One Year Later

Maybe everyone does this trick, but I do it regularly and always have: I think about where I was a year ago, two years ago, three, seven, twenty. Where was I? What was I doing? I think of my past selves in unison with me now--all of us on this day doing the thing that we have done or the thing that we will do.

March 14 and 15 will always stand out for me. It was on these days a year ago that I had my abortion.

Me now, I am sitting on my back porch. It's unusually warm in my northern city tonight, and I'm wearing a sundress and flip-flops. I had Mexican food and margaritas with a friend tonight. I came home to my boyfriend, who is hunched over his computer inside, hard at work. I pulled a beer from the fridge and came out here to clear my mind and think.

A year ago I was curled up with my boyfriend watching Cool Runnings as a cool early spring night blew against the windows. Earlier that day, I had had laminaria inserted in the first of a two-day procedure. To calm my nerves for the surgery day, I had requested this film from my childhood. The last time I had watched it, I realized, was when I had my tonsils out. Do I have go-to, pre- and post-surgery flicks? Apparently.

I think about this blog regularly. I mainly think about the women who land here, who send me emails and who comment. I hope that this blog has been helpful to anyone going through an abortion. I think about you and my heart is full of love and support for you. What you are going through is incredibly difficult, and you are so strong. You probably don't know how strong you are. If you ever need to ask me anything, as a woman who has been through this procedure, just as another lady out there in the world, or whatever else, please do not hesitate to email me.

As for me, I'm doing well. I'm here on my back porch tonight, taking a break from my life to return to this blog that I once needed to share my story. My abortion isn't my day-to-day world anymore. I think about it sometimes. I think about what my life might be like had it not happened--in that "What If?" kind of way. But the moment is always fleeting, and I never doubt my choice.

These days my focus is on my career, my future with my boyfriend, my friends and my family. Talking with friends and family about my experience has brought me closer to them. The abortion helped my boyfriend and I acknowledge our differences and, in many ways, work through them. I can't imagine the people we were then bringing a child into the world. These days, when we talk about our future, there are children, but our relationship is stable and the pregnancy would be planned.

I have been off hormonal birth control since June, when the dreaded Depo-Provera shot finally wore off. I have been waiting for my menstrual cycle to regulate to its own normal before I pull the trigger on a Paragard IUD. The boyfriend and I have been using condoms in the meantime. Both condoms and humans are faulty, and we've had a couple trips to the pharmacy for Plan B pills. I'm pretty certain these huge doses of hormones helped further throw off my system, but my period seems to have finally regulated. I'm planning a Paragard insertion closer to summertime. Some of my ambivalence about Paragard remains. The longer and heavier menstrual bleeding with the Paragard sounds pretty blech to me, but I'm willing to put up with it to avoid hormones for now. If and when I get it inserted, I will update here as I know a lot of women wonder about IUDs.

There is no doubt that deciding to have an abortion was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but it was the only choice that was right for me.

If you are facing this situation and scared, I understand. I know. If you are ambivalent, I know. If you are conflicted, I know. There are so many women out there--1 in 3 of us--who know. And it will be okay. I, someone who never thought she would have an abortion--let alone a second trimester one, someone who was unwillingly shown her ultrasound, someone who experienced a rare complication post-op, I promise you that it will be okay.

If you are making this choice for you, without pressure from a significant other, a doctor, a friend, a parent, or anyone else, if you are doing it safely, and if know this is what you need, you are making the right choice for you. There are so many of us who can assure you: It will be okay. You will be okay.

If you ever want to ask me anything, again, please email. I have posted links on the sidebar that are meant as resources for women going through this experience. I used many of them when I was in your shoes. If you have a blog you'd like me to link to, or a resource you've found that you'd like to share, please email or comment, and I will post it.

I am 27, pro-choice and was (for a short time last year) pregnant. I conceived during menstruation, took oral contraceptives for three straight months afterward and then learned of my pregnancy at 13 weeks. I had a second trimester abortion at 14 weeks. I had a post-operative complication 10 days later. The odds of conception during menstruation is nearly* 1 in 1,000. I was one in one thousand, I'm okay, and you will be too.

Lots of love to you,
One in One Thousand

One Month (and Three Days) Later

It is exactly one month and three days since my March 15th procedure. Things return to normal, and I'm still okay.

After meeting with my OB/GYNE last week, I've decided to have the Mirena IUD inserted. We ordered an IUD, and now we wait for insurance paperwork to clear. This process can take up to a month. The ideal time to have an IUD inserted is during menstruation (soft cervix!), so it's too bad that I couldn't have an IUD inserted last week when I happened to have my period during my visit to the doc.

While I'm physically back to normal, and I apparently gained 0.6 pounds in my Post-Abortion Chocolate Chip Cookie Recovery Plan, returning to a normal sex life with my boyfriend has been a bit rocky. The bumps on the road to sexual bliss have nothing to do with any physical ailments related to the procedure or the complication and may not have even anything mental-emotional to do with the procedure or complication either. (I was having infections and vaginal pain prior to the pregnancy.) But, as my gynecologist put it the other day, me and my cervix have been through an awful lot in the last month alone. My boyfriend and I cope with understanding and taking things slow. It seems to be working as my libido is on the rise (hooray!) and sex hasn't been painful in the last several days.

Emotionally, I feel more and more like myself with each passing day. There's no question that the abortion will be a part of who I am, but it will not comprise my entire being as it did during the process and my immediate recovery.

I'm a strong believer that things happen for a reason, though we must have the strength to seek those reasons, make sense of them and then build and follow the paths that lay before us. I feel like I'm emerging from the dark pain and difficulty that obscured my vision and entering into a clarity and light where I'm doing just that. It feels right and good.

About the Complication and Being Okay

The lovely ProSanity commented on my lengthy entry about the complication's chronological breakdown, "We need every side of every story. We need everyone to know that an abortion ISN'T the end of the world and a complication after one isn't a death sentence."

Yes, exactly!

I wrote at great length about the complication as that's my style. I personally wanted as many details as possible about what to expect before my procedure.

But I also want to offer up an abbreviated version:

About the Complication

My complication happened because my uterus did not evacuate its lining and blood clots on its own. As the doctors put it, there was tissue left in my uterus.

The complication happened ten days after my D&E procedure. I bled a lot for a few hours, went to the ER with my boyfriend, met some nice medical professionals and was discharged and prescribed Misoprostol (or Cytotec) to help contract my uterus and push out whatever tissue was left.

I took two doses of Misoprostol on two different nights, passed clots, bled more, had some mild cramping, and then, that was it.

That was it. I was just fine, felt good and doing well.

I do not mean to suggest that serious complications never happen or that this is a topic to be taken lightly.

Complications happen--I'm proof. And extremely rare serious complications also happen, as with any surgical procedure, and a patient should be fully informed and seek out information from her trusted medical professionals. I found fascinating and concrete statistics on abortions, complications, and more on this stat sheet from the Guttmacher Institute, a fabulous resource that I recommend reading just for starters.

I will also happily add that abortion is legal in my country, and therefore the complication and mortality rates are significantly lower than they would be if the procedure were illegal.

My personal experience with abortion was far from perfect. I saw an ultrasound I asked not to see; The OB/GYNE team I knew was called off my case last minute, and I never met the attending physician who operated on me; I had a complication when my uterus retained tissue and I wound up in the ER.

And guess what? Even with all those less-than-perfect things, I am fine. I am not traumatized, and I am healthy and happy. So are millions of other women out there today who have had this procedure. And if you are in the position I was in, facing an unplanned pregnancy that you know you want to terminate, and you are reading this entry and feeling scared or upset or angry or frustrated or sad, it's okay.

You will be fine too.

Recovery Update - 3 Weeks Later

Three weeks after the procedure and eleven days after my complication, I am doing really, really well!

The spotting has dropped off to barely-there, if it's there at all. At this point, I am not sure if this spotting I occasionally see is related to the procedure, the complication or because I had a Depo-Provera shot. The "Birth Control Shot" is known to cause spotting and irregular bleeding.

My appetite is returning to normal too. I realized after the fact that pregnancy made me, well, way healthier. I couldn't get enough veggies, virtually cut out alcohol, and most shockingly, my notorious sweet tooth was replaced with a citrus tooth. (I remarked to my boyfriend after we found out that I was pregnant that the time I ate a whole lemon should have been a clue to strange cravings and pregnancy.) But in the last week or two, I have been happily eating ice cream and cookies and indulging myself. Planning to cut that out before it becomes a problem!

Over the weekend my OB/GYNE called me just to say hi, check in and see how I was doing. How awesome is that? What a great doctor. We scheduled an appointment for next week to discuss future birth control options. I had planned to have a Mirena IUD inserted, but the complication left me feeling relieved that my uterus is finally empty, so I'm a little hung up mentally. I'm debating between continuing with the Mirena IUD plan and scheduling another Depo-Provera shot. Looking forward to discussing my options with an OB/GYNE I trust!

Bills, Bills, Bills

The medical bills are beginning to roll in and are about $8,500 for the procedure. My insurance covers everything except for a $250 deductible.

I know that my procedure is a bit more expensive for two reasons: First, I had the procedure in a fancy urban hospital. Second, I was in my second trimester.

My decision to do the two-day procedure at the hospital was primarily impacted by both my former and my new OB/GYNE recommending this particular hospital. One OB/GYNE had just sent a physician friend there for a surgical abortion, and the other OB/GYNE explained that this hospital's ultrasound team (a key component of a second trimester abortion so the physicians can best see the surgery as they perform it) is top-notch.

