Lost & Found.

The prefix to this entry is that 6 weeks ago I had a missed miscarriage at 9 weeks. It was a hugely traumatic time, including a d & c, and made worse by S being out of town while the diagnosis and subsequent operation happened. It was a much wanted pregnancy and we’d been hoping to give R a sibling for a very long time. Hopefully it is the saddest thing I ever have to go through.

But amongst the sadness there has been some very funny moments.

I found out on the Thursday that the baby had died but couldn’t get the operation to remove it until the following Wednesday in the public health system. Wednesday! Unnecessary cruelness as far as I was concerned. Not surprisingly I opted to have it done privately and began the process of making this happen. Unfortunately my specialist was away at a conference, as was his colleague, so my midwife called to tell me she had one further doctor in mind but she was off to a birth and couldn’t let me know if he could do it until the following morning.

What followed was an extremely stressful night, alone at home without S and on orders that if I started to bleed heavily I needed to get myself to the emergency department immediately. What does ‘bleed heavily’ actually mean FFS?

Anyway the next morning I received a call from a foreign sounding man who claimed to be “Dr. Saddam Hussein” (note, not his real name but you get the idea) and if I wanted he could do the operation. He just needed to “find” an operating theatre and an anaesthetist! WTF? Find them. Umm. Where exactly? It sounded like he was going to finish his shift driving the taxi, round up his mates from the kebab shop and get jiggy with it in my uterus.

As it turned out Dr Hussein was the loveliest man, who is almost as much a Kiwi as I am, and I couldn’t have wished for a more kind and considerate doctor. In fact, we loved him so much that we have signed him up as our preferred obstetrician for the next time we get pregnant.

During a very stressful and sad time, Dr. Hussein and his mates provided some good relief. Especially when I arrived at the hospital and an olive skinned man was outside in a skivvy and polyester tracksuit, with black business shoes and a cell phone, carrying a briefcase!

I still don’t know who that guy was but someone needs to help him get dressed each morning.

Today was another funny moment post miscarriage. After yesterday’s mammoth effort tending to weeds I thought it was time I dealt with the bikini line. It is after all another of those things I tend to suck at (refer entry number 1 for more info).

I hate it. I just can’t get over the fact that someone has their head this close (holds up thumb and index finger 1cm apart) from my va-jay-jay and start breaking out in a sweat. Not to mention that it hurts like hell.

So at 9am this morning I rocked up to the beautician’s to get it dealt with. Early for a Sunday morning I know but 9am was deliberately chosen so I was at my “freshest”. Fresh or not, imagine actually choosing to look at that. And on God’s day too.

So Nancy (why Asian people choose English names that no English person would willingly choose is beyond me) started her business and then said to me “had you recently had babies”?

I still can’t work out what exactly she could she see of my va-jay- jay that I can’t, that led her to say this.

“Umm, no”.

Awkward silence. (Except for the screams that I let out every 10 seconds she pulled the fucking wax).

“But, I recently lost a baby”.

Silence. You could almost hear Nancy’s brain working trying to translate what I had said.

“You lost your baby?”

More silence.

“Where?”

Awkward silence.

“Keep looking Nancy and you might just find it”.