When we got to the front desk, I told them I was the one who had called previously. Instead of showing concern and urgency I was met with, “So, you think that you’re having contractions?” Now I was angry. I explained I didn’t think I was having contractions, I was. Interesting thing. If you’ve been in labor before, you don’t forget.
Despite knowing the details of this complicated pregnancy, they took their time. They weighed me. They took us to the triage room and requested a urine sample. I made multiple requests to have my cervix checked. We kept waiting. After a half hour, a nurse walked in the room. She asked me the usual questions and I answered quickly, eager to get help.
She told us it was probably a bladder infection. I knew better. This felt nothing like a bladder infection. This was labor. Why wasn’t she listening? After the million-question survey she got out the doppler. Silence. I was sure our son was dead. I refused to process this information because I knew I had a greater focus now. I had to deliver a dead baby.
She then hooked me up to the monitoring belts hoping to find his heartbeat that way. As she was working I was still having contractions. Still no heartbeat. I asked if I could change positions because it was painful and she rolled her eyes. By now I had transitioned from anger to fury. She said she was going to get an ultrasound machine. I asked AGAIN for a physical examination. There was no time for an ultrasound.
The nurse explained at this gestation only a physician could check me. I demanded a doctor come right away. As we went back and forth, I could tell our son would be born any minute. I voiced this and she had the nerve to tell me that it was MY fault that there wasn’t a doctor in the room because I was arguing with her. Never mind the phone call I placed over two hours ago or the forty-five minutes we sat in triage.
I’ve never wanted to punch someone in the face as badly as I did in that moment. But because I knew I needed help, I simply shut my mouth and let her go.
Jim was holding my hand. Contractions. I told him how angry I would be if I had our child alone in the triage room because they wouldn’t listen. Moments later, that very thing happened.
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