So, once again, I called Zoë’s doctor to see if the autopsy report was ready. After all, three weeks ago, he told me it would probably be ready in two weeks. But then it was “spring break” as Nurse T put it and lots of the doctors were on vacation.
A brief aside here…
I HATE talking to people. I’m beyond non-confrontational. It doesn’t matter that I’m entitled to that report. Every time I pick up the phone I feel like I should leave a message apologizing for bothering him.
Normally when I call, I just get the answering machine. That suits me just fine. I leave practically the same message each time (I have to rehearse phone calls like this in my head): “This is Allison Simpson. I’m calling to see if my daughter, Zoë’s autopsy report is ready. yada yada yada phone number call anytime yada yada yada. Thank you.” Today, I realized how long it had been and put on my big girl pants and called. Only I got his secretary. Yikes! A real person throws a spanner into the finely tuned works of my prepared speech. Particularly when she keeps trying to cough up her spleen in my ear.
However, she did think she’d seen the report come in. She was going to page the doctor and double check. That means we will get to hear the final report, either tonight or perhaps sometime this weekend. I’m not sure I’m actually ready for that. I mean, yes, I want to know. I need to know. That the nurses and doctors were as confused as we were has driven me, us, crazy. On the other hand, do I really want to know? What if the answer is “We have no idea?” or “Well, there was this rare genetic disorder…”? How do we go forward from there? How do we try again with THAT hanging over our heads? What if the answer is something that could have been avoided?
I swear, I think I can literally feel my digestive system tying itself in knots. I’ve never been anticipating AND dreading a phone call simultaneously like this before.