I remember when I first called the hospital's family planning clinic to begin scheduling appointments, their administrator explained that surgical procedures after 13 weeks can top $10,000. She told me this fact before we knew whether my insurance would cover the procedure. I spent the rest of the day waiting, worrying and wondering what my options were if I was not covered. I am incredibly thankful for my insurance.

But It Wasn't

I've had quite a few hits from various anti-choice blogs recently. Evidently my raw emotions in the moment of unwillingly seeing my ultrasound (Thanks again for your subersive message and/or negligence, Dr. D.) strike chords with the anti-choice community because I referred to the image I saw in that ultrasound as looking "like a baby."

The passage, specifically, refers to the moment after my gynecologist--informed that I did not plan this pregnancy, wanted to terminate the pregnancy and that I had no desire to see the ultrasound--told me I could go ahead and sit up after she had performed the ultrasound:

I sat up and opened my eyes. To my right, the hovering ultrasound glowed, its screen facing toward me still showing the image of the fetus inside of me. I only saw it for a moment, just long enough to register a little head and nose, arms and a body curled up and facing left.

It looked like a baby.

It looked exactly like the ultrasound that I had imagined for my future.

"Can you please turn that off?" I said weakly, my eyes shut again.

All that I wrote is true. It's exactly what I felt when I was in that moment. It was so upsetting, and it was the image of why terminating pregnancies is so difficult for most women. But for so many women, it wouldn't matter if they saw a fetus at 13 weeks, an embryo at six, or nothing at all. It's upsetting. It's not a happy choice.

The fact that this fetus--this potential life--had begun to take a human form was difficult to see, even for someone like me who has never believed that life begins at conception. Still, seeing the ultrasound had a profound impact on me and on my decision making process.

I researched pro-choice, pro-life and unbiased websites. I spoke to multiple doctors. I read endlessly about the developmental process of the fetus, from conception to birth. I tracked where I was at that point and looked at illustrations of what the fetus looked like and how it had developed. My extensive and exhaustive research even drew my boyfriend and I into an argument.

"You must either want this pregnancy or you are trying to make this as difficult as possible on yourself," he said.

It wasn't either of these things.

Eventually my boyfriend came to understand that I needed to know as much as possible to make my decision. I wanted to make my choice to either bring this pregnancy to term or to terminate it after exploring every facet of our situation. I exposed myself to enlightening, helpful, painful, and even some judgmental information because I wanted to make a fully-informed decision. I did not want to have any regrets.

Perhaps it did make my decision more difficult. Lots of things did: that ultrasound, the sudden bump that appeared, reading terribly derisive websites that called me a baby-killer...

Ultimately, and I have said this before too: "My choice was right for me, my partner and the potential life I carried for 14 weeks. I am grateful to be 26, unmarried and without children, paving a life path that is right for me and that will allow me to flourish as a woman and, one day, a mother."

But the above has also been quoted by both pro-choice and anti-choice websites because, simply, we have different basic beliefs. I don't believe life begins at conception. I also don't believe life begins when a potential life begins to look "like a baby." I believe life begins with sentience, something medical studies (including this JAMA article on fetal pain) find does not begin until the third trimester.

The pro-lifers believe that life starts at conception. I appreciate and respect that belief, though I do not agree with it.

I can understand how a pro-life blog might balk that I saw an ultrasound that looked like a baby and that I could still make the choice to terminate the pregnancy. I appreciate that opinion, though I do not agree with it and I do not respect any individual who believes they are worthy of judging me or my decision.

I will not force my beliefs upon any other individual, and I would ask and expect that other individuals would do the same.

For what it's worth, what I do believe is this:

I believe that I want to provide the very best for my future children.

I believe that I want to give myself the very best in my life to be able to do so.

I believe that I want to be financially sound so I am not scraping by (or helping support my parents) when I have children.

I believe that I want to have a strong, warm and loving home (and not be living out of a bag in my car, bouncing from my apartment where my parents now stay to my boyfriend and his roommates' place) when I have children.

I believe that I want to be in a solid partnership and marriage when I have children.

I believe that I have a right to choose when having children is right for me.

I believe that by living my life the way I want to live it, developing my independence and growing as a person, I will be the best damn mother to my future children.

I believe that this experience has profoundly changed me.

I believe that I am already a more patient, less judgmental and more open person.

I believe that--after years of patience, excuses for anti-choice friends and desperately seeking an understanding middle ground--I am no longer going to tolerate the damaging anti-choice rhetoric that threatens this country, intimidates and judges my fellow women and impinges on tolerance, rights and progress.

I believe now more than ever before that women (not just in this country, but across the world) deserve the very best and so rarely get it.

And I believe that in my life I will help at least some of those women find the support, strength and services they deserve.

Yes, seeing that ultrasound hurt then and it still hurts now, but I made the choice that was right for me. Ultimately, it looked like a baby, but it wasn't.

A Chronological Breakdown of My Complication and a Trip to the Emergency Room

*Before you read, you should know that this entry will be relatively graphic--lots of blood, my friends--compared to my other posts.  I should also be clear that this was not a miscarriage, and the tissue left in my body was either blood clots or, at worst, placenta.

I decided to write in detail about my complication because when I went into this process, I never read about any complications on other abortion blogs.

I scoured those blogs for the details of what to expect from the surgery, what other women's experiences were like, what healing and moving on was like... So I think I should be detailed about this part of the process too. Again, hopefully it helps someone.*


6:50 PM
On Friday evening at work, I suddenly became very crampy. I sat for quite a while at my desk, waiting for the cramps to pass before I got up to use the restroom. When I used the restroom, I felt a huge gush of blood and glanced down to discover the toilet bowl, as I described to the doctors later that night in the ER, "looked like a bucket full of red paint, opaque." Literally, I couldn't see the walls of the toilet bowl or the bottom of it. It was just bright red and thick with blood.

That was disconcerting, but I didn't let it phase me too much. I noted that it the bright red color was something I had been told to watch for, however, and decided to keep my eye on my pad for heavy bleeding. Soaking one pad an hour, I remembered my paperwork saying, would mean a phone call to the on-call doctor at the OB/GYNE office.

7:00 PM
I drove home with plans to eat some dinner with my folks before heading out for a game night with friends.

However, I felt crampy upon getting home, noticed more blood and decided to take a Motrin and a hot shower to try to alleviate the cramping. I explained to my mom what was up, she threw some dinner on for me and I jumped in the shower.

Again, I used the toilet to find yet more blood, though not completely opaque this time. I showered.

7:45 PM
I put a new pad (Pad #1 since getting home) on.

8:30 PM
Forty-five minutes later, I had bled pretty heavily in the pad, but I wouldn't say I had "soaked" it. I had noticed, however, that when I sat on the toilet, lots and lots of blood would come out. So there was blood not catching in the pad that would definitely add to its soaking factor.

With that in mind, I called the OB/GYNE's after-hours emergency number, spoke to a male nurse (I mention this because I have never ever dealt with a man before this moment at an OB/GYNE office. This was a first for me.), described the bleeding in detail, and requested that the on-call doctor call me ASAP.

He said the on-call doctor would call me back within twenty minutes. Happily, she called back within five minutes, and we discussed my bleeding. Since I wasn't quite soaking a pad per hour, she asked me to monitor myself for the next hour or two and call back if things were the same or got worse.

Bleeding is generally a sign of something left in the uterus, she said, either placenta or blood clots that haven't passed. If that was the case, I'd need to come into the ER where she would see me. The ER, unfortunately, was the only way I could get to the OB/GYNE team. She apologized for that, which seemed unnecessary but kind.

8:40 PM
I texted my boyfriend to let him know what was up, in case I did need to go to the ER. I felt bad, knowing he was hanging out with his ex-girlfriend (Yup, both he and I are the types who remain close friends with our exes.) and not wanting to make him worry unnecessarily. It didn't seem possible at this point that I would go to the ER, I kept saying to myself. After texting him, I had some ice cream while I sat on the floor watching NCAA basketball with my parents.

During this time, I could feel the bleeding picking up. I could also feel some small clots passing, which is a bizarre sensation since you cannot control or stop the passage of a clot. It's upsetting in the same way as vomiting or, I assume as I happily have not experienced this, uncontrollable diarrhea. Your body is doing something, and you can't do a single thing to stop it. It's a very helpless and foreign feeling.

8:50 PM
My phone rang ten minutes after my text. It was the boyfriend, very concerned and asking me if I wanted him to come pick me up from my apartment to go to the ER right away. I insisted that I didn't, that it probably wasn't anything, and I'd just keep my eyes peeled. But as I talked to him, I had stood up and I felt another clot pass and I sucked my breath in.

"Ughh," I moaned. "Okay, I may need to go, but let's not go yet. I was told to wait an hour and monitor myself anyway."

He agreed, and we hung up.

I changed my pad again. Pad #2.

9:00 PM
I went back to watching basketball and nervously eating ice cream, wondering if eating was a bad idea if I possibly was going to be rushed into an operating room in the next several hours. At this point, I had had three slices of pizza and now ice cream. I stopped eating the ice cream.

I chatted with my mom about the latest sensations, and she insisted that she used to have clotting with her period sometimes. Maybe this was just a bad period?

Uh, no, Mom. I said. I know what period clotting is like. This is definitely more than just a bad period.

9:20 PM
Thirty minutes passed, and the boyfriend called again around 9:20. This time, he was more insistent. What was the difference, he said, between waiting another thirty minutes or going now? He wanted to come pick me up, and as we talked, I checked my pad.

To my horror, as I checked my pad (which was already pretty bloody), two clots the size of quarters, if a quarter was a sphere, dropped down into my underwear.

"Ughhh!!"

