Dear Doctor Who Suggested I Might Not Be Able to Have Children,
I will always remember you, both for your abrupt introduction and for your decision to share grim news while I was still unprepared. There I was, sitting on the examination table, covered only by a paper gown, with paper towels beneath me to absorb the remnants of my miscarriage. I held that gown tightly, trying to preserve what little dignity I had left, even as it slipped away along with the blood.
“Three to five percent,” you stated, quantifying my chances of carrying a pregnancy to term. Those numbers were based on the details in my medical records: my age of 41, my third miscarriage in 18 years, a history with uterine fibroids, and never having experienced a full-term pregnancy.
You didn’t know me. We had never met before that day. I had come to you after two visits to the ER. The first visit had revealed a heartbeat on the ultrasound, and I was reassured with “90 percent” odds that everything would be fine. Just two days later, that heartbeat was gone. Ironically, my appointment with you had been scheduled prior to those ER visits, after I had to advocate for myself, as your receptionist insisted you only saw patients past the 10-week mark.
“But I’m 41 and I’ve had miscarriages,” I pleaded. This urgency allowed me to secure an appointment just over eight weeks into my pregnancy. Yet, sitting there, bleeding heavily, you used the facts against me. Not in a cruel manner, but rather, clinically and coldly. I saw no compassion in your eyes—just a clinical detachment.
I don’t recall every word you spoke. You mentioned surgery to remove the fibroids and I inquired about its impact on my chances of a successful pregnancy. You shrugged, suggesting it might help, but probably not significantly. You indicated a desire to check my egg reserve, but I had tuned out—overwhelmed, I just wanted the exchange to end so I could dress and leave.
You requested a follow-up appointment, which I never attended. I managed to get dressed, exited your office, and broke down only once I was in my car. Three to five percent. I was already familiar with those statistics, having encountered them in countless articles. You viewed me as a statistic, a woman of advanced maternal age who was fooling herself. You saw someone who required surgery and a dose of harsh reality. In my rearview mirror, I saw puffy eyes and flushed cheeks, but I also saw a woman unwilling to give up. Not yet.
I found a different doctor, one who didn’t focus on statistics or treat me like a number. I consulted him at six weeks pregnant and asked about progesterone supplements, which I had learned could benefit older women in pregnancy. He agreed it wouldn’t hurt and prescribed them without forecasting another miscarriage or dismissing my hopes. I’m not sure if the progesterone made a difference, or if it was simply my time, but I defied the odds. Twice. Those three-to-five percent babies are now thriving at 3 and 5 years old.
I don’t hold any resentment towards you, Doctor Who Suggested I Might Not Be Able to Have Children. I came to you at a point where your role was limited to outlining my loss. You likely believed you were providing me with clarity by presenting facts I already knew, without offering false hope. I realize I wasn’t articulate that day, but your words were unmistakably clear.
Another woman may have accepted your prognosis and ceased her journey toward motherhood. However, your statistics, while valid for many, did not encompass my reality. I hope you remember this, as the next time a distressed woman sits before you, seeking some glimmer of hope, you allow her to dress before delivering your sobering talk about numbers. Please share my story with her.
If you’re interested in further information and support on this journey, consider checking out our post on home insemination techniques. Additionally, for those navigating their fertility journey, Make A Mom provides valuable insights. If you seek comprehensive resources on pregnancy and home insemination, visit UCSF’s IVF page.
In summary, my experience serves as a reminder that statistics do not define individual outcomes. With the right support and an unwavering spirit, the journey to motherhood can still be possible, even against the odds.