Why I'll Never "Forget Paris"

Mickey: I was thinking of doing some sightseeing. 

Ellen: Sightseeing? In Paris? What a bizarre notion. 

Mickey: Sure. You got any stuff here? 

Ellen: Yeah, we got some stuff. Would you like to see the Eiffel Tower? 

Mickey: That's here? 

-Forget Paris (1995)

Who doesn't love Paris?  Paris is considered one of the most romantic cities in the world.  I was lucky to travel there a couple of years ago.  We went to Disneyland Paris for Christmas and then spent a few days in Paris touring the famous sights.  I went to the Eiffel Tower, walked up the Champs-Élysées, toured the Louvre (TIP:  You can cut the entrance line if you have a kid in a stroller and then again cut to the front of the line to see the Mona Lisa.), and visited Notre Dame.

Then on New Year's Eve it happened, I started to miscarry.  I was about 10 weeks along.  I had been feeling pretty good.  In fact, I had felt so good I told my husband I didn't even feel pregnant.  I called my doctor who told me to go to the American Hospital (they speak english there and take my insurance).  We we scheduled to fly out early in the morning.  It didn't look like that was going to happen.  Unfortunately, getting to the hospital at 9pm on New Year's Eve in Paris is not the easiest thing to do.

I got myself together and my husband dressed our daughter, who had been getting ready for bed.  We went down to the lobby and looked for the hotel doorman.  The doorman was telling an elegantly dressed woman, "Madame, there are no taxees in Parees tonight.  It is the New Years!"  She was in her mink coat and seemed to have trouble comprehending that she wasn't getting what she wanted.  I approached the Doorman and told him that I was having a miscarriage and needed to get to the American Hospital immediately.  He suggested an ambulance, but couldn't guarantee me that it would take me to the American Hospital.  Not good.  I told him I could only go to the American Hospital, then I clutched my abdomen for dramatic effect.  I thought if I played the sympathy card I could get the Doorman to make a taxi magically appear.  The doorman offered a private car service.  Now he was talking, but magic isn't free and the car came at a price -- 100 Euros.  My husband stepped forward and said, "We'll take it."  We didn't have a choice, 100 Euros was the going rate for a private car and driver to take you any place in Paris on New Year's Eve.  A beautiful new Audi sedan seemed to arrive out of nowhere and whisked us away.

It turns out the hospital was a 10 minute drive away.  I could have walked if I had been going to the hospital for a broken arm or something.  Also, it turns out there was a bus that went directly to the hospital from in front of the hotel.  But this was an emergency.  100 Euros for 10 minutes.  Oh well, normally I like to get kissed before I get f-ed.  When in Paris...

The doctor who came in to see me in the emergency room was named Dr. Hanke (her real name), pronounced HAN-KEY.  Yes, like the South Park character, Mr. Hankey!  My husband and I looked at each other and started laughing at the absurdity of our situation.  Dr. Hanke informed us that because it was New Year's Eve, they were understaffed, didn't have an ultrasound technician around and I needed to come back in the morning for an ultrasound to see if everything is ok with the fetus.  So I was supposed to go back to my hotel room and relax until the morning.  By now it was almost midnight.  How were we going to get back to the hotel?  The doctors showed my husband where the local taxi stand was.  He ran out to find a taxi.  I thought it would take a miracle given what we went through to get to the hospital.  He came back 5 minutes later with a taxi.  We piled into the taxi and our daughter fell asleep across our laps.  We passed by the Arc de Triomphe at the same time fireworks went off and horns sounded the marking the arrival of the New Year.  My husband and I kissed and I said a silent prayer for a better year and a good outcome to my situation.

The next day the ultrasound wasn't good and I stayed in the hospital for my D&C.  The doctors and hospital staff were wonderful, but the food was even better.  Wine was on the menu in the hospital and I had a delicious cream of artichoke soup and fresh french bread for one meal.  There were cloth napkins and nice utensils.  In the middle of the day someone cam around and offered newspapers.  I felt like I was in First Class on an Air France flight.

Not everything was perfect, the television sucked and the only channel not in french was CNN International.  There was some big news while I was in the hospital, so it was 24 hours a day of Saddam's hanging.  I wanted to get some of that rope for myself.

