The “procedure”.
Disclaimer: This is extremely graphic - so if you don’t want to read the details or decide this might just be too much…leave the website for a few days. I will try to post daily so that at some point over the week this post will become part of the archives.
I went back and forth on whether to post this information and truth-be-told - it’s therapeutic to me. It helps to recount the situation and have one last cry while doing it. I realize it’s part of my past/history and that’s alright. I feel like we all have bad things happen to us and around us and sometimes it’s alright to talk about them instead of letting them linger in the background only to come up later in life.
Secondly, I’m doing this because I do get lots of traffic from people who are looking up selective reduction, IVF, triplets, and want to know about experiences. I remember myself newly pregnant and doing every search imaginable looking for that one person who had the exact symptoms and feelings. Fortunate for me, the internet is a great place and there’s always some whacko that meets your searching perimeters!
I’ll start off from yesterday morning. Margot and I got in the car and drove to the hospital. We decided to go to Thomas Jefferson University where our RE had recommended in Philadelphia. I had talked with the genetic counselor prior and set the appointment.
On the drive there - it was somber. We talked with Emmy on the phone and Margot read email and facebook messages to me as I drove. We entered the city and parking garage. Walking to the hospital - all I could think of was “this is the last time I will walk down this sidewalk with three babies.” I knew that walking down the same sidewalk hours later - I would have one healthy, alive baby and two dead ones.
We noticed upon approaching the hospital that the first floor had a very upscale and nice Indian Restaurant. It just so happened to have a lunch buffet too. Nice.
We went up to the third floor - suite 300. Inside it was packed with people. All different kinds of people, Muslims dressed in full garb, blacks, Mexicans, single people, coupled people. Then there was the two of us. Chinese and whitie lesbians. We had both independently decided to “dress up” for the appointment. We figured it we looked professional we might get better care. Weird, I know…
So I checked in on the computer and within a few minutes we were called to the front to “settle up”. To pay the $1799 it would cost. In my mind while Margot was paying I just kept thinking that we paid $3,500 to get pregnant and get a heartbeat….now we’re paying $1,799 to end two heartbeats. It made my stomach ache. I hated that there was a financial component to this. As if it’s not bad enough just to have to walk in and do this…
We then met with the genetic counselor. She asked if a genetic counselor she was training could sit in on our session and we agreed. We went over the risk of downs, spina bifida, and other genetic issues. I was shocked that after finding out that my mom and grandma had glaucoma that I have a 50% chance. I knew there was a chance but didn’t realize it was that high.
The good thing about having a Chinese donor is that as far as genetics go…I couldn’t have done better! Chinese are least likely to have genetic issues and mixed with my whitie genes - we appear to be the next super human.
Margot kept asking questions about the nuchal screening and neck folds and the genetic counselor pretty much said that 98% chance that all three babies were fine and there were not going to be genetic issues.
After the hour long meeting we were told to leave, go for lunch and come back at 1pm. So we went to the lobby where Margot said she couldn’t eat. I said “I’m fucking hungry” and despite it being absolutely inappropriate - I needed food. We walked to the bottom level of the restaurant and sure as sugar - the Indian food smells took us away.
We ate, and ate, and ate, and ate. I made sure not to eat too much because I still have a bit of a barf factor and it would not be good if I puked in the middle of this. We were both speechless. I knew if I talked I would cry and get upset. Margot admitted to me that her biggest fear is that I would get up in the middle of the procedure and walk out. I reassured her…I didn’t “think” that would happen.
We paid the bill and walked upstairs back to suite 300. I checked in using the computer. We sat down again and within a few minutes we were escorted back to the ultrasound area. In the waiting room I was the only white person, Margot and I were the only couple over 30, only ones to have a full set of teeth, and only ones to have no tattoos. Then to top it off…we were dressed nice. So to say the least…felt a little out of place.
They called our name shortly after sitting down and we made our way back to the ultrasound room. The tech applied warm gel to my belly and Margot sat on my left side. The tech told Margot that it’s really best if she didn’t look. I didn’t look at all. She also asked if a group of med student interns could watch the procedure. I said “no”. Typically, I wouldn’t care. I realize it’s a teaching hospital, and quite frankly. I think it’s important that doctors learn all aspects of care. However, this time…I just couldn’t be *that* person. AND…I was already letting the genetic counselor intern watch.
