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“I’ll look into it,” I say to appease her. One yearly visit is enough for me. It’s not like I get sick that often and I can take care of my leg myself. I don’t have time to go see another doctor right now. I have other things that matter more, like finding the motherfucker that did this to me in the first place.
“Okay.” She nods. “Let’s discuss the miscarriage. How are you doing emotionally and physically?”
I sit back up, waiting for her to take a seat on the rolling chair positioned in front of a computer screen.
“The cramps are a lot worse than normal periods, but the ER doctor warned me about that. Otherwise, I think I’m fine. The guy who did this though...” I trail off, not wanting to run my mouth. I’m a cop. I can’t just throw idle threats around. But I can’t deny the thoughts of revenge floating around in my head. They are there. They’ve taken up residence, and I don’t see them leaving anytime soon. At least not until Diaz and his men are dealt with—one way or another.
I look over at her when she doesn’t say anything. She’s facing her computer, typing in quick successions to log in. Once she’s finished, she turns on the stool, facing me.
“Being that you miscarried so early in your pregnancy, it might not have had anything to do with the trauma you experienced. Twenty percent of all pregnancies end in miscarriages. The fetus just may not have developed normally.”
Is this woman for real right now?
“I know I must sound clinical. I just want you to know that what happened to you might not have been the reason why you lost the fetus. I’m sorry if the ER physician didn’t explain that to you.”
No. What I think right now is she’s a bitch. But I keep my tongue in my mouth, not voicing that bitter thought.
“I’ve had numerous patients enter into depression after a miscarriage. It’s quite common. And patients who find a reason to blame themselves or others have a harder time overcoming these things than women who know there wasn’t anything they could have done to stop it. Miscarriages are more common than most people think.”
I don’t blame myself per se. I blame Sebastian Diaz and his men. Had I known I was pregnant, I might have done things differently. Then again, at the time, Gabriel’s life was at risk, and even now I know I would have done everything in my power to keep him from being taken. But I don’t tell her any of this. It’s not a conversation I care to get into with anyone, especially not her, someone I don’t know.
“I see in the system there is a note that you didn’t choose a D&C while at the hospital,” she goes on to say. “Is that something you want to consider now if your body hasn’t passed it?”
“I don’t think there is a need. I’m pretty sure I passed everything over the weekend. I stopped bleeding yesterday.”
“You mentioned your cramps were worse than normal cycle cramps. How are they now?”
Excruciating.
I’m not used to heavy periods or cramping at all. I don’t have the symptoms many other women talk about. I usually bleed for three to four days and then it’s over. Other than my periods being a nuisance, I can’t really complain. This time though...
“Yeah, they were, but I haven’t had any today.”
“In that case, I’d like to do an ultrasound to confirm your uterus is clear. Otherwise, you risk infection or even hemorrhaging.”
“Whatever gets this over with.”
“Lie back again, please.” She stands from her stool. “Have you ever had an ultrasound before?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Then this may be a bit uncomfortable.” She pulls out an instrument I’d forgotten about. It looks like a long dildo, but I remember it from when I went to one of my sister-in-law’s ultrasounds early in her pregnancy with Caleb. I remember thinking just that—it’s got to be uncomfortable.
When she inserts the thing, it’s a more awkward feeling than anything. When she’s finished, I relax my back on the exam table and I’m momentarily relieved. That is until I read her face.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Everything is fine, Miss Andrews.” I hear the “but” in her voice before her mouth opens again. “The miscarriage isn’t complete as you had originally thought. So, let’s discuss options.”
“The ER doc said it would naturally pass.”
She turns, handing off the wand to the nurse in the room before turning back to face me.
“It usually does within two weeks. We can still schedule a procedure if you’d like, or I can give you a pill that will help your uterus push it out.”
“So, my options are surgery or medication?”
I scoot away from the edge of the table, and then sit up, covering my legs with the sheet in my lap, thinking. Frankly, I don’t like either of the options in front of me. I don’t want to go under anesthesia. I hate taking any type of medication. For one, I tend to react to most medicines, so I avoid them if it’s not an antibiotic.
