To answer your questions: yes, I was in the room with S. It was awful, but I turned my chair away from the vacuum machine of death, so I didn’t see anything. Well, not entirely true. Part of the gory details are that I, (yes, me…ME) had to take the “sample” to the hospital pathology department (5 minute drive) because we did this at my doctor’s office and they don’t have a courier or some shit, and it is very time sensitive to get it to the lab right away, and another reason having to do with insurance. Um, yeah. By the time S was done writhing in pain, and had gotten dressed and peed in the bathroom, the front desk didn’t know where “it” was.
I had to tell them that there was mention of keeping it refrigerated, and in fact she found it in the medical stuff FRIDGE. And I saw her take it out. A bloody lump. Not all baby tissue, I know, but still. This seems entirely unnecessary to me, people. It was far away from me, across the room in fact, thank the fucking lord. But still. STILL.
I mean I should not have looked. I should have waited in the hallway. But COME ON woman. I had to ask this receptionist to PLEASE put it in a bag or something. She put it in a weird makeup bag (maybe a medical sample bag for some medication?) stuffed with tissue. The whole event was very unprofessional. Yet, our doctor is impressing us with her smarts and surprisingly healing bedside manner when things are fucked. So we are staying with them. But I think a phone call describing how unpleasant this was is in order. I mean, S and I are not super attached to the cell lump as our baby, but what if we were? As I type this I’m realizing that this incident was a little scarring for me. Tears feel close to the surface. I just don’t need the image, ya know? I dreamt about it last night. Yuck.
Where was I? Ah, yes, the questions. That was my long winded way of saying that yes, I took the, well “it”, in for a chromosomal analysis and something else where they check to make sure it was not a molar pregnancy. I really have no idea what the chromosomal analysis is testing for, how in depth it is, or what it will end up costing us.
I am nervous to find out what was wrong with “it”, and I REALLY don’t want to know the gender. I am going to have our doctor PLASTER our chart with a warning not to share this info with us. Right now S and I are comfortable thinking about it as “it”, not a baby, and the sex will tip that boat. No thank you.