After she had completed the measurements and jiggled my belly to get one of the babies to move correctly she left the room without saying anything.
She entered the room with the nice intern, nurse, and doctor.
The doctor was warm and asked how I was doing. I shrugged and said “not good”. He was an older man with a beard and short. I liked him. The nurse I had spoke with on the phone last week entered the room. She stood at my feet. Throughout the procedure she stayed there and scratched my feet.
The doctor and the ultrasound tech had a mini-conversation while looking at the monitor. They talked about transverse, A, B, C, angles, and then they came up with a game plan. They would keep A. A is closest to the cervix. We asked about measurements for nuchal screening and A was 1.2. Which is perfect. All three babies were measuring accurately and so it just made sense to take the other two that were higher in the cervix and might be easier to access.
They sprayed alcohol over my belly and then rubbed betadine on my belly for a few minutes. Then the doctor opened a 6 inch needle. I really wasn’t so freaked out about that. Hell, 4 IVFs later using big ass gauge needles…this one wasn’t bad at all. He told me it would sting upon entry.
The first baby was B. B was located on my right upper side. He took an angle going down and entered the needle through my belly. It did sting. Once he was in and through my skin I didn’t feel it as much. I later found out from Margot that his goal was to inject the baby’s heart with the saline. I had assumed during the surgery that it was just the sac. Then he had to jab. Hard. He missed. The ultrasound tech kept telling him where to go. He kept missing. I kept looking at the tiny hole in the ceiling and wishing I could crawl through it like a tiny mouse. With each jab I just kept thinking that he’s killing *my* baby. I wanted him to stop. He had to try to use a different needle. So he pulled that needle out and inserted a new one. I wanted to walk away and just live with having three babies. He kept jabbing. It hurt. Badly. I knew that the baby was moving around and all I could picture is that he/she was running away from the needle. Then I kept thinking about how feisty Emmy was. I thought that baby B had that same spirit. At that moment…I wanted that baby. Finally, after me emotionally checking out and them having to take a few breaks - they finally got it. He said he was “in”. The ultrasound tech confirmed he was in and he injected the saline into the baby’s heart. The doctor looked at me while pushing the syringe and said “half way there”. They had to wait for the baby’s heartbeat to stop.
Baby B - dead.
After that I looked at Margot and told her I couldn’t do it and that maybe twins wasn’t so bad. I really was half way to that mindset. I’m glad they didn’t give me a break because I think I would have gotten up and walked out.
The doctor got another needle ready and talked to the U/S tech to figure out which way to get to Baby C. The needle went in and thankfully, within two or so jabs they were able to get in. Doctor attached the syringe to the needle and plunged out the solution. It took forever. He said he was finished.
I felt empty. Ashamed. Sad. I had just killed two babies. One very feisty baby. Just like my Emmy.
The doctor left the room and I got my clothes back on. They said to leave for 30 minutes and come back and they’ll do an ultrasound. So we went to the waiting room.
I was upset, tears, eyes red, crying and walked into the waiting room. I had to use the bathroom and was somewhat shocked to see that there was no blood or fluid. I half assumed there would be. I was glad to see there wasn’t.
When I exited the bathroom we sat down in another bizarre group of people. Across from us was thug boy and his girlfriend, thug girl. Thug boy had a set of dentures that were too big for his mouth and when he talked they slipped out. He looked at me and said “this whole time I thought we were having and boy, and now we’re having a girl.”. He kept looking down at this ultrasound pictures.
Then there was a black girl with short dreads sitting to the left of me. She said she was having twins and just wanted healthy babies.
There was another larger woman in the waiting room and I felt sorry for her. She had noone there for her. She was doing this alone. She didn’t look happy or sad and was holding a sheet of baby ultrasound photos.
Then there was us. Visibly upset…with one healthy baby moving around and two dead ones.
We waited in the waiting room for a long time and then we were finally called back. The doctor came in and shook our hands. They checked out the two dead babies to make sure they were still not alive. Then she scanned in on the alive baby.
There she was. Baby A. At first she had her back to us and you could see her moving a little. Then she instantly flipped over. As if to say “hello”. She raised her arm.
The u/s tech printed out pictures and we now see that not only did she raise her arm…she is flicking us off.
I’m holding onto that photo so closely. I look at it constantly. That’s our baby. The one we will meet and the one that will join our family.
I know I will think about Baby B and C often. I’m just sorry that I couldn’t be their mama too.
