I have sadly suffered two Missed Miscarriages. I cannot fault the staff in the EPAC (Early pregnancy assessment clinic) at Nottingham’s QMC, they were all excellent.
However, I cannot say the same when returning to the QMC for ERPCs (Evacuation of Retained Products of Conception) which I had on both occasions.
The first time, I went to the ward at 7am in the morning. I was distressed and scared and left to sit in a waiting room with people waiting for different procedures. I was thankfully given a sedative and a bed after awhile but was told that I was only on the emergency list so just had to wait until a slot became available. I eventually went to theatre at around 3pm and by this time I was in a great deal of distress. At no point did anyone come to talk to me about how I was feeling and my fears. When I got to theatre there was an argument between two anaesthetists, and two other staff were laughing and joking about something. Everyone ignored me while I cried. I couldn’t breathe very well, so they just shoved the mask over my face and put me to sleep. Later, I returned back to the same ward where as I recovered, a family with 2 small children made lots of noise. The children broke some toys and were crying a lot, eventually my husband said something to them as he was getting cross but they carried on. I eventually went home at 7pm at night – the broken toys left outside the ward door. I was offered no advice, counseling or follow-up.
I went to see my GP about 2 weeks later. He didn’t even know I’d had the miscarriage and I had to explain every thing to him. Surely, within the NHS, people talk to each other? I was offered no advice and told to go home, look on the internet for some support and try again.
3 months later, I fell pregnant again. I rang the doctor who said he didn’t need to see me. Then at 6 weeks, I stopped ‘feeling’ pregnant and had some bleeding – I called my GP again to express my concern. I knew something was wrong. I was told not to worry and they would only scan me 2 weeks later. So two weeks later, I went for the scan and was once again told my baby had died – at 6 weeks as I suspected. I then had to wait another week for them to confirm this. This was horrible. After this I had yet another scan and once again waited in that horrible room to be given my options. I had to wait another 4 days before the ERPC.
On the day of the ERPC, we went to the hospital at 7.30am as requested, it was a Saturday. This time I had a room to myself on the gynae ward – much better. But no one came for ages. Time went on and on and I had no idea when I would go to theatre. I hadn’t eaten and at around 2pm was put on a drip. Still nothing happened and no one knew when I was going in – I was on the emergency list again. At 7.30pm, my husband went out to telephone my parents. While he was out I was whisked away to theatre. No warning and no peccary to soften my cervix. I was frightened and hadn’t said goodbye to my husband.
At the theatre, there was a further delay while they discussed me not having the peccary and then I went in. Once again, I cried a lot but this time the staff were much nicer and asked me what had happened. One of the men held my hand and reassured me.
When I came round in recovery, I heard the nurses talking about my ‘abortion’. Surely, I must have misheard this? When I returned to the ward and my husband it was very late, we cried and I told him about the nurses’ comments. We agreed I must have misheard.
At this point, I assumed that I would be able to eat something and go home. Again, no one came. Eventually my husband went to find out and I was told that I’d have to stay in. This was awful; I needed to be home with my husband and was un-prepared for this. Eventually I was given a piece of toast to eat and I went to bed crying.
My husband arrived at 8.30am the next morning to collect me but no-one came to see me until around 11am – so more waiting and waiting. Eventually I went without waiting for my notes. This time I was given a leaflet about the Miscarriage Association – this was comforting.
I saw my GP again. Once again, he said – go away, try again, look on the internet for support. I have now changed my GP and am arranging some counselling.
I am frightened now – I never want to go the QMC again.