Do not read this post. It is completely disgusting

I’m also working on a post on my delightful room-mates for those two nights I spent in hospital, don’t worry. But this post is rather heavy on the gore and ick. Also, snot and weeping. Heigh ho.

Dear readers, I do hope very few of you have had a miscarriage, and of those of you have had, well, statistically only 2 to 3% will have developed an infection, according to Doctor Google. Doctor Google, however, is a little coy about symptoms and recovery times and, you know, quite important things like that. I can expect pain, yes, done that; fever, yes, a slight one, dealt with with all the paracetamol and antibiotics; and bleeding with ‘foul-smelling discharge’ – this last one freaking me the heck out and I can ASSURE you, gentle reader I have had nothing of the sort. I am bleeding, in a watery, pinkish, feeble, spotting sort of way – ah, by the way, I have now been bleeding practically without surcease since the 17th of May, and is this fair? Is it buggery – but haven’t bled heavily since the operation. Nothing particularly foul about it. I promise. Is this right? Is it good? Is it not good? The NHS doctors seemed to be of the opinion that I get at least another week of bleeding. Harrumph.

Also, I was utterly panic-struck yesterday. I was feeling very crampy, which was beginning to upset me. I was pacing about the living-room in a slightly wobble-kneed way, huffing, and along with the cramps I was feeling a bizarre sensation of pressure and almost squeezing. Very unpleasant. I interpreted this as my possibly needing a pee, so I went into the loo, sat down, and suddenly something slid out of me. I caught it on the toilet paper, and promptly shrieked – I mean really, avert your eyes, and why are you still reading this? – because I’d just passed a lump of, of, flesh, the size of my thumb, and it was disgusting, and it was NOT a blood clot (I know, ohh, I know blood clots). I grew up on a farm. I was there when the cats and the dogs and the sheep and the cow gave birth. This was worryingly placental.

What I did next, I agree, is mentally unstable. I wrapped it up very firmly in a plastic freezer-bag, and, um, I put it in the freezer. It’s still there.

And then I was outraged for quite some time. Please regard your thumb. Please regard your uterus – no, wait, not so easy. Please consider your uterus. An empty uterus is the size of a fist. In an object the size of a fist, how could you fail to spot an object the size of a sodding thumb? How could they have told me there was nothing left in there? How could the surgeon have told me the ERPC had ‘got everything’? Argh, foam, gibber.


Hiss spit.


Anyway. I think that is why I couldn’t flush it away. Part of me was determined to march straight back down to the EPU and demand an explanation. And when they reiterate that on the scan, they saw nothing left, throw the sorry little packet down on the desk and yell ‘What the hell is that then, a lamb cutlet?’

But then I remembered the bit about the 8mm endometrium. I am willing to bet that if I fished the sad little object out and measured its width, it would be about 8mm thick. So so far I have not stormed the EPU with an axe. Soon, in fact, I will get rid of it. Soon.


So – incidentally, it’s safe to read again – so, what other horrors can I expect? And for how long? Please? I am such a freaking freak now, apparantly. I can’t think who on earth else has been through this.

Edited to Add: Ooh look, I’ve passed several more nasty lumps. Rather smaller ones, you’ll be pleased to hear, and I pressed flush on all of them. Urgh. Ow. Urgh. Yuk.

And to think I agreed to the ERPC because a) it would reduce the risk of infection and b) would mean I wouldn’t have to pass the sorry remains myself, slowly, painfully, alone in my own bathroom.



13 responses to “Do not read this post. It is completely disgusting

  • Heather

    I”m glad you are home.

    The only thing I could think when I read this is: Did you put a date and time on the freezer bag? Just so you will know EXACTLY when it happened when you throw it at the doctor. The Bastard.

    Unfortunately, I don’t have any assvice or knowledge about this. I just hope you feel better soon and it doesn’t take forever.

