order for a reason, but it ruins it for the rest of us.
Unofficially, there is no ectopic pregnancy. The relief is ENORMOUS. I don’t have to tread carefully, worrying unnecessarily about rupturing a tube. I still haven’t heard from the radiologist or my ob/gyn, who was off work today after working in L&D overnight, but I also know that no news is… not the worst news. If the ultrasound tech and my nosy self somehow missed an ectopic, I’m sure I would’ve actually received a phone call from someone with instructions.
Between demanding work and my immediate relief at not having an ectopic pregnancy, I know I haven’t fully dealt with the fact that I should be miscarrying this weekend. My ob/gyn should be back at work on Wednesday, so I’ll likely receive instructions then. Having read Mona Darling’s misoprostol (Cytotec) experience, I now want to also ask for pain medication. As someone now going through this, I really appreciate full accounts of what I can expect, and Mona even made me laugh.
When we went grocery shopping yesterday, I bought 3 dark chocolate bars—“for my miscarriage next weekend,” I told DH. I envision myself cycling between the bed and the toilet in agony, but what’s even worse than that? Sticking the misoprostol up my hoo-hah and NOT miscarrying over the weekend. Mondays are always so hard already.
I hope to update you soon with some variation of my congratulations-you’re-only-having-a-miscarriage! official email.