The appointment with the Professor

It turns out I need not have been too worried about bringing Champ to the specialist appointment. Not because he behaved like an angel; he didn't.

He ran around yelling 'toot-toot car!' because his keen eyes had spotted a children's play area in the waiting room, then the only thing that would keep him quiet during the appointment were the handful of crackers and 2 muesli bars I had packed to be shared by all of us which were eaten all by Champ in minutes at which time Cowboy escorted him out of the room while I sat and talked with the very serious and softly spoken Professor in peace.

I need not have worried about taking him because the Pregnancy Management Clinic waiting room was the same as the Pregnancy waiting room. Yup. I was waiting for my recurrent miscarriage appointment in a room of approximately 20 women at various stages of pregnancy. The hospital was designed well, no?

Anyway, despite my envious green eyes in the waiting room and Champ's noisy departure the actual appointment went well. After I told the Professor (that's his name because that is how he introduced himself - 'I am professor blah, blah an obstetrician at this hospital' - I can only assume that 'professor' is a higher qualification than 'doctor' for all the pride he took in saying it) our relevant medical history, he asked me what questions I had.

We discussed that no, my in-laws were not correct that Champ being such a heavy baby had stretched my ute to the point of no return; and yes, I was being silly blaming my physical activity (walking) the day before each miscarriage as a cause; and no, my heavy and clotted periods since the second miscarriage were not a concern of retained product despite having not had a D&C either time.

Ok doc, whoops, I mean Professor, you turn. Where to now?

The Professor said that given our 'easy' pregnancy with Champ and given that he is 'normal' (which I wanted to dispute - he is not normal, he is complete and utter perfection, can't you see that Professor?) he is 'cautiously optimistic that we will get the family we want'.

Cautiously optimistic.

He believes that the likely cause of my miscarriages is chance. That my 1:4 came up. Twice. Or my 1:16 came up for all you maths buffs out there.

But then the warning came. Do not pass go, do not collect $100.

He urged me not to succumb to pressure of well meaning family and friends, not to put pressure on myself. That I am young. That Champ is still young. Do not put pressure for this to happen too quickly.

Despite his cautious optimism, we should run blood tests. We should wait for the results. The results won't be back for another 2 weeks. Ok, I say. We'll sit this cycle out. Whoops, his next appointment isn't for another month (my next Cd14). Ok, make that sitting out two cycles. At best. So, no more making babies for the Lemoncakes until New Years Eve.

Here are 15 vials for pathology to fill with bood. Happy New Year!