PTSD

The bleeding after this second procedure stopped quickly (I should have known when it didn't after the first). But it started again on Tuesday afternoon, since I'd been on an estrogen-progesterone overlap since the first D&E, for the Asherman's. Because even if you don't want another pregnancy, you don't want Asherman's filling up your uterus, either. I need to talk more about the medical aftermath of the bad ultrasound -- I've been wanting to get it out so I can start talking about the future.

But back to Tuesday: I obviously stopped the hormones after the craziness of the other night. So then I had the inevitable withdrawal bleed. And even though this one seemed totally within the realm of normal and not like it might kill me, it scared me anyway. So I couldn't sleep on Tuesday night -- I maybe got three hours -- because I was afraid that if I fell asleep, it could start getting crazy again, and what if I didn't wake up this time? 

Paging Dr. Freud: Sound like PTSD to you? Elemental, my dear.

So then yesterday I took H. to the dentist and while I was standing there listening to this dentist talk about how we need to somehow get floss to go in for a nightly jam with my four-year-old's back teeth, I started feeling dizzy and nauseous, not unlike the feeling I felt every day for 14 weeks when I thought I might be getting a baby out of it. And then when I got home, I felt hot and got a 99.4 reading on my thermometer.

Quick quiz: If anyone is going to get a post-D&C infection despite prophylactic antibiotics, who would it be? Yeah, that's what I thought too, so back we went to the hospital, this time to the OB's office. The last time I was there, I was 16 weeks 6 days. I asked the OB at that appointment whether I was over the hump, really in the safe zone, could I finally relax. And she told me absolutely, no need to worry about miscarriage anymore. And then they cut the scene and cued the sad music. 

Another ultrasound, and it looks like this time I'm ok. My lining is thinner than after a period, she said. Nothing else in there to cause trouble. And my temperature was still 99.6, but she doesn't consider that a fever. She said I'm probably just run down from the trauma and lack of sleep. It still seemed ominous, but there was nothing I could do but force her to run a CBC to ease my troubled mind, if only a bit.

I'm feeling better today. Temperature is normal, and so was the CBC. But how can I stop myself from watching for danger in every corner? How can I keep from mentally fast-forwarding to the ICU every time I have a symptom? It's so hard to know now when to pay attention to something, or when it's garden-variety neurosis -- the doctors, I have learned, do not always provide an accurate barometer on this.

I'm shaken. I can still see the plot, but it's about two paces ahead of me.