I love my OB. He's a good guy and probably as kind and compassionate a doctor as you'll ever get. He wasn't involved in any of the horrendous dealings we've had with the clinic in the last few weeks, and he actually apologized for the way we were treated - and with sincerity. He even had the decency to hang his head and avoid eye contact, he was so horrified on our behalf.
But as good a guy as he is, he still doesn't totally get it. We got the, "It was meant to be - better this than giving birth to a deformed baby" speech.
Oh, well okay then.
See, the thing is, I just don't know that that's true anymore. We all say we want a healthy, happy baby, but I've just added two dead ones to my list of five, and so I'm no longer sure I actually do need a perfect child. I'd take one that wasn't so perfect if I could just bring it home.
And aside from that, after what we've been through over the last four years, I simply don't need the "it was meant to be" speech. I'm way past needing that. I don't need to be told that the babies are in a better place, I don't need to be told that I have angels looking out for me, I don't need to be told that it was God's will, and I don't need to be told that that they weren't going to survive and this was simply nature's way of taking care of it.
I know all that. I know it. I learned it all the first time I sat hunched in agony in the ER waiting to miscarry our first child.
I'm not angry when I hear it all again. It's not that it bothers me per say, it's just that it's a waste of air. It's a waste of words, of time, of energy. And at the end of it all I have no choice but to nod in agreement and say thank you, even though what I really want to do is sigh, roll my eyes and tell the well-meaning person that now isn't the time to look for the silver lining.
But I'm saying this standing in my shoes looking out from my eyes. It's easy to know what to say and do when you're the one who knows what you need said and done.
I suppose it didn't help that the doctor, again attempting to soften the blow and make us feel better while he delivered the news we didn't want to hear, described the D&C as a simple, 5-minute procedure. In and out, as it were.
But the thing is, I've had a D&C. I know the drill. And hearing that it'll just take 5 minutes to scoop out the remains of the two little tigers we thought were going to complete our family doesn't really help me at all. Not one bit.