"What is it? Is it cramping??" my boyfriend asked.

"No," I said. "No, it's just... it's gross. It's just really, really gross." I paused for a second and fished the clots out of my underwear and dropped them into the toilet.

"Is it bleeding?" he asked urgently.

"No, it's clots," I said. "Uh, yeah. Let's go to the ER. Like, now."

9:25 PM
We got off the phone, and I changed my pad again. (Pad #3.)

It took the boyfriend about thirty minutes to get to his place and grab his car (he had been on his motorcycle, which obviously wouldn't work to transport me) and then to my place.

In the meantime, I called the on-call doctor. I first spoke with a new nurse, who said the doctor would return my call "tonight."

I got hot and bothered, asked her if she was aware that the doctor had already spoken with me and that this was an emergency. The nurse then said in a very disinterested voice that it probably wouldn't be that long.

Thankfully, the doctor called me within ten minutes. I spoke with her and confirmed that I should be coming in. The ER would expect me, she said.

I would go through the ER routine and then be taken back for an ultrasound. The ultrasound would reveal whether I had anything left in my uterus. At that point, they would decide whether I should take a drug to help evacuate the uterus, or if I needed surgery, a D&C.

I asked her if my boyfriend could be with me, and she said he could be at my side the whole time, up until the point and only if I needed surgery.

I packed an overnight bag (I have become an expert at the You're Having an Abortion! checklist, apparently... Sigh.) and was suddenly very happy that I had lots of pads and stick-on heating pads leftover from two weeks ago. I had even bought oversized underwear for after my procedure and never used it. Now was the time! I threw a stick-on heating pad on my back and waited, updating this blog in the meantime.

I then sat with my parents, talked with them about what was going on and got very upset when I explained I might need a D&C. They hugged me as I cried.

10:00 PM
When my boyfriend arrived at 10 PM to pick me up, I thought about changing my pad one last time but wanted so badly to get moving that I didn't. The bleeding didn't seem too bad for the last 30 minutes, so I stuffed two or three extra pads into my purse and off we went. I would later regret this decision.

10:20 PM
We arrived at the hospital complex. I insisted to the boyfriend that I wanted to park the car with him in the garage and walk to the ER. I wasn't interested in going in alone.

However, while walking to the ER, I realized that this may have been a bad idea. I felt small clots passing and blood... not quite gushing, and not quite dripping... from my vagina. I picked up the pace to the ER.

The entrance to the ER features a fun little door contraption that requires you to enter through one set of sliding doors, stand in a particular box, wait for the first set of sliding doors to close and then wait for a second set of doors to open. The boyfriend didn't understand and was complaining about the stupid doors while I could feel more blood pouring out of me, and I dragged him into the right box with perhaps not the friendliest of pulls.

10:30 PM
We checked into the ER.

For my first check-in, I checked in at the front desk just to get the basics in the system. There was, of course, very little privacy for this process. I announced that I was bleeding like crazy from my vagina and that I had a D&E procedure ten days prior. The nurse marked some things down and explained I would now check in to get a wristband.

Then, I moved down the counter for the second part of the check-in. I confirmed my name and birthdate and got my wristband. While we were standing there, an RN moved out right next to us and called my name.

"Right here!" I responded.

She glanced around the room and called my name again.

"She's right here!" the nurse checking me in said louder.

The RN stared blankly around the room, looked at her chart and began to call my name again.

"RIGHT HERE!" the nurse and I both very loudly responded to her. The RN blinked at me several times and then gestured that I join her at her station.

For the third, final and most grueling part of my check-in, I was checked by this RN, Tina, we will call her. Tina had me sit down in her patient's cream fabric chair, which I had  the good sense to throw down my dark coat over before sitting. (No, this may be my most intense, but it is certainly not my first rodeo, Uterine Blood.)

Her station was, like the rest of the waiting room and check-in area, not private. The boyfriend stood somewhat in front of me, blocking most of the waiting room, but conversations and the buzz of the TV could be heard in detail.

Tina took my vitals and asked me a few questions.

Tina:  Why are you at the ER this evening?

Me:  I had a D&E procedure ten days ago, and now I am bleeding profusely.

Tina:  Bleeding from where?

Me:   ... Uh, my vagina.

Tina:  You had a what kind of procedure?

Me:  A D&E.

Tina:  What is that?

Me:  ...A dilation and evacuation.

Tina:  A what? What is that?

Me:  ...An abortion... A pregnancy termination.

Tina:  Oh! ... (Tina gets whispery.) OH, oh gosh. Oh, I am so sorry.

Me:  Uhhh, it's okay.

Tina:  What did you say it's called again?

Me:  A dilation and evacuation procedure.

Tina:  Ok. Why did you terminate the pregnancy?

Me:  (Given the way things were going here, I got angry for a half-second, thinking that Tina was getting personal, before I realized that she probably was more interested in whether I had any medical complications that led to the termination.) It was unplanned.

Tina:  Unplanned. (She jots some notes down.) Ok. How many pads are you going through?

Me:  (Feeling what is now a sopping-wet pad underneath me.) Uh, more than one an hour, at this point.

Tina:  Hm. OK. (She fidgets a bit.) I'm going to have to ask my neighbor about this. Sorry. I'm new to this, and I don't know what triage to put you at.

Me:  (New to this. Okay, so this explains something...) Okay.

Tina:  (Leaves, returns, holding a urine cup.) Ok, I need you to wait in the waiting room, and we'll need a urine sample from you. The bathroom is right over there. (She gestures to a hallway off the waiting room.)

Me:  Uh, you need me to do the urine test and then hold onto it?

Tina:  Oh yes. We just need to be sure, you know, that you were pregnant. Just in case, you know, the doctors want to do a CAT scan.

Me:  (Though I am thinking, WTF?! Was I pregnant? CAT scan?? Is this really how crazy hospital administrative BS is??? ...) Uh, I absolutely have to do the urine sample out here?

Tina:  Oh, no! There's a bathroom back there if you can't pee yet.

Me:  I think I'll do that, as long as the doctors know they're probably going to wind up with a mess of blood instead of urine.

At this point, I did go to the waiting room bathroom because I was freaked about how wet my pad was feeling. In true shitty waiting room fashion, there was NO LOCK on this door, and I put my purse in front of it in a very feeble attempt to keep anyone from entering the bathroom.

I discovered that not only was my pad a heaping mess of blood, but my underwear was more or less soaked through too, and I had bled through my stretch pants. Now, anywhere I sit down, I would leave a little red splotch. Fabulous.

In trying to clean myself up, I got blood all over the bathroom floor, toilet seat and sink and then spent time cleaning up after myself too.

I finally returned to my spot in the waiting room, recognized that there was indeed a little red splotch where I had sat briefly, tucked my dark jacket underneath me and sat down. I updated the blog again, taking in the sights and smells of the waiting room. I was happy that we arrived when we did as it was clear already that a later-night, crazier and more upsetting crowd was already arriving.

11 PM:
A friendly nurse called me back to the ER. The nurse rotated my bed for me so that it faced the wall rather than the curtained sheet that separated it from a very busy hallway.

The hallway outside my room was full of other cases--people in wheelchairs, people on gurneys. The gentleman right outside my room was a middle-aged black man on a gurney who was high on cocaine, suicidal and liked orange juice. We would listen to several different medical professionals talk to him throughout the evening, the least effective of whom is Tina who chided him repeatedly.

I went to the bathroom in the ER to attempt that urine sample. The boyfriend and I, after I slipped into my gown, tried to guess what substance my urine sample most looked like. I said tomato juice, but he disagreed and suggested that it looked like some kind of chemical experiment.

A nurse took my vitals again since I was losing so much blood. I kept my underwear and my pad on, though a disposable underpad (lifesaver!) had been tucked underneath me. The nurse also took several blood samples and hooked an IV needle into my arm in case I needed fluids later.

The ER resident arrived to discuss my situation with me. She was intense with hair slicked back into an oily ponytail and a bedside demeanor that involved her sitting wide-legged on her rolling stool while she knotted her face into concerned looks and nodded meaningfully. It was a bit unsettling, and as the boyfriend later said, it felt like she had just returned from her fifth tour of duty in Iraq, but I did like her.

She seemed uneasy about the pelvic exam she was about to perform on me.

"Listen," the ER resident said, "nobody likes pelvic exams. I don't like giving them. You don't like getting them. So we'll just do this as fast as possible."

Uh, okay. Pelvic exams are not that bad, in my book, but ten-four.

I explained that I was bleeding profusely, and at this point, I wanted to throw my underwear away. I requested a pair of disposable underwear for later, which the nurse brought me.

11:15ish PM
It's time for Pelvic Exam Number 1.

I peeled off my bloody underwear, wrapped it up as best I could and, with no help from the resident or my boyfriend, tossed it into a distant trashcan.

"Ha! See, I sort of know how to play basketball," I said to no one in particular. (I would talk somewhat crazily like this throughout the entire ER visit. Not totally sure in retrospect if I was just nervous and trying to calm down or losing lots of blood and not thinking clearly.)

The ER resident directed me into the stirrups and immediately said in surprise, "Oh wow. You weren't kidding. That's a lot of blood."

I looked proudly at my boyfriend. Check me out! Lots of blood, did you hear that? Aww, yeah. How awesome is your girlfriend?

As she put together the ambulatory pelvic exam contraption, she explained, "We get lots of women in the ER who say they are bleeding a lot. 'Meh, I'm bleeding through a pad an hour!' Yeah, right. No, this is a lot of blood."

She began the pelvic exam, and it was immediately clear that she's not an OB/GYNE professional. The speculum scraped my vaginal canal, and I tried to stay relaxed.

