At 2.10 today for some reason I checked my diary. Evilfibroidscan monday, Dr appointment wednesday. George's due date thursday, telephone interview with occupational therapist friday. What what what? Evilfibroid scan monday... monday at 2.15... noooooooo... it's 2.10... Sh*t, f@ck, Bo&&ocks!!! How on earth had I mistook monday for tuesday!
Panicked call to Ray... shaking hands... oh hell... must wash ladyparts... contact lenses... makeup (yes, for some reason I had to put on some makeup) ... appointment letter... go go go.
15 minutes later (don't ask me how) Ray dropped me off, drove off to park and I dashed through the doors of the maternity unit and called the huge elevator that 133 days ago took me from one floor to the next on a bed to deliver our dead son. I got out at the floor of the delivery suite and turned in the opposite direction to the sound of babies crying with new life towards the assessment clinic. Breathing deeply, shaking mightily, hoping that my appointment hadn't been cancelled, hoping the place wasn't full of pregnant women, I approached the desk. It hadn't been, it wasn't. Phew!
I saw the nice smiley midwife from the early pregnancy assessment unit who had beamed her huge torch into my ladyparts several times during my pregnancy, who had made a special trip to see us and George after his birth and had told me how beautiful he was while hugging me tightly and crying for us. This is a big maternity unit in a big hospital but she remembered me and rushed over to give me a big hug. I of course burst into tears and she took me by the hand and led me to a private waiting room. We had a lovely little chat, then Ray arrived to a hug from her and she went off to make us cups of tea.
Eventually I was called for the scan. My Ob apologised for making us wait... ahem. The technician remembered me from before too. Ray carefully moved his chair so that he had no view of the proceedings down in the ladypart area and gave me his hand to squeeze and by golly it got squeezed today. First a vaginal scan. Not so bad. 2d 3d 2d 3d. Then the big light, the peering, the catheter and the saline. It took three tries to get the catheter to stay in and after the first two uncomfortable tries I became dreadfully dizzy and the Ob was almost ready to give up and order a hysteroscopy which would have meant a general anaesthetic and possibly a night in hospital... no no no! I bravely (or cowardly) agreed to one more try and so she got a whopping huge speculum and... eee ooo ow... it worked!
The results? Well, the evilfibroids are still there. But they couldn't find anything poking into my uterine cavity. They all appear to be either on the outside or in the wall away from the endometrium which, according to the sonographer, was "beautiful" *beams with uterine pride*. Fallopian tubes fine, no problems with the ovaries and 17 follicles spotted. 17 sounds wonderful but I have no idea about these things, is it good? I'm not going to become Octomoms rival am I? The sonographer then told us that since I'd had a "good clean out", we should perhaps "get busy".
Catheter removed, dripping saline, I padded up and got dressed.
I expected there to be a need for surgery but my Ob thinks the chances of scarring outweigh the benefits of removing the fibroids now, definitely after a pregnancy but not now. She was really pleased for us. I think I was in shock. I asked some more questions about things I remembered her saying on the day George was born. She reassured me that these weren't concerns and she gave me a prescription for a mega dose of folic acid.
I think I was hoping for one big fat obviously truly evil fibroid to point my finger at and curse in rightious indignation for killing my son, but it wasn't there. I had my finger ready but it wasn't there. In the end there seem to be no real answers as to why George died. Sad? Happy? Both?
Pregnancy is going to be terrifying now anyway so perhaps there's no point adding to it with evilfibroid fear. Thousands of women have fibroids, some much much bigger than mine and then manage to carry a baby successfully. I think I can, I hope I can, I hope I can. I can say one thing for definite. I won't be carrying the added stress of that job into our next pregnancy, uh uh, nope.
Time to get busy then I suppose, *glances lecherously in Ray's direction*