In my previous post I wrote about how I left my medical group after Ethan passed away. And after dealing with ridiculous medical insurance beaurocracy….found a better medical provider.
I had to go back to my old doctor’s office to request my medical records to give to my new doctor. I haven’t been back in the office since the day that Ethan died. I haven’t been able to walk back in to that place without feeling like someone had their hands around my neck. But , I did it. I went in and I got my medical records. As I stood there waiting for the receptionist to run my ATM card ( you have to PAY to get copies of YOUR medical history apparently!) I looked up to find one of the nurses starring at me. She was one of the nurses in the office the day Ethan died. All of them had stood silently starring at me as I rushed to get the hell out of the office. And she sat there this day, again, starring at me silently. It made me uncomfortable. It made angry. I wanted to yell at her and say,” What the fuck are you starring at? Is there something you would like to say? ” I know that seems unfair. Why the hell should I be mad at this poor nurse? She didn’t DO anything to me. She didn’t cause Ethan’s death. I guess I just get tired of feeling like the freak show in town. My son died. I didn’t grow an extra head. I’m still a person. I’m still RIGHT here people. I can hear the hushed whispers and I can see the looks of pity.
Got of track..sorry. My husband went on Wednesday and picked up my medical records for me. I just couldn’t go back there and he didn’t really want me to anyway. Truth be told I was anxious to read and look over my records. I had never read EXACTLY what happened to Ethan…exactly what all the doctors and the genetic specialists had written. I don’t know why I wanted to know but I thought I did. THOUGHT being the key word. My husband came home and walked into the bedroom. Kissed me and went about taking his jacket off. No records in his hands. So I finally asked him where the records were. And he said,” I have them. You don’t need to read them babe. Not now.” Of course, NO ONE was going to tell ME what I needed or wanted! So I demanded the records.
Needless to say I sat on our bed….barely able to read through my tears . ” Only half of fetus stomach could be identified.” ” No bladder could be found.” And it went on like that for pages and pages. And I sobbed. I wanted to throw up. To scream. To die. I knew Ethan was sick when he died. But I have never known just how sick he was. And it makes me hurt even more knowing how much pain he must have been in. And it makes me love him even more that he held on for as long as he did. He WAS strong. He WAS a fighter. And he DID try to stay with me…with us.
But more than anything…as I close my eyes at night. I wish I hadn’t read the records. I wasn’t ready to know how sick he was. I wasn’t ready to know how much pain he must have been in. I wasn’t ready for any of this. I wasn’t ready to lose my son. I wasn’t ready damn it!