"Have you been passing clots like this?" she asked.

Oh, I must be passing a clot. Who knew?

"Uh, am I passing a clot? Uh, yeah. There have been lots of them," I answered.

She removed the speculum and began using her hands for the second part of the exam. This process would be the most excruciating thing I felt at the ER.

With the blood I'd been dropping, my pubic hair had become clotted with blood. It was dry, sticky and clumpy. Part of her hand caught, twisted and pulled my pubic hair. My eyes watered and I laughed in the delirium of the pain.

"Try to relax," she intoned.

Fuck you! I wanted to scream back at her. LET GO OF MY PUBIC HAIR.

I made a note that I shall shave myself as soon as I possibly can.

The ER resident finished and explained that the OB/GYNE team would see me soon. They were also waiting on my blood test results, so I should just relax and let her and the nurses know if I need anything.

I requested another underpad right away. I could feel the wet blood underneath me from the exam, and she pulled one out of a drawer and tucked it underneath me.

11:30 to 12:05ish
We hung out and waited for a long while. I had my vitals taken at some point again. The boyfriend and I talked, joked, held hands. We listened to the man outside our room. We got on Facebook on our phones.

I felt a bit light-headed, but I couldn't tell if it was because I was losing blood or if it was because the lights in my tiny little room were really bright and the whole experience was surreal.

Around 12:00 a supervising resident arrived in my room. I barely got a chance to meet him. He was wearing a white coat unlike anyone else I had met at this point, so I assume he was a supervising resident.

He asked me if I was feeling faint, and I explained that I wasn't sure given the situation. He turned the overhead lights off, which helped immensely and immediately. One up-facing medical light over the far wall remained on, lighting the room but not blinding me.

This doctor only had time to introduce himself, ask how I was doing and turn the lights down before he could explain the OB/GYNE team would arrive soon as they literally knocked and entered.

12:05ish to 12:30ish
The OB/GYNE team, a male/female duo of residents, had obviously just walked off the set of Grey's Anatomy.

The woman was petite with a darling face and cute blond cropped haircut. The man was tall and well-built with dark hair and a handsome face. If it were not for the likelihood, given his mannerims and his lingering eye on my boyfriend, that he was gay, I would say that they had just gotten done making out in a maintenance closet. (That is the way hospitals work, right?)

Anyway, they were awesome. They were nice, gentle and confident. For the first time this evening, I felt like I was in really, really good hands.

I explained for the umpteenth time what was going on with me. This time, I explained in more explicit detail. When I said to them that the toilet bowl at work looked like a bucketful of red paint, both the residents squinched up their faces.

Whoops. That's a bad sign if I am grossing out the doctors.

They explained that they've looked over my chart, and that it looks like everything at the D&E went well. (THIS IS LITERALLY THE FIRST TIME I AM HEARING MY SURGERY WENT FINE.)

They had talked with the on-call doctor, who I had spoken to on the phone, and they would now do a pelvic exam. They apologized because they know I already had one from the ER resident. But such is ER protocol.

The male resident performed the pelvic exam. As I mentioned earlier, talking with a male nurse on the phone earlier that evening was the most contact I'd ever had with male OB/GYNE professionals. Now I was getting my first pelvic exam from a male OB/GYNE resident! And I could not have been in better hands.

He was, by far, the most gentle professional to ever dig around in my vagina. In attempting to feel the uterus and identify where my pain was, he was reassuring and gentle in his touch. When I winced once, he squeezed my thigh with his free hand and said he was sorry and almost done. Such a change from the pubic hair twisting I had received earlier that night!

They then explained they would need to do an internal transvaginal ultrasound to see if they can tell what and how much tissue is left in my uterus. Again, the male resident handled the internal wand while the female resident watched the screen and took images from it.

The ultrasound took much longer than I wanted it to, and it made me uneasy.

As the male resident moved the wand inside me, the female resident would say, "Oh, do you see..."

And he would respond, "Yes."

And then she'd take a picture.

WHAT IS IT?! I wanted to yell. WHAT ARE YOU SEEING?

This went on for several minutes. It seemed their focus had changed at one point when the wand was moving at sharper angles to the left and right. Finally the male resident explained, "Don't worry. Right now we're looking for your ovaries. They can be hard to find sometimes."

"Oh, they're very shy," I said, my voice shaking and laughing at the same time, again with the nervous nonsense talk.

He nodded politely and kept working.

During this part of the exam, dear Tina walked in without knocking and then stood there for a solid 30 seconds not talking. She then announced she'd come back another time. The OB/GYNE team didn't glance at her once. Poor Tina.

He finished up and explained that it was very, very difficult to see anything because of the amount of blood I was producing. There was something there, but they could not tell from the ultrasound if it was tissue or blood clots.

The next step was to decide what treatment I needed: either a drug to evacuate the uterus, or a D&C. The residents would confer with the on-call doctor and return to discuss her decision.

12:30ish to 12:45ish
Again, the boyfriend and I found ourselves waiting. Another new underpad had been placed under me after the OB/GYNE exams, so I was relatively dry.

I was starting to feel really tired. The cramps that had woken me up the night before had robbed me of some sleep, and this whole process was exhausting.

The phone for the ER doctors was outside my room, probably right by the dude on the gurney. This set-up led to the interesting situation of hearing every single word my male OB/GYNE resident said to the on-call doctor about my case.

Awesome!

He said that he estimated there was about six centimeters of tissue in my uterus, but that he could not tell exactly what it was. He said that I was a hearty and strong patient, "not at all squeamish" (I wondered if the fact that I made HIM squirm had helped in this assesment) and "handling everything really well." He said I didn't seem to be reacting to losing blood, and I could probably handle taking the pill.

"I just don't think a surgery is necessary at this point," he said.

The boyfriend and I high-fived.

12:45ish
The OB/GYNE duo returned. I would take a dose of Misoprostol, or Cytotec, that night at the hospital. It would cause cramping and hopefully help evacuate whatever was left in my uterus.

I would be prescribed an additional dose of Cytotec to take the next night.

"If you're still cramping and bleeding tomorrow night, call us, and it's possible you'll need a D&C," the male resident said.

"But aren't I supposed to take the Cytotec at midnight tomorrow night?" I asked, confused.

"Well, just go ahead and take the Cytotec no matter what," the female resident said.

"But should I call you?" I asked, looking back and forth at them.

"Only if you think you need to," the male resident said.

"Wait, how do I know if I need to?"

...It had gotten confusing. Eventually, I discerned the following:

I would take one dose tonight. Most likely, the bleeding and cramping would drop off significantly during the next day. Regardless, I should take the second dose the next day, 24 hours later. If, on Sunday, I was still cramping and bleeding like the dickens, I should call right away. Then, a D&C might be necessary.

The residents added that, despite losing blood, I was handling everything okay. They made sure I was still not feeling chills, light-headed or nauseous.

"You have a ridiculous amount of hemoglobin in your blood," the male resident said. (14.4 actually, which isn't too much, but is on the higher end of healthy for women.)

"Yeah, it's awesome," the female resident enthused, nodding. "You're doing really well."

I was feeling super great at this point. I may be sitting in a big pool of blood, but I am a stellar patient and my blood is awesome! Go me!

Before they left, the male resident told us (actually, he addressed my boyfriend completely) that I would take the four pills buccally. (Pronounced buckle-y, it means in your cheeks.) Shoved down into my gums, the pills would dissolve for a half hour, and then I could swallow.

12:45ish to 1:00ish
We found ourselves waiting yet again. This time, we looked up pictures of Japan on the NYTimes, checked out charts explaining radiation and then tried to understand how radiation works. You know, just your usual "1 o'clock in the morning on a Friday night in the emergency room" business.

The very sweet boyfriend also rearranged my bloody bed/butt situation. He folded up all the used underpads so they wouldn't leak on me and then grabbed two new underpads for me. He also put my bed back a bit to make me more comfortable. Then, he snagged two extra underpads and shoved them in my purse! Heck yeah!

1:05 AM
I realized that I should call my parents to update them on my situation. I knew they will stay up all night until they hear from me, so I wanted to put them at ease so they can go to sleep. I no sooner got my mom on the line than Tina, with what appeared to be an incredible knack for timing, marched into the room carrying pills and a cup of water.

"Uh, I am about to put pills in my mouth for 30 minutes, Mom," I said quickly, "so let me just tell you what's going on."

I explained the situation to her quickly and hung up.

"Oookay, then," Tina asked, "Did I just overhear you saying that you are putting these in your mouth for 30 minutes?"

"Yes," I responded, baffled and realizing that she'd brought the water for me to swallow them.

"Hmm," Tina put the pills and water down on a tray. "Okay, then we better do what the doctors told you to do."

Geez, I guess so? How did this part of the process get confused???

I took a quick last drink of water before shoving the pills down my checks, against my gums. For 30 minutes, I fiddled around and finally swallowed them at 1:37 AM.

The Misoprostol hurt my cheeks. It felt like I had burned the inside of my cheeks and my throat. I drank lots and lots of water to help.

1:45 AM
Tina returned with discharge papers and removed the IV needle from my arm.

"You're all set!" she said and told me to feel better.

At this point, I started to feel chilly, lightheaded and nauseous--all those things that I'd been asked all night if I was feeling. Tina had swept off, and there was no one to take my temperature.

My boyfriend wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my arms. We decided that I was probably feeling these things because I was exhausted, worn out and cold from having sat in my own now cold blood with very little covering me.

Shivering, I put my clothes on and felt much better once I had the weight of my coat on me.

2:10 AM
We started to walk out of the ER and into the waiting room before we realized we hadn't been told if we needed to check out. Just waltzing out of the ER seemed strange.

