So, I haven't made it a secret that Jeph and I recently suffered a very painful loss. Losing the promise of a child is a tough experience to go through, and I know I wasn't prepared for it. It's taking time, but I'm doing better.
As the weeks since this loss have ticked slowly away, I have had moments that remind me how loved and cared for I am by people; how oblivious some people can be to your pain; and sadly, how little care there truly is in human healthcare.
I've been working in a different hospital for almost three months. While I've come to care about the people I work with there, I hadn't anticipated how understanding and caring some of them would be toward me. One day, Elton John's "Your Song" buried me while I cleaned the teeth of a dog, I now can't even remember. My doctor that day was about eight months along in her second pregnancy. She knew I needed a moment, and she knew I needed to talk. I will always appreciate how she rescued me that day.
A dear friend, who frequently rescues me sends me "check-in" texts at least once a week, and in the beginning of this painful experience, she texted me multiple times a day. I think she kept me from spiraling into despair a thousand times. I hate that she can relate to my experience, because her kindness to me makes her loss seem even more unfair. I'm envious of her ability to convey the strength she does in the face of such a loss. I had always known she was amazing, but now, I will never forget it. And I will never forget how she continues to support me and make me feel cared about--even weeks later.
Some people overwhelm you with loving gestures, you can barely show appropriate appreciation for. A friend I've known since first grade, and reconnected with a few Twilight years ago, had one of her favorite series of books shipped to me. It's amazing how the love of a friend, and a few good books can help you escape a world that can be hard to face at moments. Still another friend, who has clotheslined me with her thoughtfulness before, sent me a handmade card offering me a bit of Bono's mojo.
The outpouring of care from these women, who are now woven into my memory of this experience forever, is something for which I can never thank them adequately. Aside from Jeph, they have been my "primary care providers."
And that is actually what I really want to talk about--the state of human healthcare.
Just two short weeks before we lost our pregnancy, I was driving Jeph to a hospital because he was experiencing terrible pain every time he tried to breathe. Through the course of the three days he spent in the hospital, we experienced a wide range of care. From concerned and helpful, to distracted and oblivious--we saw it all. There were moments we were frustrated, but when you're stuck in a hospital bed, you often forget that it's your right to ask for better.
I had been waiting to see my new OB/GYN until I was at least nine or ten weeks along. The appointment scheduler had made it very clear that I didn't need to be seen when I initially called. I freely told her that I knew nothing about the process and was happy to follow their lead on what I needed to do--no additional information was offered--not even what to do if I did find myself in trouble. When trouble came, I had no idea what I was supposed to do, and surprisingly, nobody else I asked knew either. We ended up in the emergency room, where I had a sonogram Jeph couldn't be there for, and the technician was not allowed to answer any questions about. In one of the most vulnerable situations of my life, I was completely alone and in the dark about what was happening. As that day progressed and trouble continued, I desperately phoned the office of that new doctor I was waiting to see, and the on-call doctor chastised me for going to the emergency room at all. After having additional testing added to my blood-work, he ordered me to find a 24-hour pharmacy to get a prescription filled. I desperately Googled for said pharmacy--never in my life had I needed to know what pharmacy would be open at midnight on a Saturday. The doctor made it seem urgent that I make it into his office the following Monday. Interestingly, it was only to have more lab work drawn, which I was assured I'd have the result of later in the day. Nothing. After leaving two messages, his nurse called the following day and failed to listen to half of what I told her. When I finally got her to listen, she very frankly told me she believed I had already miscarried. I'd never met this woman, or the doctor she worked for.
A good friend of ours has been dealing with a fairly painful health issue over the last week, and landed in the office of a nurse practitioner. He soon realized she wasn't listening to him, because she was too busy saying what she wanted to say. When I heard how inappropriately appropriately he had called her out on the situation, I was proud of him. Surprisingly, getting her attention didn't change the tenor of the visit, and he walked out to seek help from someone who might actually care.
And that's the thing. I think many of us are raised to respect doctors, nurses and people in the healthcare profession. They go to school for a long time and they know more than we do. We accept that when we try to schedule appointments that we won't be able to see them for weeks, unless we are near death. We accept that we must arrive early for our visit. We must bring a book or magazine to entertain ourselves in the waiting room, while we wait passed the time of our scheduled appointment to see the doctor, or nurse practitioner. We sit, uncomfortably naked in those horrible gowns on those horrible exam tables with the same book we brought, while we wait for another extended period of time to see our healthcare providers. In most cases, they breathlessly breeze in, to spend as little time with us as possible, and as they walk out of the room, they remind us that we haven't lost any weight since the last time they told us to.
Why do we accept all of this? I don't know. But I'm done.
When I asked my last primary care provider what things I should be thinking about as I approached the idea of becoming pregnant, her only responses were that I would be fine and I should get some exercise. She shares an office with my new primary care provider and her bio states that her special interest is in obstetrics and gynecology. My new primary care provider, which I stumbled upon because I wasn't able to see the other one, is from India. She is an internal medicine specialist, and surprisingly, she spends time talking to me. When Jeph got out of the hospital from his pulmonary embolism, she wanted to see him right away, and when he got there, she had already taken the time to review his case front to back. When the office of my OB/GYN failed me, she made the calls necessary to get me face time with the doctor. They had been perfectly content to leave me in limbo for another couple of days.
I work in veterinary medicine. We deal with "crazy" people everyday. Until last month, I didn't understand what it was like to be one of those crazy people. Now I do. It's difficult at times. In my business, people are not the patients, they are more like the insurance providers. They decide what kind of technical care I can provide to my patients.
As I have learned what kind of care I won't accept for myself anymore, I have learned what kind of care I will not provide. I know my patients would always want what's best for themselves. I know that their "insurance providers" can't always provide that level of care. But now, I also know that most of them really do care, and really do want help, or else they wouldn't be in front of me. Perhaps if I show how much I care, they will be able to face providing whatever level of care they can with as much comfort and dignity as I can give them.
I don't know who or what stole the "care" from healthcare. I imagine there are a million things they deal with I will never understand, and somehow, those things have chipped away at their ability to listen, to understand and to empathize. But I also imagine that I will never sit in a waiting room to see someone who has lost their ability to care again.
"I Won't Back Down" Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
