My DH had the worst possible thing that could happen to a doctor happen to him yesterday---a baby died at 40 weeks. That's term. The baby actually died on his or her very due date. The poor mother, a first-time-about-to-be-mother, came into the office with her sister all elated with anticipation. She expected my DH to tell her something like, "Well, you're 2 centimeters dilated, it could happen at any time." And instead, my hubby who's known around the office as being the awesome heartbeat finder, couldn't find a heartbeat. He tried. He tried hard. He remembered that earlier that day (an omen?) he couldn't find another heartbeat, and then another. But he remembered that in a few minutes, he did find them.
But with this poor woman, he didn't. He brought in another doctor who also couldn't find the heartbeat. He perused the woman's chart. She had done all the right things. She hadn't missed a single prenatal visit. She had taken all the tests---all but one, one that many women skip---especially women who know they wouldn't personally choose abortion even if they had found fetal abnormalities. She had been to her prenatal visit just last week and everything was fine. He had found a heartbeat then. Why couldn't he find one today?
She was young. She was healthy. He tested her for drug use. Negative. He thought of all the possibilities. Negative. She had done all the right things. All the right things. He has lots of women in his practice that don't do the right things and their babies live. She had done all the right things.
Her baby died. And my DH cried.
Shit. I cried. I told a friend and she cried. Who carries a baby to term just to have the poor thing die? What sad and perverted version of our existence allows this kind of thing to happen?
And ya all wonder why I'm in a pissy, I mean, thankful, mood?