We walked back into the ER, looking for a sign or a nurse at a desk. There was no one and nothing. Finally, I spotted a small Check-Out sign at an empty desk. We waited for a couple minutes before a nurse asked us if anyone had helped us. She sent someone to the desk.

While we waited, we watched some more typical downtown Friday night ER business go down. A woman screamed profanities from her wheelchair at EMTs. Some serious racial lines were drawn, which I suppose is typical of the city I live in. We had seen and heard racism all night with hatred going in all directions. "OBAMA PRESIDENT NOW!" the black woman yelled at the white male EMT, "Don't you forget that!" The white EMT rolled his eyes and walked away.

We were finally checked out, a quick and painless process, and walked back to the car. I was shaking and very, very cold. We decided what I needed was some food, something with sugar and preferably something hot. COOKIES!!!!!!! My apparent favorite comfort food. Hot chocolate chip cookies!!!

I sipped my water and enjoyed the heated seats and cranked heat in the car.

2:30 AM
We finally arrived back home. I updated my blog, jumped in the shower and the boyfriend ran up the street to the 24-hour drug store to pick me up more pads, underpads, lemonade (yay!), cookie dough (yay!) and other goodies.

I also slammed a leftover Norco, narcotic painkiller, before jumping in the shower. I figured it'd be a good idea, as I could expect more cramps as the night turned into day.

The boyfriend made me peppermint tea (to help my Misoprostol-pained mouth) and fought with a feisty oven to make me my cookies. (He is allergic to dairy and cannot eat the store-bought kind, poor dude.) Finally, he succeeded, but it had gotten really late. We were exhausted, but those cookies were damn good and made me feel SO much better.

4:00 AM
We crawled into bed. I stuck a sticky heating pad onto my abdomen, and a heating pad was cranked to the max under my back.

I should mention that I am not a fan of the guest bed at the boyfriend's mom's place, particularly not when one is crampy. The week following my surgery, as well as the first few nights following my compliction, I slept on top of the comforter for extra cushioning support. I brought my favorite fuzzy blue blanket from home to keep me warm and wrapped around me. (This thing is ratty as all get-out, but I adore it. It got me through mono at age 16, and it still helps me today.)

This night, I also devised a Don't-Bleed-on-the-Bed contraption, consisting of (1) underpad on top of the comforter, (2) an old towel on top of the underpad, and finally (3) the heating pad on top of the towel.

I crawled on top of this Princess and the Pea-like structure and almost immediately began to feel a cramp that was unlike any other. They say it takes about 2 to 4 hours for the true brunt of Misoprostal pain to kick in, and I am here to confirm that.

I went to the bathroom and before I could sit on the toilet, I passed THE BIGGEST CLOT I HAVE EVER SEEN. Like earlier, it dropped into my underwear, and I fished it out to examine it.

It was, most likely, almost 4 inches in length and 1.5 inches at its thickest point. It looked like dark maroon Jell-O and had a consistency similar to Jell-O, but a bit stronger. IT WAS SO GROSS AND AWESOME.

I desperately wanted to show my boyfriend how amazing and disgusting and crazy this clot was, but he was very sleepy and I figured running into the bedroom waving a blood clot around was not a nice way to treat him at 4:15 in the morning.

When I mentioned this passing desire to him the next day, he was very disappointed.

"Why didn't you show me?!" he asked sadly. "I would've wanted to see it! It sounds awesome!"

I promised that if I passed another clot, he would see it. Unfortunately for him, at that point, I seemed to have passed all the clots I would and have not passed any since.... Knock on wood!

P.S. That urine sample/tomato juice/chemical experiment sat on the floor the whole time we were in my ER room until we left. The boyfriend and I put it on the tray, just in case they still wanted it...

My Follow-Up Appointment and (Perhaps No More) Complication Update 5

I had my follow-up appointment today--two weeks after the insertion of laminaria, 13 days after the D&E procedure and 3 days after my apparent complication resulting in an unexpected and bloody trip to the ER this weekend.

I skipped work this morning, slept in a bit and woke up to find a voicemail from the head nurse at the hospital's family planning clinic on my phone. She had heard that I'd had trouble over the weekend and wanted to touch base with me. She seemed to have forgotten or not connected that I also had an appointment that day until I called to confirm that I should still come in for it.

My boyfriend and I went together to this appointment. Initially, I planned to go alone to this follow-up. Everything seemed to have been moving along smoothly, and perhaps in my occasional bull-headed independence, I wanted to go alone and not feel dependent on a boyfriend. That all changed with my trip to the ER, and I also realized that it was important to me that we go together, see this process out as a couple. And happily, he was the one who suggested that he take me to the hospital for my follow-up.

While we waited at the clinic, we sat in the OB/GYNE part of the waiting room for the first time. (For our consultation, we sat in geriatrics, and we sat in the same seats when we went for the laminaria insertion.) Our buzzer quickly buzzed, and we were taken back to a new exam room.

As we walked through the family planning clinic hallway, it felt like a trip through the past three weeks:

First we passed the consultation room where I sat 19 days ago. A young woman about my age sat in the same chair with the door open, waiting for the head nurse to come chat with her.

We then passed the exam room where I had the laminaria insertion two weeks ago today. As we walked by, the door opened, and a nurse walked out. I could see the curtain was drawn and knew that there was someone in there experiencing exactly what I did two weeks ago.

Then we turned a corner where we were led to a new room for my follow-up. My boyfriend and I laughed when we saw the room set-up. For the first time, the visitors' chairs were lined up with a direct view at the table's bottom end. These are VIP seats for vag exams, people.

"Uh, are you sure you want to sit there?" I asked him.

He shrugged and plopped into one of the chairs. "I'll move if they want me to," he said. Of course, aside from the boyfriend seeing my vagina on a regular basis, this is the guy who is disappointed I didn't show him any of the clots I passed. So why on earth would he be freaked out?

The resident who I met at my consultation and who conducted my laminaria insertion knocked and entered the room. She shook my hand and asked me about the ER trip.

I explained that my bleeding and cramping has dropped off, and she explained that she'd do a pelvic exam to check my uterus. (The head nurse explained they'd want to see if it felt "floppy," which would mean that there was more tissue hanging out in there.)

She first used a heated speculum (It was actually super hot, as it turned out, and freaked me out upon entering my vaginal canal. Yipes!) and then did a hand exam. My uterus felt firm, a good sign. No floppy = Great news!

The resident then asked me about the procedure itself, bringing up right away that she was sorry that she and the rest of the scheduled team had been pulled from my case last minute.

"Honestly," I told her, "I think we both felt like there was more disorganization than we expected. I expected to see some of the faces I had seen before, but that didn't happen."

She nodded and explained that the change-up with doctors was frustrating, and she, with the rest of the team, was pulled onto this emergency case that started at 1:30 and lasted until past 6 PM. (Jesus.)

"You know," I said, "I understand that that happened, and it's unexpected. But maybe more upsetting was that I felt like we had to argue with the nurses that I get the shots I needed. We had to remind everyone, and my charts were wrong."

The boyfriend chimed in here, explaining that he had to insist to two different nurses about my depo shot since it seemed they didn't believe me, their patient. He also said that the shift change was a bother, but it honestly didn't bother me as much as the frustration of insisting that you know what care you're supposed to have.

I agreed with him and then added that it was a great thing he was there since, especially post-op, I was hazy, and we were having to act as my case managers.

At this point, I started to feel the emotion of the day rising up in me, and my eyes were getting watery.

Damn it! I thought, I didn't think this would happen! I pulled it together, just barely, to keep myself from crying.

The resident kindly apologized again, and said she felt terrible because if they had been on my team, since they knew my case, it would have been handled better.

She then asked me if I wanted my pathology report.

This stopped me short, though I think I should have expected it. I have even in the last few days been eyeing the number for medical records, considering calling in to request mine. Since I never even heard that everything went okay, I was curious to see what my charts say.

But a pathology report? Suddenly feeling vulnerable from having talked about the day, I immediately said no. I was afraid of what I might learn from it--the sex of the fetus, its viability? I don't actually know. (Does anyone know what exactly I would learn from the pathology report? Would requesting my medical charts reveal this information to me too?)

With that, she said she would chat with the attending physicial (who was supposed to have operated on me, but who I had not yet met) about whether we should do an ultrasound. They'd both be back shortly.

While she was gone, the boyfriend and I chatted more about the day of the procedure. We both felt like we had said what we wanted to say and agreed that the resident was great. There's not anything she can do at this point, obviously, so her words were nice. However, it was the attending doctor who then entered the room who made me really feel better...

The attending physician immediately apologized for the disorganization on the day of the procedure.

In my I-was-raised-to-be-a-way-too-nice-girl way, I said, "It's okay."

She immediately responded, "No. It's not okay." And then delved into how sorry she was that the emergency case had pulled her off of my case and that I hadn't had the familiarity of faces I knew around me for the operation. She said while she was glad I didn't have to face the emergency situation that this other patient did, she didn't think it was fair that I was jostled around because of another case. Basically, I deserved better than I got.

I told her how much I appreciated her saying that, and I didn't repeat that it was okay. She was right, it wasn't okay. So much of what happened was not actually the fault of the OB/GYNE team (in retrospect, it was that fighting to be sure my care was handled by the nurses correctly that was most upsetting), though I did mention that I wished that my operating doctor had made an effort to see me before the sedation kicked in.

We moved on and discussed my complication. Based on my description of what I had passed--dark maroon but not brown in color, gelatinous and smooth, they thought it was most likely blood clots. Tissue would have been darker in color and have had more texture. Chances are less likely that there was anything left in my uterus and more likely that my body simply did not evacuate the way it should have following the procedure.

