I did not go to the EPU this morning.
I very badly did not want to go. The one with the walk-in clinic the GP wanted me to go to is the one I attended when I lost Pikaia, and it was horrible. The waiting room is full of happy families all there for the 20-week anatomy scan. The secretarial staff are breath-takingly rude. The doctor who did that scan got shirty with me for weeping and being unable to discuss whether I wanted a D&C or not less than three minutes after she’d told me my precious, precious baby was dead. When we went back for the D&C, they put us back in that same waiting-room. I had to fill out the paperwork with the nurse right there in that fucking crowded waiting-room, surrounded by pregnant women and their excited kids, partners, grand-parents etc., facing a TV-screen showing adverts and infomercials for breast-feeding and nappies. The D&C gave me a severe and excruciatingly painful infection and landed me back in hospital a few days later. That sucked too. At one point, dirty, sweaty, wearing only a short hospital gown, having spent days vomiting and in agony in a hospital bed, they wheeled me down to that exact same waiting-room and left me there for nearly an hour to wait for yet another follow-up scan, while small scared children stared at me wide-eyed asked their enormously rounded mothers ‘what’s the matter with that lady?’ and their mothers backed away from me in horror.
I am not going back to that EPU unless they wheel me through it unconscious.
Before you all fret, I discussed it at length with H, and we decided that if I was still bleeding red or in the least bit crampy this morning, I would phone the nice, gentle, thoughtful EPU at Mothership Hospital, who saw me through the loss of Flash and Zombryo, and ask them to look after me.
Lo and behold, today I am merely spotting heavily, and not cramping even a little bit.
If anything bothers me at all at all, I will phone the EPU I like. At the EPU I like, the general maternity clinic is right the other side of the hospital from it. The waiting rooms are small, and there are several of them, so the nurses can put you somewhere more private if you’re upset. Your paperwork is done in an office, with the door shut. The ward, should you need to be admitted, is just around the corner rather than several floors and corridors away. The receptionist is kind and efficient. The medical staff are patient and gentle.
I feel fine, now, anyway.
(No I don’t. I feel angry and sad and bitter and miserable and frustrated and very, very, very tired of this).