My husband was a hero during this time.  He got the hotel to extend our stay, even getting them to keep the reduced rate I booked, rebooked our return flights, and entertained our daughter with bus rides around Paris and trips to the Luxembourg Garden (which has an excellent playground).  Even more wonderful was the way my husband made sure I ended my trip to Paris on a high-note.  When I was released from the hospital my husband took me to a sushi restaurant.  I love sushi and it's a pregnancy no-no.  I stuffed my face full of mercury-laden raw fish and it was great.  Then he took me to Oz, otherwise known as the Hermès Flagship store, and bought me a scarf!  

I was tres chic as I sashayed up the Champs-Élysées one final time with my new scarf in the unmistakeable orange Hermès bag swinging in my hand, and my hospital bracelet on my wrist.

Mickey: We were great in Paris. 
Ellen: Forget Paris. 
Mickey: Forget Paris? How do you forget the best week in your life? 

It may not have been the best week in my life, but it will always be one of the most unforgettable.

Paging Dr. Shitty-Bedside-Manner

Caduceus Symbol - Medical Symbol MD
Originally uploaded by wcm1111

During my last failed pregnancy/miscarriage fiasco (#5), I had the most shiteous OB/GYN.  My husband didn't like him from the start because Dr. Charles Shitty-Bedside-Manner said, "Call me Chuck."  I wasn't focused on the name, I just wanted to know if everything was ok.

During the few weeks I was seen by this doctor I encountered the following situations:

1)  Chuck forgot about one of my appointments and I waited 3 (THREE) hours in his waiting room until his staff finally said he had gone to lunch and had some meetings in the afternoon.  WTF?   I am in America, not a Third World country!   I pay for f-ing good insurance and I was being treated like I was a comrade in a crappy clinic outside of Chernobyl.  

Now, at this point I had a positive pregnancy test.  I hadn't seen anything on the ultrasound the previous week, but it was early still.  I was starving and cranky.  I was finally able to see an associate of Dr. No-show who looked at my ultrasound and said she didn't see anything, and she was sorry, but I had another blighted ovum.  She asked if I needed a prescription to start the process of expelling the blighted ovum.  I was a little more than 6 weeks pregnant.  This substitute doctor wasn't giving me or the pregnancy a chance.  With my history of miscarriage and blighted ova, I wanted a little more time until a doctor could be 100% certain there was no hope for this pregnancy.  Is that too much to ask?  I think not.

2)  A couple of weeks later, an ultrasound revealed that I did indeed have another blighted ovum and Chuck and I discussed my options: let nature run it's course, take some pills, or have a D&C.  For a number of reasons I chose to have a D&C.  What I wasn't prepared for was the term of art Chuck wrote on my pre-op paperwork instead of D&C -- MISSED ABORTION.   Had I missed something?   I think not!  If I was missing anything, it was a properly developing fetus.  Abortion is a strong word that evokes a lot of emotion.   I am strongly pro-choice, but the last thing I wanted was an abortion.   I wanted a normal ultrasound.    I wanted a baby.  I wanted a different term for the procedure I was about to have performed to get rid of the empty sac that was "kickin it" in my uterus.

So I propose a new word. DUD.  I think DUD is great for a number of reasons.  According to Merriam-Webster: Dud (n.) : one that is ineffectual; failure; misfit.  What could be more perfect?

When my husband and I found out I was pregnant with our daughter and saw the first ultrasound image, we decided to call the small blob in the photo, "Spud."  It's what we called her throughout the pregnancy until she was born.  Dud then is the opposite of Spud.  It rhymes.  I like that.  It's a lot more innocuous of a term than MISSED ABORTION.  I can hear myself telling the receptionist at the hospital's surgery center, "Yes, I am here for outpatient surgery.  I have a Dud.  No, I haven't had anything to eat or drink after 9 o'clock last night."  I can see the email to my best friend, "Ugh!  Another f-ing Dud.  Can you believe it?  I swear I am going back on the pill when this is over."  So Chuck, next time, save your "missed abortion" for when you don't show up for an appointment with a patient who actually wants an abortion.

