Last August I had a D&C after my first miscarriage. It was, well, an experience, to say the least. But in many ways, I was impressed by the facility, the non-crazy nurses, and how quickly my doctor was able to get me in.
The facility was brand new, a new outpatient surgery center attached to a large hospital. Personal televisions attached to the patient beds, a computer monitor in the waiting room with patients identified by a number so waiting family or friends could track where someone was in the process (pre-op, surgery, recovery).
I remember one of the things I was really surprised about was how nice the hospital clothes were. The gown wasn’t thin and flimsy, it was nice, covered everything it was supposed to cover and then some, and had a fleecy sort of lining so I wasn’t freezing. And they gave me purple socks.
Anyone who has had some sort of medical procedure requiring you to strip down to your birthday suit knows that they always give you some sort of cheap grip socks for your feet. I think the rationale is that they are afraid you will slip on the floor so they give you these socks to cover the liability of you walking around on the hard floors. The ones they gave me when I delivered the twins were baby poop brown and you could practically see through them they were so thin.
Not these. These were plush. Had grips on both sides so that you could slip them on any old way and it wouldn’t matter. They had cute little paw prints on them.
And they were purple.
My favorite color is and always has been purple. I used to wish my birthday was in February so amethyst could be my birthstone.
I have two things from that pregnancy. I have the picture the clinic gave me of the three embryos just prior to transfer. And I have those socks. Sometimes I put them on and they’re just another pair of warm socks to wear on a cold night. And sometimes I grab them and think that once, when I wore these, I was still pregnant.
It might seem silly. Keeping the socks from what really was something I wish had never happened. And come on, they’re socks, how sentimental could you be about socks?
But I am. So I wear them.