I barely post on here anymore because of various things but miscarriage is like lighting the fuse on my tampax to me!
Not unreasonable at all - when you're feeling up to it, make your feelings known to the hospital because YOU MATTER as much as every single other patient who walks through their doors and it's bloody not on that miscarriage gets the short end of the stick every single arsing time.
Among gross displays of insensitivity I've come to know and love (during 6 years of infertility, two miscarriages including the epic is it/isn't it/is it twins/oh it was twins but they're dead saga that ran to about 5 scans and about £30 in parking fees for the aforementioned scans)... fertility problem related scans in the same place as pregnancy scans - thankfully at least on a specifically blocked out morning for wonky plumbing.
The fact (and this one continues to piss me off no end and now I'm better I'll be fighting it)... that you have only one possible route to the EPU... past the nice shiny freshly done out Maternity department, through a progression of increasingly dingy and dark and paint peeling corridors till you get to the department of unhappy endings as it's always been in my mind. Nowt quite as clear at telling you you're not valued or important. I was lucky though - they have a separate scan machine that they have there at least.
The fact that ours blatantly makes the results of your scan clear to everyone else... you can sit there in the waiting area and watch people come out with either an envelope full of happy endings and hopes and dreams, or the NHS "this is how you're going to miscarry" leaflet. There's no discretion, and bugger all support - we only got to go into the "breaking bad news" room because my husband was about to keel over at the shock of it all. Otherwise it would have been hoiked out of the door with leaflet, left to cook for 10 days before a rescan... I did at one point mentally dub the scan machine - The Sorting Dildo whereby it either gave you an envelope (you got into Gryffindor) or a leaflet (the equivalent of Slytherin). Disclaimer - I have a very dark sense of humour and at one point in the saga was considering making a "Can anyone tell me what the fuck is on board?" car sticker.
As for rescans or aftercare... had bugger all of that to put it bluntly. After about a month of positive pregnancy tests (think I got to a month and a half) it was ME ringing them up for advice, and it's taken the best part of half a year for my periods and ovulation to return... no one in the NHS appears to give a shit about post-miscarriage care. Wouldn't take much to have the system hook us back into GPs, to monitor us until our normal monthly cycles returned at least and have the flag that we might well need counselling... instead of which we have GPs who see miscarriage on notes, know we're having sex and therefore refuse any psychological support whatsoever (and I was very very close to suicide after the second one - and wasn't hiding that fact at all). The only reason I'm still here (and I'm still not right really) is my husband, a wonky cat and a very very nutty dog.
There HAS to be some turnaround eventually - the whole system seems to be designed specifically to pour acid into a gaping wound, and to highlight that you don't matter because you're not going to produce the nice shiny baby photo for the hospital publicity shots.
(If you're wanting a guide as to the longer end of things... I was still showing positive on pregnancy tests about 5-6 weeks on, didn't get a period at all for 3 months and they were very very wonky and non-ovulatory for about another 3 - but they were lost twins and very much the longer end of normal)