D&C: Wrong Day?

It was time for the baby to go. For two days after we found out I didn't take a shower. I didn't want to look at my midsection. That might sound weird. I don't care. It's part of why I'm writing this down. To get the weirdness out. 

For several days I kept thinking, there is a dead baby in there. When I got dressed I thought, I'm putting a shirt on over my dead baby. I'm walking the dog with my dead baby. I'm taking my dead baby to work. 

Horrible horrible thoughts. I was in a terrible melancholy mood. Friday couldn't come fast enough, and I think my husband would have agreed with me.

Friday morning I got up early and despite the warning not to eat or drink anything after midnight I had a cup of coffee. And half a brownie. In five hours my baby was going to get sucked from my uterus, I needed some chocolate and a little caffeine. I told my husband I wasn't supposed to eat or drink, but that I was going to eat this anyway. He was okay with that. It's one of the reasons I love him.

He also made us late. It's one of the reasons he drives me crazy. Schedules are suggestions to him. "You don't really have to be there two hours early," he said. 

"Yes. I do." 

"We'll just be waiting around for two hours." 

When we parked the truck in the parking garage we were already thirty minutes late. It was a fifteen minute frantic walk around the hospital looking for surgery before we found Surgery Admit. Despite the circumstances the nurse at the desk did not respond to my situation with "character." 

"You're here for what?" She asked.

"A D&C." I said for the second time since our initial introduction.

"What time were you scheduled?"
"One o'clock." I looked at the clock on the wall, it was 11:45. We were scheduled to be at the hospital at 11:00 for Pre-Op Admissions. But my husband was my driver, and I've already talked about his attitude toward schedules.

"What doctor?" The nurse asked, looking at a computer screen. 

"Blackstone." 

"What's your name."

I told her. Robyn Jones. 

"You aren't on our list. I don't have your chart. Can you sit over there please?" Sure, of course. I was dressed in sweatpants and no operating room to go to. This is why we get here two hours early. I started to cry.

The nurse came over after a few minutes with a piece of paper. I saw she had scribbled my name down. And it was spelled wrong! Relief was so intense I almost laughed. That's why I wasn't on the list. "My name is wrong," I said, "It's R.O.B.Y.N. Not with an I. It's my fault, I should have spelled it for you." Whew. I smiled at my husband, I don't remember if he smiled back. She shuffled off with my corrected name on her paper. 

"Is your birthday May 2, 1983?" She called from her desk.

"Yes." 

"I found you! But you are scheduled for 11/12/12 not 10/12/12," this time she was the one laughing. Not really laughing, just a chuckle, but to me it was a mean spirited hateful laugh. Like, you dummy you came in on the wrong day! Come back in a month. Haha.

"No," I said, "you have the date wrong. It's scheduled for today." 

She looked doubtful. "What are you scheduled for again?"

For the third time, "A D&C." 

"Let me call the surgeon."

Over the whoosh of the automatic OR doors opening and closing I could hear her muffled conversation with the doctor's office. I was having my own internal conversation with myself, I'm not leaving here with this baby, I'll go to another hospital, I'll find another doctor, they'll have to pry me out of this chair if they think I'm leaving without one less person- 

"Ma'am," the nurse was back. "We're adding you on." 

Thank you Jesus.