Have I mentioned that I have a sister? One. I have exactly one sister, an amazing specimen of a human being. She is my closest friend and probably the only person in the world who fully understands me. She and her husband were driving back from St. George when they got the call that I was in the ER. When the bad news got out, she offered to pick up my four kids, take them home with her for the night so that I could have some peace and quiet. My children thought that they were getting a special treat, but really I was. It was a hard couple of days, dealing with the loss. John was fantastic, attentive, but not annoying. By the time my sister dropped the kids off, I was ready for them, I already missed the chaos.
Following the orders of the ER doctor, I called the referred OB's office at 10:00 Monday morning. They were less than helpful, assuring me that the earliest I could get in would be Wednesday. I didn't have the emotional stamina to fight it, so I did the next best thing. I turned the task over to my husband. I had an appointment that afternoon.
Usually I see a midwife. But with the ectopic diagnosis, she had referred me to an OB near me. If surgery was needed she didn't want to play middleman and slow the process down. So I went to a new office where I endured the longest, most uncomfortable ultrasound of my entire life. Following the ultrasound I was sent to get my blood drawn, (without any indication of where said process would take place. . . ) with orders to return. So, I found the lab, had my blood drawn and headed back to the reception area. I asked the receptionist what now? Her reply? Go home.
I know nothing more than I did when I arrived. That's it?
So I asked when I could expect to hear the results. She asked which Dr. I had seen at the ER. I told her. She pulled out her handy chart to check.
"No, no. You saw Dr. So-and-so."
Again, too emotionally drained to even argue. Apparently Dr. So-and-So would be in on Wednesday, so I could expect to hear something then.
I walked out of that office, swearing that I would never be back.