Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Wow. Just wow.

There are few things in this world I love as much as getting things in the mail. Possibly cats, diamonds, and pistachio ice cream... but I digress. Getting stuff in the mail is so exciting because it means: a) someone acknowledges your existence, b) they spent money on you (even if it is only the postage amount), and c) you don't know what's in there so it's a fun surprise.

However, today I think my love of getting mail took a serious hit when I received a letter from the Women's Hospital asking me what kind of room I would like to have for my impending delivery of a child in a few weeks. This is of course in reference to the baby I lost in miscarriage #1. The one where I attended the emergency room at THAT SAME hospital over 6 months ago, where they told me there was no heartbeat and it was a lost cause. THE SAME hospital where I subsequently attended a follow-up ultrasound to confirm that my uterus was completely empty. You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Needless to say some poor receptionist is going to get an ear full today.


  1. Oh my. That is AWFUL. I would be so pissed off!

  2. Oh no they didn't! I would be pissed too. Please tell me you got to fuss at someone!

  3. Bah!! I called several times but kept getting voicemail. So I left a snarky message... Not quite the confrontation I was looking for, but perhaps it's best I didn't get the chance to fully express myself, if you know what I mean.

  4. OH I am so sorry! I would be 1. crying; and 2. furious. In fact the exact same thing happened to me after my first loss but it was a phone call asking me why I had missed the first OB appt and the receptionist was giving me hell for it. I was at work trying to explain in neutral language, so no-one would overhear. Oh Joy.

    Happy ICLW

  5. Oh, WOW!!! This is so inconsiderate and rude!!!
    You should get a hold of the writer and give him or her a piece of your mind. Although, I am glad that you are finding humour in this whole situation.