The word “it” and logistics

On knowing the sex of the baby: When I was pregnant and we were excited to be inviting the little one into our lives we did not want to know the sex of our baby. We are fine with “gender neutral” colors and we feel that all colors are gender neutral. We were very happy with our choice. The day of the ultrasounds and the bad news we stuck with that plan and told everyone not to tell us the sex of the baby if they could tell. Then, when we found out that we were losing the baby we had to again decide if we wanted to know. We went back and forth on this a lot; unsure if knowing or not knowing would somehow affect us. Would knowing make us feel worse, we wanted a boy and a girl so it didn’t matter. Would not knowing make us feel worse? All we knew was that we did not want to feel worse. We thought we could control that if we could somehow control these tiny decisions in our world that was quickly spinning completely out of control. In the end we decided not to find out. Here is one thing I will say about that decision. When I was pregnant and thought I would be meeting this baby and eventually finding out the sex, I had no problems calling it an “it”. Other people didn’t like it much but Cloudy and I were not at all put out by it or offended. But, when I knew something was wrong with the baby and that we may never know the sex I felt and still feel guilty calling it an “it”, somehow maybe implying that it wasn’t even really a person. I feel guilty everytime I say or type that word now.

In America even tragedy has losgistics. So I had to spend a whole day on the phone talking to hospitals, doctors offices, clinics, my boss, the insurance company. We had to act quickly because the baby’s health was getting worse with each passing day.

As if we weren’t faced with a decision that was difficult enough we now had to see if finances would play a part in our choices. Here is the crazy part; our insurance would cover the D&E since it was deemed “for medical reasons” but only at a specific hospital. We were also referred to an abo.rtion clinic. Either way we had to drive 6 hours to a large city since our small mountain town could only perform terminations in the first 15 weeks of pregnancy. But the price difference was insane. Even after our insurance contribution we would have ended up paying about twice as much for the hospital as if we had it at the clinic and didn’t involve our insurance. Also the clinic could see us that week and it would be two weeks out to get in at the hospital. All I knew about this kind of clinic was the scary stuff I had seen on the news or made up in my own imagination. Cloudy seemed nervous about this choice too. So we called up my mom and asked if she would drive by it since she lives about 40 min from there and see if it looked scary or ok. She reported back that it looked very nice and was in a place with other medical buildings and was pretty discrete looking. No crazy protesters. Because I was so far along I required a three day process. Two days of laminarias and one day for the procedure itself. So after a complete Monday on the phone we were scheduled for Wed-Fri. That would give us Tuesday to drive and a weekend to recover while staying with my mom. Now, thinking back, this part seems surreal, it’s crazy the amount of planning that goes into tragedy sometimes.

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