3)  Adding insult to injury, at my follow-up appointment with Chuck after the D&C I was put into an exam room from where I overheard Chuck in the hallway talking to a medical student who he was preparing to send in to see me.  Through the door, I could hear him tell the medical student, "The patient is here for a follow-up after a D&C a few weeks ago.  She has had several miscarriages, so don't go in there with a smile on your face."  Wow.  Who knew Chuck could be so sensitive?  Well, if he was so sensitive, he should have come in to see me WITH the med student.  I just wanted a quick check-up.  It was bad enough I had to sit in the waiting room with all those PREGNANT women.  Ugh!  Their big round bellies glaring at me and mocking me.  But now, I had to answer questions from this med student who was filling time until Chuck came in to see me by asking me what the purpose of my appointment was.  WHAT?  Then she asked for my OB-GYN history.  Hadn't I been through enough?  At that time, I was still grieving my recent loss.  I certainly didn't want to rehash all my pregnancy losses right then.  I just wanted to get checked out and go home.  Finally, after what seemed like forever and after I relived the history of my reproductive system, Chuck entered the exam room.  I wiped away my tears and braced for the physical exam realizing I was experiencing two more Duds, this time -- in the flesh.

Miscarriage Comedy Jam Pt. 1-- Blighted Ovum Stimulus Package

egg
Originally uploaded by House Of Sims

WARNING: The following may be totally crude, lewd, and offensive --especially if you have had a miscarriage. I apologize for any pain this post causes. My intention is only to heal myself.

Ok, I have had 5 miscarriages. To be specific, 2 spontaneous miscarriages and 3 blighted ova.

The American Pregnancy Association says the following about blighted ovum:
when a fertilized egg attaches itself to the uterine wall, but the embryo does not develop. Cells develop to form the pregnancy sac, but not the embryo itself. A blighted ovum usually occurs within the first trimester before a woman knows she is pregnant.

Basically, you have a positive pregnancy test and you may feel pregnant -- morning sickness, et al., but PSYCH! You're not pregnant. You have a sac but no heartbeat, no fetus. The cells that make the sac did their job. The others were lazy and ineffective -- this part I like to blame on my husband's cellular contributions.

While having a blighted ovum is a common reason for miscarriage (cause of 50% of 1st trimester miscarriages), it's uncommon to have more than one. Ding! Ding! Ding! I have won the freak lottery by having had three of them in a span of 2 1/2 years.

Blighted ovum. Hmm. Interesting phrase. Actually a pretty horrible phrase. According to Merriam-Webster:

blight
Verb
1 : to affect (as a plant) with blight
2 : to impair the quality or effect of blighted his son's life — Patricia Guthrie>

blight
Noun
1 a: a disease or injury of plants marked by the formation of lesions, withering, and death of parts (as leaves and tubers)b: an organism (as an insect or a fungus) that causes blight
2: something that frustrates plans or hopes
3: something that impairs or destroys
4: a deteriorated condition blight>

Blighted Ovum -- it certainly frustrated my plans and hopes. Hopes and plans: a baby, a sibling for my daughter, a family of four. It impaired and destroyed my hopes, plans, dreams and happiness and resulted in my deteriorated condition (physically and mentally).

Ok, so I have a "deteriorated condition." Who didn't know that. When I think of blight an image of run down city blocks, empty lots, and urban decay fill my head. Basically, crappy parts of Philly are in my uterus? Does some city agency need to come and hang a "condemned" sign from my pelvis?

Well let's fix that. What should we do, gentrification? Do I need another mate? Nope. We've had all the blood tests, had our chromosomes analyzed and been to a couple different fertility centers. My husband has good sperm, in fact they are like Michael Phelps. I have no trouble getting pregnant, hence the 5 miscarriages in 2 1/2 years. I could have had more, but it takes more sex and after each miscarriage I lock my knees like a virgin on prom night who hasn't been properly liquored up. It takes some time for me to get back in the saddle.

How about I stage a uterine rennaissance? I need a federal grant. I should probably establish an empowerment zone. Wait a minute, couldn't I get my hands on some of that stimulus money? It would be useful for the medical bills, and in this economy who couldn't use some extra bucks? I could use the money to beautify my ova. A tattoo? Jewelry? Wait a minute, I think Ty Pennington and his crew could join with Mike Rowe for an ABC/Discovery Channel exclusive "Extreme Makover/Dirty Jobs" episode. Oooh. Think of the drug companies who would line up to be commercial sponsors. Imagine the ratings when they've "moved that bus" from in front of my vagina.