A Theology of Female Embodiment- Part II- One Week of Miscarriage (in five installments)

Four of Five (to read the entire story from the beginning scroll down to January 4)

It’s been two weeks since I went in for a D & C. Now with time to contemplate, I’m glad I did, not because I simply want to “get on with my life." My sister-in law, Roxanne, also a nurse as well as another family-friend and nurse, recommended the D & C. After hearing their thoughts and advice, I saw it like this. The D & C gave me a chance to have my body cleaned out of the death inside.

But, I don't want to treat my body without noting the history of it's experiences. I want to think about what this means for me. First I want to take stock of the experience.

With a week's distance from it all, I see the hospital stay as a chance to see what surgery, anesthesia, doctors in masks, operating rooms, gurneys, paperwork, recovery, post-op appointment and wheelchair service to my car was like. A sort of dress rehearsal. And it was all very, very smooth, a good experience (in spite of it all).

That morning, arriving very early, my nurse friend Lisa joined Dale and me for the 3 hours of waiting beforehand (you can read more about this lovely friend of mine on pg. 128 of Ruby Slippers). She gave me some of those practical, make-or-break-your-stay nurse tips and advice. She helped make everything more dignified and enjoyable.

There were several ways God provided for both Dale and I:

• Lisa’s friendly, at ease spirit (I mean the hospital is her home away from home)
• A cheerful spirit while I sat in that barley sack of a hospital gown on a bed lined with plastic, waiting, waiting, waiting.
• Only a slight sting of tears as I kissed Dale good-bye before some guy wearing a UCLA cap, clearly not standard hospital issue, wheeled me to surgery.
• An Anesthesiologist, Dr. Huan, who didn’t put my IV in until I was all gurneyed up and AWAY from Dale, who doesn’t do well with IV’s. The last thing I remembered was telling him, “Merry Christmas” then I slept.
• The most enthusiastic wake-up I could have expected, within 45 minutes of the 10 min procedure, feeling chatty and very sarcastic with the post-op staff. I remember constantly asking them why I had tubes in my nose and why my throat felt scratchy. Well, I could take the tubes out in a few moments and they told me I had had a tube in my throat during surgery. Ewwww, I didn’t like to think about that.
• The nurse who had monitored me before and afterwards brought me a Apple Danish, NOT from the hospital kitchen, but from a Pasadena Bakery run. She saved it, warmed it and served it up with a cup of tea for my post-op hungry stomach. It tasted like the bread of the gods.
• My mother’s quick visit to give me an earlier Christmas present and see how I was doing. It was nice to have her support
• An earlier release, when I got to talk to Beva, an elderly Hispanic woman who wheeled me out and in that time I learned: that she loved how Dale and I interacted, how she felt far from God, that she knew she should marry the man she was living with, that she felt afraid that God was mad, that she wanted my advice if marrying him before her next surgery would provoke God’s wrath for such a shotgun wedding. Craning my head to listen to her, sitting in my wheelchair, slightly woozy, I told her, “I think God’s love for you is greater than that. Let Jesus love you Beva, he wants to.” Then Dale pulled up, I gave her a hug and climbed slowly into the car.

I felt God's love that day, it seemed only right to spread it around.