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Stuck in the second phase of Kubler-Ross

I had the D&C this morning. As the doctor said, it went “well.” But putting it like that leaves ash in my mouth. Nothing was “well” about what I went through. I wasn’t meant to be there. That the procedure “went as it was supposed to” feels more accurate to say. I didn’t have any side effects. I didn’t die.


On top of all that, my grandfather died on Wednesday. I’ll write a tribute to him in the near future, but I just can’t right now because I don’t have room in my heart for it. What’s taking up all the space there currently is an all-consuming anger. I can’t predict what will set me off, and it seems like everything these days does.


I’m angry with various doctors. My fertility doctor sent me out of his office last week with an envelope containing my sonogram picture of the empty gestational sac, which I specifically said I did not want, and a note with a bunch of medical gibberish in a trademark indecipherable doctor’s scrawl. I don’t know what half that shit means, or if it has any importance going forward. Why couldn’t he have taken five extra seconds to write it in layman’s terms — and in neat handwriting?


I’m angry also with the doctor from my regular gyno office, who talked me through my various options for dealing with this miscarriage (waiting until I bled out naturally, taking misoprostol, or doing the D&C) and seemed to really suggest the D&C was the best option, and yet when I got to the hospital this morning it was marked as an “elective” surgery. Excuse me, but what? There is not one single ounce of me that wanted to do this. Fuck ALL of you. Now, on top of all my grief over losing the pregnancy, I’m sitting here anxious as hell about what the medical bills are going to look like. Does insurance even cover this “elective” surgery? So I guess I’m angry at the state of health care in this shithole of a country too.


I’m angry at people who haven’t checked in enough. This is more on behalf of my husband than it is on my end — luckily most of my girlfriends have been champs, which I’m truly grateful for — but “letting you grieve” is bullshit. Humans are pack creatures. We crave connection. No one should have to do this shit alone, and especially not because they’ve chosen friends who apparently have a hard time with tough emotions.


I’m angry I don’t have enough vacation time for all of this and I’ll have to take some unpaid days off. I’m angry I have to look up hospitals in Ohio to prepare for the off-chance I’ll get an infection while I’m there to attend a funeral. I’m angry it’s nice outside — really, really nice out, like 70 degrees and sunny — and I can’t go enjoy it. I’m angry I can’t exercise or take baths for two weeks. I’m angry I have to do the whole cycle of IVF again, and I’m angry I have to wait a few months to begin.


And I’m just angry at the rest of the world for not stopping for this. Everywhere, everyone is going about their lives, celebrating their little celebrations and dealing with their own griefs. I’m on a Facebook message chain with a bunch of girlfriends who just send silly gifs to each other, and I want to throttle every single one of them every time a new gif comes in. Listening to others vent about their problems drains the life out of me. I wish I could just hit a pause button until I’m ready to go on.


At first, the anger felt productive. It got me off the couch, which is more than I can say for the despair. But I’m stalling out with it now. I hope the acceptance phase comes soon.

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