We did not get an ultrasound yesterday because this particular doctor did not have an ultrasound machine on premises. He had discovered the bleeding after a pelvic exam, and while he put me on bedrest, he advised us to get an ultrasound right away.
Luckily, we were able to get an appointment with another doctor this morning. I immediately liked her, and kept thinking inside my head, “We found our OB!” She was warm, energetic and friendly, and told me more about the pregnancy in 15 minutes of conversation than all my past doctor visits combined.
But as soon as the grainy image flickered onto the screen, I knew something was wrong.
“…there is no heartbeat…”
We had lost the baby.
Insurance Refuses to Cover the Surgery
I will be going to the hospital on Monday to get a surgical procedure called D&C. The tissue will be suctioned out and tests performed to try to determine the cause of the miscarriage.
The worst part of this entire experience has been the insurance. After we received the news and got some private time to grieve, the doctor explained to us what would happen and the administrative staff called my insurance provider to get the authorization for the procedure.
Horizon Blue Cross Blue Shield is refusing to cover this treatment as well, stating that my need for a D&C stems from a pre-existing condition (aka the pregnancy). My doctor was livid, repeatedly saying, “But she NEEDS this procedure. It’s a surgery that requires a hospital bed, staff, equipment, and anesthesia!”
The cost of the D&C will run in the thousands of dollars. My doctor kindly offered to cut her own fee in half, but her cost is just a fraction of the total bill.
After hearing the news, all I wanted to do was go home and cry. Grieve in private. Instead, we had to sit in the doctor’s office for another half an hour while the staff continued to argue with the insurance company. A fight that they inevitably lost.
This all happened in the morning. J and I came home, cried, and grieved together. I took a short nap, and am currently feeling slightly better. Which is to say that I am no longer bawling…rather, I feel numb. I feel completely numb and cold inside.
When I first found out that we had lost the baby (just a week before the start of my second trimester, no less), I quickly decided that I did not want to tell anyone right away.
However, as soon as I woke up from my nap I knew that I wanted to write. So here I am.
I continue to re-run the pregnancy in my head, trying to figure out what I did wrong. I think back to events that occurred years and years ago, asking myself if it’s possible that they could’ve somehow contributed to the miscarriage.
People say that a miscarriage is nature’s way of weeding out the weak and the deformed, and that it most likely happened through no fault of my own. However, it is difficult not to blame myself and consider myself less of a woman.
“Do you think our baby is in heaven?” I asked J.
“Of course. And we’ll get to meet him or her one day.”