As I thought I had heard the resident OB/GYNE say on Friday night, the leftover tissue or clots in my uterus were measured at six centimeters on Friday night. While my cervix was completely closed already that night, I passed more and more clots and blood, including that one gigantic clot that must have been most of whatever was in there.

Given that news, the attending physician decided that it was best not to do an ultrasound at this point. 1 or 2 centimeters of tissue in the uterus is normal, she explained. Six centimeters was obviously not normal. But if she did an ultrasound today and saw, say, 3 centimeters of tissue, she'd have to do a D&C procedure, even if my body might still be evacuating clots/tissue. She preferred to avoid subjecting me to another surgery (me too!), and instead monitor my continued recovery.

If my bleeding picks up, then I will need to call right away and most likely have a D&C procedure. Given how things have been going, the doctors are hopeful (and "95%" sure) that I won't need any more procedures. I'm not totally out of the woods, but things are looking good. Some slight bleeding and cramping will be expected--a few days to a week or more, so I'll be diligent in keeping a watch on myself.

Complication Update 4 - Day 3

That Misoprostol kicked in with a vengeance last night around 3 AM. Literally bolted straight up in bed, clutching my abdomen. The cramps quickly passed, but I didn't bleed very much.

Today, there has been occassional cramping and very little bleeding. I haven't passed any clots since yesterday.

I had my regularly scheduled follow-up tomorrow morning, and I assume that it will now focus on whether my uterus has been completely evacuated. I emailed my supervisor and shared with her my latest update, just in case this complication is... more complicated.... and I need to take additional time off work.

My hope had been to talk more at length with the head nurse tomorrow about the various ways I felt frustrated by the disorganization and miscommunication on my surgery day, but it seems like there'll be more important things to discuss and not a whole ton of time to review what happened. At any rate, I'm hoping that the dropped off cramping and bleeding is a sign that things are good, and my uterus is evacuated. Fingers crossed!

Complication

This post might be a bit graphic for the squeamish, so stop here if you don't like gross things, particularly blood.

Before leaving work today those pesty cramps came back. I went to the restroom where I urinated and felt some blood pass my body. I glanced down and, horrified, saw what looked like a toilet full of red paint.

I figured this was more of some last passing of blood, but it hasn't stopped. In fact it's only gotten worse. I've talked with an on-call doctor (she sounds great) twice. She actually called while I was typing the above paragraph and we decided I should come in to the emergency room. My parents have offered to drive, but my boyfriend is on his way to pick me up.

Chances are that something was not evacuated, like placenta. She said I will have another ultrasound to try to determine what, if anything, is still in my uterus. I'll take a medication that helps evacuate my uterus, and then possibly have a D&C procedure.

God. Talk about fucking chances. Chances of pregnancy. Chances of complications. I am shaken and scared, but honestly I'm feeling mainly irritated right now.

Alright. I'm going to get my things together to go to the ER. Big sigh.

Unpleasant Questions and Personal Truths

"What do they do with it, you know, afterward?"

My friend asked the question after I'd talked at length about the procedure. She'd asked me lots of questions throughout my story, throughout the last two weeks. She even rubbed my swollen belly. "Careful. It's contagious," I warned her.

But this was the first question she asked me that threw me, unsettled me, and my answer got caught in my throat for a second.

"Oh, uh," I struggled, my energy suddenly drained from me. "They incinerate it."

"REALLY?"

"Yeah," I was quiet for a second. "I had actually forgotten all about that, but the nurse told my boyfriend and I just before the laminaria insertion. It was surprising."

"Wow." She sounded stunned, but in a very removed and clinical way. "I've always wondered, you know. I mean, the hospital must go through so much human bio-waste. What do they do with all of it?"

And off she went, chattering without thinking about all the things a hospital must get rid of in a day: kidneys, appendixes, aborted fetuses... I felt sick to my stomach.

I didn't tell her straight up that it was a painful question or that I didn't want to talk about it. I just tried to segue us back into the story of the procedure.

"Well, I do remember thinking when I came to in the operating room--I could hear all these things being thrown away and gloves being taken off and stuff like that. And I thought, I wonder if any of those sounds are the... you know," I said. "But I was back under really quickly, and when I woke again, I was in my recovery room, and then..."

I continued rattling on just to get past the moment. But it stuck with me.

After she left, it kept coming to mind. Laying in bed last night, I brought it up to my boyfriend. He got upset. "Why would she ask such a stupid thing like that? What was she thinking?"

Honestly, I don't know. This is one of my best girl friends--the only girl friend who I told about my pregnancy and abortion.

I know she didn't mean to hurt me. She's had all sorts of clinical questions about the entire process, as she's never had an abortion, and I'm a very candid person. She wanted to know if I felt different knowing I was pregnant. She wanted to know if it felt "like something had gone on down there" after the laminaria insertion. She wanted to know if I "felt hollow" after the evacuation.

I've answered all these questions relatively unemotionally and openly. I think it appears that I'm handling everything really, really well. I think that she didn't even think about how her question might affect me because I appear, on the surface, very unaffected in general.

And while I haven't and don't have any regrets, I was feeling relatively unaffected until last night when my friend asked that question. Today, I am really sad. I feel loss and grief in a more acute way that I haven't felt since I was ambivalent about my decision.

When I started this blog, the subhead didn't mention abortion. It simply said: "A pro-choice blog chronicling an unplanned pregnancy." I was confused, upset and unsure I could choose to terminate a second trimester pregnancy. I actually don't remember at what point I added "and its abortion," but I did add it. After talking with many support people and weighing endless considerations for myself and my future children, I decided that terminating this pregnancy was the right choice.

I do feel loss, but I am not and will not be unhappy. My choice was right for me, my partner and the potential life I carried for 14 weeks. I am grateful to be 26, unmarried and without children, paving a life path that is right for me and that will allow me to flourish as a woman and, one day, a mother.

Recovery Day 3

I decided to take today off work, though I have been able to actually work from home today. The last two days I've zonked out after taking my narcotic painkiller, so I decided I'd take today off in case the same thing happened.

I woke up early in the morning, extremely crampy again. I zapped on my second heating pad and curled up so both pads cushioned my back and my abs. Took my narcotic painkiller then instead of later in the day, and woke up around 11 AM feeling better.

Took my last antibiotic today. I detest antibiotics, but I'm still shocked that my doseage is already done. I took six pills in total, two a day, starting the night of my abortion.

I've been trying to observe discernible changes in my body. My belly has gone down enough that I briefly wore jeans yesterday, though I did have to unzip them after eating. Still, an improvement.

My breasts are extremely firm and more full than normal. Awesome, but... Much to my horror last night, I saw that they are leaking breast milk. I had read that this was a possible side effect, particularly if you were further into your pregnancy. The health information I've found online explains to avoid stimulating breasts and wear a tight-fitting bra. Fortunately, I'm not in pain, as apparently some women find their breasts even more tender (Mine were tender about a month ago, but that sensation went away.), so that's good.

I have a lot of things to write about that I haven't yet. A lot of these things delve much more into feelings and experiences than the mundane but necessary details of physical improvement. I haven't quite been up to writing about them yet, maybe mainly because I've felt so exhausted these last few days. But I plan to spend some time writing about them later today and in the coming days.

For now, I am going to put jeans on again and get a late lunch with my boyfriend.

Recovery Day 2

I'm feeling alright today. The bleeding has picked up a bit, and this morning I woke up the crampiest I've been yet. I took some of the narcotic painkillers, downed a bowl of cereal and half a dairy-free cookie and then took my antibiotic. Felt better shortly after.

I did bleed on the comforter last night, which is a bummer. It's in the dryer now, so we'll keep our fingers crossed that the cold water and detergent has done the trick!

Yesterday evening was tough. My boyfriend and I had a huge argument--one of those fights that escalates into a hysterical, out-of-control place. We both said some terrible things, dredging up our deepest issues.

At the heart of the problem was that yesterday we needed very different things, and neither of us delivered to the other. I, feeling raw emotionally and not-at-my-best physically, wanted attention and support. Lots of it, too.

My boyfriend, whose work and freelance schedule is out of control right now, wanted space to process his feelings and his stress.

Obviously, these two things don't exactly work together, and we wound up at each other's throats. It was extremely upsetting, and honestly, it's indicative of part of why we chose to terminate the pregnancy. While we are crazy about one another, we don't know yet if we work as a partnership well enough to provide an emotionally-stable home to a child, let alone for ourselves. It was as if this fight was the proof we needed of that fact, in case we needed more proof.

We resolved the fight, acknowledging that we are different people with different needs, that we may need to be more direct with one another than we are used to in order to express our needs. Then, we crawled into bed together, exhausted and with our hands clasped together.

Here's the things about fights in relationships: They often are put to rest after a good talk with a fabulous session of make-up sex.

Obviously, that isn't an option for us right now.

(Warning: Sexually graphic content follows...)

So this morning, after I woke up and took my pills and we each had some breakfast and talked, my boyfriend and I found ourselves in a wildly passionate makeout session. The level of sexual frustration was enraging. Finally, I grabbed my tiny little wonderful vibrator (it's a Lelo Lily, and I'm happy to explain to any readers why it's worth the investment) and tried to pleasure myself while going down on him.

However, I got distracted with worry about whether orgasming would hurt my recovery and eventually gave up on a climax.

