Hysterical over Hysteroscopy

I wasn't worried about going in for the hysteroscopy this morning (although my nightmare about rats last night doesn't exactly reveal an uncluttered subconscious), but now I know that I should have been. Clearly my uterus chose not to heed my letter (I should have known), because it did not go well at all.

The procedure itself was fine -- at this point I am used to all manner of instruments, dyes and other accoutrements having their way with my reproductive tract. Although I will say that when she couldn't get into my uterus initially and tried dilating my cervix and going in again, I had to concentrate very hard on not screaming bad words. What made the whole thing really suck, though, was what the pictures of my cervix and uterus showed: scarring from the D&E. The kind that requires more surgery to remove. For someone who really doesn't like surgery very much I'm seeing a lot of that operating room, dontcha think?

As if that didn't satisfy my shit news quota of the day, I also learned that the pathology report from the D&E was back, and showed that our embryo had the genetic defect tetraploidy (i.e. it had four sets of chromosomes instead of two). On the spectrum of genetic defects that cause miscarriage this apparently is nothing standoutish, but it is sad and disturbing to hear all the same (the only upshot of this news is that I can finally stop irrationally blaming anxiety, the pedicure I had, what I ate and getting angry at my mother as possible causes of my miscarriage). Although the defect is relatively standard, they're running genetic typing tests on both me and my husband just to be sure it was a fluke. Which I guess should make me feel better -- we'll rule out more things -- but instead just makes me feel like there's yet another thing to worry about.

Also, I learned -- accidentally, by reading my doctor's computer screen -- that it was a girl. My doctor confirmed what I saw and said she was sorry I saw it as she knows that information can be upsetting. It was jarring and sort of emotional for a moment, but I don't know if knowing is any sadder than not knowing. I had this embryo. It was unhealthy. It would have been a girl if it had been healthy. But, again, it wasn't healthy. What more can I do or say about it?

I opted to work from home today (good choice), and I drove back home after the appointment feeling overwhelmed. So I did what any girl in my situation would do: I stopped at a pizza joint -- the really good place in town, not the pseudohealthy place that makes wheat crust -- got two slices of cheese and promptly inhaled them, with a diet Coke and without abandon or remorse, when I got home. This reckless behavior will likely continue tonight with the consumption of good-sized quantities of alcohol and chocolate. I'm just telling you -- I don't expect or want you to stop me.

PS: I just got a baby stuff catalog in the mail: the last straw for today, thank you. Called and told some poor call center lady that I am infertile and cannot be getting their catalog delivered to my home. Found this oddly satisfying.