Today was the day to get my ultrasound done. As the birth center doesn’t do ultrasounds, they called the facility that did my prenatal ultrasounds, affiliated with one of our local eastside hospitals. That maternal/fetal medicine facility doesn’t do postpartum care, so they referred me to a women’s clinic in Seattle.

But no one warned us it was an abortion clinic we were being sent to.

I will state up front that I am pro-choice, even after having Daphne. But Jason started having reservations when he checked the website last night. It noted that they provided other services (dealing with miscarriages, free pregnancy tests, etc.), but gave him the “low cost abortion clinic” feel. I had hopes that it was a more general women’s clinic that wanted to be supportive of reproductive rights. Turns out that Jason was right.

Keep in mind that I had been told not to eat or drink for 6 hours prior to the appointment, in case they had to do a D&C, and they last thin I had was at midnight. So I was hungry and very thirsty – hence cranky. They also told me that I would need someone else to drive, in case they used anaesthesia, so Jason drove, which meant Daphne came with us. (Not to mention we expected her to want to eat just before the appointment.) But when we arrived to a full room of women (most of whom were sitting next to and leaning on or holding hands with what looked like a significant other), the receptionist told me that they had a policy of not allowing babies in the clinic, and she would have to wait outside.

WTF?!

Ok, I “understand” that you want to be sensitive to the people there who are looking to do a termination, but I you are going to offer postpartum services, making the baby wait outside is ridiculous. It’s fortunate that Jason had driven, or I would have had to skip the appointment entirely. Instead I filled out paperwork on the bench right outside the clinic’s office, and immediately in front of the entrance to the building. I’m not sure how that helps their clients feel any better, or makes it any better.

Suffice it to say that Jason’s misgivings were realized, and I was getting rather annoyed. We spent about twenty minutes in the front lobby, while I waited for my appointment and fed her. And we discussed the unhappiness we had with the place. The forms I was filling out were entirely geared towards termination, which was mildly traumatic since it was so unexpected. And combined with the fact Jason wouldn’t be able to come in with me (since he had to stay with Daphne), I was not feeling the love. We did decide that if they did find something, we were not doing the D&C right then and there, as neither of us were feelig very comfortable about the whole situation. I really wish I had been warned about what I was getting into.

Fortunately, the doctor I saw was very nice, and seemed to know some of the background (and appears to know one of my midwives). He didn’t find any retained placenta and my uterus is just the size it’s supposed to be, but he walked me through what we were looking at on the ultrasound screen the whole time. At this point, the options are waiting a bit longer (as some women bleed for up to 8 weeks) or doing a D&C now (since that’s what would happen if I kept bleeding in order to “reset” the uterus or if there was something hanging around caught in the cervix, which is even more rare than retained placenta). Suffice it to say that we were all on the same page to wait and not do anything right now.

It was an odd experience. It’s not that I thought the care was subpar, but I felt discriminated against because I had a baby. I felt misled about the type of facility, though, honestly, that feeling is based entirely on my assumption of the type of facility and care that I expect. Since it was an “accessible” clinic, it certainly didn’t have the pretentions that higher-cost practices do, and since it had a particular niche it served, it wasn’t trying to be all inclusive. I hate to feel elitist or biased, but I certainly felt distinctly out of place, and as though I really did not belong there – not quite unwelcome, but not quite welcome either.

Of course, getting good news goes a long way to making me feel better about the experience (read: no rather angry anymore).