  • DC

    Strangely enough, I’ve read two other blogs where women stuck their post-miscarriage icks in their freezer. Sounds reasonable to me. 😉

    Seriously, though, I hope the infection is passing and you are feeling better. I’m still sending lots of hugs your way.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Do not read this comment. Also disgusting.

    Seriously. If you want to keep your dinner down, move along… nothing to see here.

    You are not alone. And not a freak. Except I’ve never had an ERPC, so I didn’t have anyone to blame for a poor hoover round, so to speak. Uteri had to do its own spring cleaning. Most of my placental stuff came out still vaguely attached to fetal sac, although I do seem to remember the second time that it came out in more bits and pieces. I suspect from the sound of it that they stopped when they got your sac and left its little placental-type friends behind in the endometrium. There were some godzilla-sized clots, and I bled for about 3 weeks afterwards, I suppose, but the whole two-uteri thing was probably a factor there.

    And don’t worry about being gross. I think I affected John’s sanity forever when I passed a fetal sac into a hospital bedpan. I announced the grim news of its arrival through the ajar bathroom door. John nervously enquired, I suppose for the sake of contributing something to the conversation, how big it was. My reply of ‘about the size of a large dead mouse’ seemed to scar him somewhat. I do feel I could have phrased it better, somehow. ‘A small orange’ would have done. Or ‘a mobile phone’. But no. I had to blurt out a description that even revolted myself.

    I think you should be past the worst. I certainly hope so honey.

  • Rita

    May!!! omg. I don’t tune in for a few days and all this is happening to you. I am distraught.
    From the wise woman herbal “to control bleeding (after a full m/c) use 10-20 drops of Shepherd’s purse tincture or witch hazel tincture (not the drugstore bottle) under the tongue as necessary.
    ~~Worried Sick~~

  • Rita

    I’ve tagged you – but I know you have enough on your plate.

  • Rachel

    How awful. I do have to admit I’m sure I would have wanted to examine the remains myself. I hope that’s the last of the gore you have to survive this week.

  • geohde

    My situation was different, and I ended up with a D+C along the way, but I was fortunate enough to bleed very little. And not get an infection.

    I’d feel pretty cheezed off with the NHS right now, too,


  • Solnushka

    My experience of doctors is that they are often not very good at explaining what will definitely happen after an operation, although usually extremely good at telling you what might possibly happen in the worst of all possible worlds.

    So I suspect that when they say ‘nothing left’ they mean ‘except everything that we didn’t plan to take out’ and ‘oh didn’t we say that the lining and so on will come out looking like that?’.

    My experience with the D&C was because I still hadn’t started with the pain when they released me from the procedure – they kept thrusting pills at me and I kept waving them away – but they didn’t tell me that the pain they were expecting would definitely turn up at some point. I daresay a sane person would have realised this, but…

    Anyway when, a few days later, the uterus finally caught up with events, I just freaked. I thought my entire reproductive system was coming apart. Luckily, my mother pointed out what was wrong before I had had time to flee to A&E, although I do wish she hadn’t used the word ‘contractions’.

    There never was much blood though. To be honest this means I have always had to concentrate quite hard to believe that I didn’t terminate a perfectly viable pregnancy, dispite what all the medical professionals were telling me. I think it is the nature of these things to feel like a freak though. I kept thinking that I must have something wrong with me to have a miscarriage without bleeding, a body which stubbonly refused to acknowledge the facts and so on. I mean, who has a miscarriage without blood?

  • Solnushka

    It doesn’t make it any easier for you though. *hug*

  • Robyn

    Oh May, when for the love of all that’s holy will the universe just leave you alone for five minutes. You know, to recover. It’s looking more and more like a personal vendetta with the NHS playing all the supporting roles.

    Hoping you and H are hanging in there and it won’t be too much longer before all this is behind you.


  • Xbox4NappyRash

    Jesus Christ.

    I dunno how you haven’t totally lost it after that.

    Very bravely written by the way.

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