Random snippets of some moments during a hellish morning post-op appointment with Dr. H, my OB.
(She hands me a form from the lab that performed the micro array, confirming my girl had no chromosomal abnormalities):
Me: I don't know what to do with this information, how to process it. I have seen some websites say that her birth defect was a 1:10,000 random occurrence.
Dr. H: It's like you were struck by lightening.
Me: That's what they told me after my partial molar pregnancy.
Dr. H: Do you want to try to get pregnant again?
Me: I
suppose. I've been pregnant four times in two years. I guess with my
history I would expect to be pregnant again, just not with a healthy
baby.
Dr. H: If you can stand the emotional trauma of it, there's no reason not to keep trying. You can still have hope.
Me: Dr H, have you ever had a patient with a history like mine who ever successfully carried a healthy baby to term?
Dr. H: It's hard to say, all cases are so individual. I did have a patient with High FSH at age 38, who moved on to Donor Eggs and had a healthy baby.
Me: Did she ever get pregnant on her own?
Dr. H: No, I don't think she ever did.... Are donor eggs something you would consider?
Me: Without a lottery win, no. And at age 38 my FSH was 3. At 39 it was 8. And I still miscarried both years. And I keep getting pregnant.
My frustration must have been palpable, I know. Her office gets points for whisking me to the exam room quickly, without having to stare at shiny happy pregnant women in the waiting room. The doctor herself got some points for accommodating my request to shove a pippelle up my cervix to ensure there was no scar tissue.
But she lost a point for wishing me luck with a final handshake. It was an awkward moment, maybe I am just used to hugs, like the huge warm one my acupuncturist gave me. I was going to deduct another one for offering me the word "hope" without anything meaningful to back it up, but that seemed unfair. It's not her fault there is nothing to back it up.
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