The funny thing is that I asked my head nurse after my laminaria insertion about this very issue, though obviously not directly enough. Our exchange went down something like this:

Me:   So, I know I can't have intercourse following the procedure, but is it possible to pleasure myself in other ways?
Nurse:   Oh, you don't want to put anything inside your vagina!
Me:   I know, but I don't---
Nurse:   No, no no. You don't want anything inside of there because if you get it infected, blah blah blah blah.
Me:   I know, but--
Nurse: It would be really bad to get an infection.
Me: I kn--
Nurse:  I think you can handle it.

She left the room at that point, turning off the lights behind her to let me curl up on my side and adjust to the laminaria and rest while my boyfriend held my hand.

Boyfriend:   You wanted to know if you could use your vibe, didn't you?


Anyone out there have experience with clitoral masturbation following a surgical abortion?!?

A quick cursory Google resulted in lots of Yahoo! (Questionable) Answers (Most Likely Answered by 16-Year-Old Girls) and one Iowa women's health clinic. The women's health clinic had this to say:

We recommend to our clients that they do not insert anything into their vagina after the abortion until after their three-week check-up. This is to prevent an infection. Having an orgasm doesn't do anything bad to you. However, if your masturbation involves inserting anything into the vagina, then you should stop doing that until after your check-up exam. If you can masturbate without inserting anything into the vagina, by stimulating the clitoris for instance, that is OK. Whether or not you insert anything in your vagina, it's very important that you go and get a check-up exam 2-3 weeks after your abortion. At that check-up your health care provider will make sure that you don't have any symptoms of an infection or any other complications. If you were to develop a complication, as long as it is taken care of promptly, the risk of permanent harm to your uterus (womb) is very low. Again, don't worry about orgasms themselves, they won't do anything to you. It's just how you get the orgasms that can cause problems. -Emma

UPDATE: Found this info on Ask Alice, which puts to rest any concerns I had about clitoral stimulation. Hooray, Lelo Lily!

Dear Alice,
I just want to know why is it, that after you get an abortion, you can't have sex for 2 or 3 weeks? My best friend got one, and she asked me if I could find out why, because she didn't ask; and she had sex, and it has only been a week today. So if you could email me, and tell me, that would be great!
Thank you!!!!
Cindy

Dear Cindy,
Your friend is lucky to have you to support her! After an abortion, which ends a pregnancy and removes tissues from the uterus, a woman's body needs 2 to 3 weeks to heal fully. After an abortion (or a miscarriage, or giving birth, for that matter) the tissues of the uterus and cervix may be more susceptible to infection for a period of time. Anything inserted into a woman's vagina while she is healing can expose the uterus and cervix to bacteria and/or other microorganisms that can cause infection. For the same reason, women are often advised to take showers rather than baths when healing. During this time, no penetration of any kind, including with tampons, sex toys, fingers, or douche, is recommended. And like your friend heard, women are encouraged to avoid vaginal sex, as well as receptive anal and oral sex.

Your friend likely has a follow-up medical visit scheduled between 2 to 4 weeks after the procedure. At the appointment, a health care provider will use sterile gloves and a speculum (if a pelvic exam is necessary) to check on the healing process. After the woman's health care provider gives her the okay, a woman can resume having sex and other penetrative activities.

Signs of infection include fever, chills, abdominal pain, and/or heavy vaginal discharge (though some women may experience abdominal cramps and vaginal bleeding without infection). A woman can expect her first regular period within six weeks of the abortion. If she notices signs of infection, or if she does not get her period within six weeks after the procedure, it's time for a visit to her health care provider. Students at Columbia can schedule a check-up with the provider who performed the abortion or with their primary care provider on campus; call x4-2284 or log on to Open Communicator to make an appointment.

In the meantime, a woman can have outercourse, give oral and/or manual sex to a partner, and even orgasm while she is healing from the abortion. If having an orgasm produces uncomfortable cramping sensations, however, she may decide to postpone this until she has finished healing.

Most women are able to get pregnant again almost immediately after an abortion, so if a woman chooses to have sex right away, and wants to avoid another pregnancy, she should consider what birth control method will serve her best. She also can use condoms (and dams or unlubed condoms for oral sex) in order to reduce the risk of infection during the healing period. However, health care providers strongly recommend that women wait until after the healing process has been completed before resuming penetration and having sex again

The links below might help answer any other questions your friend might have. Keep up the good work in being a supportive, informative friend!

Alice

Recovery Day 1 - Update 1

Slept in really late today and got up around noon. Guess my body clock got switched a little bit by staying up late before the procedure and waking up late yesterday.

My cramps have been surprisingly manageable. There were some points yesterday evening where moving around was difficult, but otherwise, I feel fine. Taking my pain meds and keeping the heating pad on more as a preventative right now.

I did notice this weird sensation lying on my back last night. It may have been completely my imagination, but I felt almost empty inside my belly. I also had this weird feeling like I could almost feel my uterus shriveling up, but without any cramping associated with the feeling. My nurse told me I can expect the swollen belly to go down within a few days, but even by last night, it seemed smaller.

Physically, my biggest pain has been a splitting headache that showed up yesterday and has been around since. Anyone who has had a surgical abortion experience a migraine-like headache? I can't seem to find anything on Google about it, so maybe it's unrelated.

Day 2 Procedure and Update 1

I got back from the hospital from the big procedure just a bit ago. Called my parents to say I'm doing fine and the boyfriend baked some chocolate chip cookies from the stellar dough I prepared a few days ago. Just finished two piping hot chocolate chip cookies with a glass of milk, and I'm doing okay.

I was notified yesterday that a different doctor might take my surgery as my scheduled surgeon was handling a "very complicated" case before me. I worried that this change-up might negatively affect my experience, and I honestly think it did.

Things felt disorganized, or like no one was in charge. Most upsettingly, I don't remember meeting my doctor. If I met him, it was at the point where my drugs had kicked in enough that I don't remember it. It seems like a quick pre-op visit would have been appropriate.

I also never saw any of the amazing women doctors who were supposed to be on my surgery. I assume they had to stay with my attending doctor for the more difficult case. The nurse didn't make that clear yesterday when she called.

I've talked a lot with people about how there's this horrible tendency in the medical world to forget that patients are people. I felt very much like a case number, juggled from one doctor to another, with a lot of confused nurses, anesthesiologists and prescription orders mixed in. I was thankful that my boyfriend was there to (1) help me keep everything straight that they forgot and (2) support me as I started to feel panicky about how disorganized things appeared.

Preparing and Pre-Op

We stayed up late last night to try to adjust our bodies to sleep in late (not that that's hard for us). The thought of being up all morning, worrying and thirsty, did not appeal. We stayed up til about 2 AM, watching Cool Runnings (which I believe I watched post-op tonsillectomy 1994) and talking. I woke up at 8:45 AM to take my last painkiller, fell back to sleep and then woke up at noon to pull myself together for surgery.

We arrived on time and checked in, which was a strange process. There were no chairs or waiting area. I simply stood at the desk and signed papers that said I didn't have a will prepared and who to contact in case something happened to me.

I was immediately brought back to my pre-op room with my boyfriend. I changed into a gown and then lay down on the table while he pulled a chair up to my side. I cried for a bit, still feeling overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted. My boyfriend hugged me and then squeezed some laughs out of me by mocking the hospital's ambient channel that featured images of waterfalls accompanied by muzak. My shared bathroom with the next-door pre-op room was locked, and I desperately awaited my nurse's arrival to unlock it for me.

From the get-go, it appeared that things were disorganized. Our nurse was supposed to show up shortly after we settled in and didn't. Then, as I changed, an anesthesiologist opened the door and came in while my backside was still as bare as can be. She excused herself, and when she returned, she was baffled not to find my chart or paperwork there. I explained no one had come by yet.

She explained that I would receive an anti-anxiety drug before leaving for surgery and then I'd be in twilight sedation (MAC, the paperwork had said: monitored anesthesia care) during the procedure. I had been very scared of twilight anesthesia, but I was completely and utterly passed out. More on that later.

Shortly after the anesthesiologist left, the pre-op nurse finally arrived. She oozed a lack of confidence that set me on edge. She took some blood and then hooked up my IV, at one point remarking as she fumbled, "Well... hopefully this works."

While the nurse hooked me up, a resident anesthesiologist walked through the door and began to introduce himself and explain my sedation.

"Uh, I think Dr. So-and-So already explained this to me," I quickly said, baffled.

"Yeah, she's already taken care of that," the nurse added without looking up.

"Oh, okay then," the resident anesthesiologist smiled awkwardly and walked out the door.

I glanced at the boyfriend with a look of "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

The nurse explained that I would need a RhoGAM shot as my blood is Rh-negative. She urged me to remind my recovery nurse of this fact.

I also needed to receive a Depo-Provera shot for birth control until I receive my IUD. My nurse looked through my paperwork, confused, and asked if I was absolutely sure I was receiving that shot today. Wasn't I receiving it at my 2-week follow-up appointment? Nope. I'm scheduled to get it at recovery. So she said she'd go ahead and put the order in accordingly.

She then explained that my surgery was most likely going to be pushed back at least 45 minutes, so to go ahead and relax.

The boyfriend and I passed the time talking and watching some of The Office and CNN. An OB/GYNE resident came in and introduced herself as well, explaining she'd be working on my case. She was nice, quiet, checked my IV and left. It was nice to meet at least one of the surgeons, even if just briefly.

Yet another new anesthesiologist came in, introduced himself and said it'd be about five more minutes before he'd administer the first of my drugs through the IV. He was the first person I came in contact with who seemed really confident, and I suddenly felt much more at ease.

When he injected the first dose of drugs--the anti-anxiety, I think--into my IV, he explained that it'd be like me taking 3 shots at the bar. "If you do that kind of thing," he said with a smile. My boyfriend asked if he got one too. The anesthesiologist quickly quipped, "Oh yeah. We all get one of these beforehand."

