"Lack of compassion, lack of information"

I came in for an early pregnancy scan on Monday. I already knew it was a failed pregnancy, my second one in six months. I found it upsetting that my midwife spoke to me as though I should be used to it. Of course it’s a routine, ordinary thing for her but she spoke as if it was a routine, ordinary thing for me. Perhaps this was her way of making it feel less monumental, less overwhelming? But it felt less sympathetic, less compassionate. With each pregnancy loss it gets harder, not easier. Surely she’s aware of this.

Upon looking at the scan she said she could see that the pregnancy would miscarry naturally, but she did inform me of my other options. I said no to the surgery but was interested in medical management. I asked what was involved in this process and she said: “we give you the pills here and then you go home. Within 4-8 hours you will miscarry, at which point there will be heavy bleeding and some cramping.” Based on this information, I chose this option.

In total I waited an hour, during which time it was revealed to me in pieces that actually I would need to give a blood sample and await the results, actually I would need to wait for a doctor and that these were not pills that I could swallow but that he would need to insert vaginally, and that I would have to stay afterwards for observation. I understand that these procedures are necessary and that waiting times are unavoidable, but I specifically asked what to expect and all of this crucial information was omitted from the response. I was keen to avoid anything invasive. I was also feeling upset, vulnerable and alone, and so was desperate to get home to my family. I left without receiving the treatment I wanted because I was distressed, because I saw no clear end to the length of time I would have to stay, and because I felt very let down. Now, a week later, I still haven’t miscarried and am living with the most awful waiting game: I’m still pregnant, dreading the prospect of suddenly bleeding it out at work or in public, not knowing how heavy or painful it will be or when it will strike. Miscarriage is never a choice but I feel that the little agency I had over the situation was removed almost as soon as it was offered to me.