My surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, March 30th, 2011.
I woke up on Tuesday morning, still shaken from my dream, and told Mark. He never once questioned me, and I love him for that. I know that the dream may sound far fetched for some, but I assure you it is absolutely true.
As it started to sink in that all of this really was happening, new questions came.
I called the doctors office. I asked what would happen after surgery. The response was one I wasn't prepared for.
I was told that everything would be taken to the lab.... but then what? Then everything would be taken care of. Taken care of as in how? The nurse sat on the other end of the line in total silence. I pressed her for more information. She told me that she would talk to the doctor and call me back.
Hours passed before that phone call came and, after she spoke with the doctor, she told me once again that "the prodcuts of conception" would be taken care of after the lab was done. When I asked exactly what that meant, she reluctantly told me. Everything would be diposed of. I realized what she was saying. They were putting my baby in a trash can, with God only knows what other fluids and lab specimens.
I told her that wasn't going to be acceptable and asked for my other options. She seemed taken a back. They didn't have any other options. I told her to talk to the doctor and call me when she had some answers as to what else I could do.
I got online and started looking at funeral homes. I made some phone calls and several places were happy to cremate her remains and bury them for us. I called the Arch Diocese. I called our parish priest. I finally called the hospital my OBGYN was associated with and spoke to one of the nuns there. Sister was so kind and understanding. She put me in touch with a woman who runs a program at the hospital for baby loss. I spoke with Maggie and she said that she would be honored to wrap our baby in her own blanket and bury her at Calvary with the other babies born to God. My dad's side of the family is buried there, and I felt at peace knowing that our baby's final resting place would be surrounded by family that had passed before her.
The nurse called back and said that, after speaking with the doctor, the fetus had been reabsorbed into my system and that there wasn't anything to bury. I threw a fit. We were just in the office not even 24 hours before and we could see our baby. There was no mistaking it. I told her not to insult my intelligence and that either the doctor was an idiot or the ultrasound technician was.... so who was wrong? She didn't want to answer that question. Instead, she countered it by telling me that even if the "fetus" had not been absorbed yet, there wasn't much of anything left to bury. The "fetus" was too small to do anything with.
Now, anyone that knows me knows that I'm one hell of a "momma bear". I've always been Colin's greatest advocate as we've struggled with teachers and doctors with his ADHD. You don't mess with Colin, nor do you mess with any child of mine.
My baby had a heartbeat. My baby was REAL. My baby was loved. How dare they insult our family and my child by saying that there wasn't "much of anything" and that they were "too small". I asked her if she had children. She replied she did. I asked her if she could sleep at night knowing that their final burial place was in a trash can, covered in other bodily fluids, and taken out to a dumpster.
"No, ma'am. I would never let that happen."
"Neither will I." I told her. I would NEVER let anyone do that to Colin, and I certainly won't let them do that to this baby either.
She told me that she didn't know if they could do that and that she'd talk to the doctor. I let her off the phone with my final words being "Don't ask the doctor. Tell him this is what I'm doing. It's my right as a parent." and hung up.
I fell apart. I would never be able to hold her, protect her, kiss her, fix a scraped knee, tell her that Mr. Right will come along after her first love broke her heart, reassure her when she was scared of the monster under the bed. All of these things were stolen from me when she died and I would never the oppourtinity to do for her what mothers are supposed to do for their children.... protect and comfort. The one and only thing I could do was protect her dignity.
It bothered me that the nurse acted like I was a crazed woman for wanting to bury my miscarried baby.... that she still thought of her as "products of conception". It was so hard for me to fathom that when all was well she was always referred to as "your baby" "your little peanut" "your angel".... and now they acted like she was nothing, worthy of nothing more than being tossed in a trashcan and waiting for the garbage truck to carry her away from the dumpster.
I was furious, hysterical, and heartbroken.
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