As you probably all know, yesterday was Baby Loss Awareness Day. So I went out and bought a candle to light for our little baby wombat. I bought a pink one, because we think she was a girl. It was also supposed to smell of cherry blossom, which I thought might be appropriate for her half-oriental roots. Besides, I like blossom trees.
After I got home from shopping, I inadvertently scared myself. This time it was by looking up Asherman’s on google. It was for a bit of a stupid reason really, I wanted to see if my blog would come up. It didn’t, at least not on the first two pages. By the time I’d looked at the interesting links on those pages I wanted to go and drown myself. Preferably in a bucket of gin.
I always do this, and I really wish I didn’t. Because it petrifies me. There are all sorts of statistics out there, and none of them are particularly pleasant reading. At least, none of the ones that stick in your mind are. For example, a particular statistic that says only 40% of women with Asherman’s will be able to carry a baby to term. Urgh. Not really what I wanted to read. And more importantly, my own gynaecologist has looked at my endometrium, she’s seen it in all its patchy, fragmented, glandular glory, and she thought my chances were better than that. In fact she was pretty hopeful. So why do I doubt her, when I know she’s a good gynaecologist, I know she’s not the sort of person to lie to me, and why do I think that Google know better? Why can’t I take her at her word and relax?
There was also a site, someone’s blog, in fact, that said you should never use a coil when treating Asherman’s. Yet I know this is wrong. I know that using a coil is the accepted “best practice” in the UK, and that out of however many women that have had Asherman’s surgery in the UK, the vast, vast majority of them have had a coil. So why do I suddenly wonder if this woman, whoever she is, is the one who’s right, and my lovely gynaecologist, with however many years of medical training, and at least 20 years of practising as a consultant is wrong?
I suspect the reason for my doubts is the fact that I was fobbed off so many times by GPs, when I knew that something was wrong, I guessed it was probably Asherman’s, and they tried to tell me that it “didn’t happen” or was “weird and wonderful”. They were wrong then. It does happen, it isn’t rare. I suspect my trust in the medical profession has taken a nosedive, and that I now doubt even those I used to trust.
Still, I have a list of questions as long as my arm that I’m going to ask Lovely Gynae Woman when I see her next. She’s so lucky…
After I’d scared myself half to death, and cried a bit, I decided that enough was enough, so went and bought myself a bottle of wine. From the chilled selection, no less, which cost about twice as much as a normal bottle. Nothing was delaying me from a drink last night. I downed a large glass, and felt much better afterwards.
I also lit my pink candle at the required time, and thought about Baby Wombat, Pikaia the baby of an accomplished blogger, my friend R’s baby, and all the other babies that were too beautiful and precious for this world. While I miss her with my whole being, I wouldn’t change “knowing” her. I hate the fact that she left so soon, I am glad that I had her for that brief time. Perhaps she has made me a better person, a more thoughtful and understanding person. I hope so.
We watched Armageddon last night. I quite like Armageddon, but I remember the other asteroid film that came out at about the same time, Deep Impact, more. That film consistently makes me sob from about half an hour in until the end. I suspect it’s a good idea that Armageddon was on last night instead, considering my mood. I was most distraught, however, when they (the TV people) fast-forwarded through the end of the film, the wedding, in order to show adverts! Have these people no decency?
And then we went to bed, and perhaps in the spirit of adventure films, I had a piece of music, that I knew was from a film going round in my head. It was one of those times when you know you’re never going to get any sleep until you work out where it’s from. I was lying awake, singing “dum, dum dum DUM, dum dum DUM dum dum dum DUM” to myself for approximately an hour (regular elbows in the ribs to shut the HELL up). I knew it was some kind of adventure film, something I’d seen many times, something really familiar to me, I had an image of the camera panning over some majestic scenery, perhaps showing different locations. Was it The Rock? Was it Independence Day? The Lord of The Rings? And then it came to me. It was The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Oh dear. I think I need some new DVDs… I’m quite embarrassed.