Almost right away, I began to feel hazy. My nurse and the resident returned and I was prepared to be wheeled away. I reached my hand out to my boyfriend who leaned down and kissed me before he was ushered out of the room. I was wheeled out after him.

The last thing I really remember is wheeling down the hall and the male anesthesiologist asking me if I was feeling doped up. "Very," I responded.


Twilight to Post-Op

The next thing I remember is waking up in the operating room. There were many people milling about and lots of sounds like things being thrown away. I must have said something because someone said to me, "We're all done."

"Already?" I asked blearily. "Yep," whoever it was said, "All done."

I was vaguely aware that I felt slightly crampy. I found myself in a recovery room and recognized that there was a man and a woman at the curtained door leaving. "Thank you!" I called out to them. I have no idea who they were. That guy might have been my doctor, but I thought at the time it was the male anesthesiologist.

The post-op nurse rustled around getting my room ready for me. She cracked open a disposable heating pad (Really useless. I was pissed that I had been told not to bother bringing my own electric heating pad. I'd recommend bringing one from home just in case.) and punched a few things in the computer.

My hazy drugged-up brain made a few connections. Surgery done. Recovery room. Something to tell recovery nurse. What was it? RhoGAM shot!

"Have I gotten my RhoGAM shot yet?" I asked the nurse. "Or does that happen later?"

In a tone that sounded like she was exasperated and placating me, she said, "Just lay back, okay?  I'm going to take care of it." I felt brushed off and felt like saying, 'Hey, your co-nurse told me to tell you that, okay? I'm just doing what I'm supposed to do,' but I was too out of it for crankiness.

She gave me an extra disposable heating pad for my back and then went to retrieve my boyfriend from the waiting room.

When she returned with him, the recovery nurse explained that her shift was ending and she'd grab my new recovery nurse.

The new recovery nurse brought with her narcotic painkillers, which were a godsend in the face of useless heating pads. As she reviewed my chart, I asked about the Depo shot.

"Are you getting one of those?" she asked. I looked at the dry erase board behind her where two notes were written for my case: "RhoGAM, Depo."

"I'm supposed to, yeah," I said, feeling really frustrated at this point.

"Your doctor didn't order it for you," she said. "Are you sure you aren't supposed to get it at your two-week follow-up?"

"Yes."

"Hmm... Okaaay," she said putting the paperwork down. "I guess I'm going to have to take care of this." She alluded to my going home soon, though at that point I didn't feel like I could sit up straight.

When she left, I finally let my frustration go in the form of some tears. My boyfriend agreed that things were strange and disorganized feeling. We were given some time alone where I began to feel much better, munching on graham crackers and sipping water and ginger ale.

After about two hours in recovery, my recovery nurse came back with the RhoGAM and Depo shot. While she put the RhoGAM in my IV and then gave me the Depo shot (butt shot! haven't had one of those since I was a kid), my boyfriend got our car from the parking garage to pull up in front of the hospital.

When I was alone, I slowly dressed myself and tried to process everything. I had been waiting, hoping, the whole time I was in recovery that I might see my doctor. I wondered if I had met him when I was drugged up and also wondered why I hadn't seen him during pre-op.

A wheelchair and nice dude came to wheel me away from my recovery room, past the nurses' station where both my pre and post-op nurses wished me good luck, and then into the elevator. I felt uncomfortable and made chit chat about the weather with the nice dude.

Once in the car with my boyfriend, I broke down in tears. I felt like I had been holding in emotion all day, just to get through everything. I am still processing what I most felt. Sadness, relief. It all came out as tears, regardless.

Mostly, I felt so confused by what had happened. I had just had an abortion, and I had no idea who had performed it on me. No one had ever said that everything went okay. I just assumed so because here I was in the car with my boyfriend with some pads and a heating pad to take home with me.

We sat there for several minutes as I let this feeling release and my boyfriend assured me that everything was okay with me but that what had happened was not okay. I have a post-op appointment in two weeks with the nurse and other professionals who I saw yesterday for my laminaria insertion and last week for my consultation. I plan to talk to them about the frustration and disappointment in how things were handled today. I'll be interested to hear whether I did meet the doctor in a drugged-up haze or not at all.

At the very least, my cramping is very minimal right now. The painkillers are helping me tons, as are my electric heating pads. My boyfriend and I ate some soup that my mom made for me and watched a movie together. I'm pretty sure I will sleep really, really well tonight.

Day 1 Update 3

Still feeling relatively good. Haven't had any spotting yet, so I took off the pad. Cramping was seriously minimal for a good portion of the evening, though it has returned. Rocking the heating pad once more.

I'm not scheduled for surgery until 3 PM tomorrow. Yet, as it would be if surgery were six hours earlier, I can't eat or drink anything after midnight. (A sip of water with painkillers at 9 AM is OK.) Serious bummer. For the last several hours, I've been drinking water like a mad woman about to trek out on some spiritual desert pilgrimage.

Have I mentioned that one of my pregnancy symptoms has been thirst?? Yeah. Bummer.

I'm allowed one last meal and liquid at midnight, and I'm planning to take advantage. Considering staying up later too so I can sleep in and avoid some of the hunger and thirst tomorrow morning/afternoon.

Feeling relatively calm now. I've definitely had some emotional moments today, but I'm feeling supported and relaxed.

Day 1 Procedure

My boyfriend and I returned to the hospital's family planning clinic, where we had been several days before for our consultation, for part one of the D&E procedure: laminaria insertion.

Upon arrival, I needed to pee immediately (surprise, surprise), so by the time I left the restroom, they were ready for us to come back. The nurse directed my boyfriend to the same consultation room and then took me to take some final vitals. I joined my boyfriend in the consultation room, and we waited.

The head nurse eventually came in, cheery and spunky as ever. She went over some logistical details and made sure that I didn't need the services of a social worker or chaplain.

She rattled through more details:

• I'd need bloodwork done before I left today, after the laminaria insertion.
• I was prescribed an antibiotic (Doxycycline), a narcotic painkiller (Norco), and 600 mg Motrin (you're kidding me, right?). I could place the prescription downstairs at the pharmacy before going for the bloodwork.
• The attending doctor wouldn't be in today for the laminaria insertion (she gets in later in the afternoon), but everyone else working on my case would be there: the resident who I already met, and the fellow.
• The remains of the fetus are incinerated. ("Ok?" she added, glancing up at us. I swallowed hard. This information felt out of the ordinary run-down of things, but I suppose it's all part of the process.)
• I'll be in some pain, nothing worse than a bad menstrual period. Call if I bleed through more than one pad an hour or have a fever of over 100.4.

Okay? Okay.

And off we went into the exam room.

I disrobed my bottoms while my boyfriend sat in a chair next to the table. I lay down and he held my hand.

The resident, fellow and head nurse all came in, and the fellow introduced herself to me. I liked her immediately. I liked all these women, I realized, and I felt a kind of calm and confident tranquility that surprised me.

To get things started, the resident explained she'd have to search inside of me to find the exact location of my uterus. Easy enough. She applied lubricant to her hand and began pressing inside of me. I sucked my breath in--it was surprisingly painful for me. I expect this is something that varies from person to person. For me, I perhaps shouldn't have been too surprised. I've found sex for the last couple weeks, when my cervix is hit, seriously painful. Lying on my back at night had become painful as my belly had swollen. I suppose it makes sense that physically spotting my uterus might be uncomfortable too. Fortunately, it was all over before I had much time to process the discomfort. She apologized for the pain when I sucked in and explained that we'd next do a local anesthetic.

More than anything, I was nervous for the shot of local anesthetic. I've never had any sort of anethesia except for general anethesia. I'm unreasonably scared of all needles. I'm kind of a baby. I focused on breathing while they inserted a speculum.

"Here we go," they warned me. I squeezed my boyfriend's hand hard, and... nothing. I didn't feel anything. No pinch. No burn. Awesome.

There was some shifting of the speculum before they said, "Okay, we've got to do one more local anesthetic on the other side."

Shit! I thought. Another one?! Is my cervix superwoman-sized? This I was not expecting, this is awf--

"Okay, it's done," they said. Again, I had felt nothing. Awesome!

They waited a moment for the anesthetics to take hold and explained that they would be inserting three laminaria into my cervix. Not many, they said. I took their word for it and made sure not to glance over and see what the laminaria might look like.

The room we were in featured some of the lovely gray, rainy skyline of our city, so I stared out the windows and thought hard about my boyfriend's hand. They started the first laminaria, and it felt fine. With the second, I winced, and my boyfriend began to stroke my hairline with his fingertips. I relaxed. With the third, the cramping began, and I thought back to a yoga instructor who taught me an amazing breathing exercise. I breathed, relaxed, and it was over.

Incredibly, it was not that bad. I had been so nervous, and here it was over.

They helped me sit up and answered some questions for me: I'll be a full centimeter dilated at the time of surgery. I really, truly did not have to worry about going into labor, they promised me. But the fellow explained to me the difference between my cramping and what labor contractions would feel like. Then she reassured me not to worry.

The resident and fellow wished me luck, said they'd see me the next afternoon and left. The head nurse offered me a heating pad, which I refused. I quickly remembered that I had wanted to ask about masturbation and tossed the question at the head nurse, who seemed baffled and didn't really answer me. Oh, well. She left my boyfriend and I in the darkened room, lit by the gray sky outside, to relax and talk as I curled up on my side.

I'm shocked at how smoothly and relatively unpainful the whole thing was. So relieved and feeling optimistic.