Fragmin frenzy (all for nothing in the end)

This story has a very happy ending, thank the gods, but for a while there on Thursday and Friday, it was panic-induced, ugly crying central over here again. It all started on Thursday afternoon, when I was finally able to track down some now moot blood work results. (For the record, all looked well; I would have been able to carry on with IVF at our original clinic. Of course, I'm doubly fortunate that as [amazing, magical, can-still-hardly-believe-it-myself] events transpired, we didn't need to go down that road.) I got my results and I hung up.

Five minutes later, my phone rang again: Hi, I've just seen a note in your chart and it looks like Dr. M (the RE we'd been seeing at the subfertility clinic) would like you to go on Fragmin. Can you come in tomorrow so we can show you how to do the injections at home?

There was more about how the doctors had discussed it and it was quite commonplace and it was just a precaution and not to worry and...(I'm not worried about taking the meds, you twit, I am worried that my failure to do so for more than four crucial weeks at the beginning of pregnancy might have killed my baby!!). Truth be told, I didn't really absorb anything further at this point, as my mind was already racing with the tragic inevitablity I was sure we were being led toward. That, and it took all the strength I could muster not to verbally assault the woman on the other end of the line, with her cavalier tone, who seemed to be treating the care of my hard-fought-for unborn child as a kind of afterthought, oblivious as to why such news might make someone in my situation anxious.

Now for those who don't know, Fragmin (or heparin solution) is commonly prescribed for patients with a history of recurrent miscarriage, but we'd reviewed my repeat bloodwork again and again, and since I don't carry the MTHFR mutation, and because of my cancer history and the risk that blood thinners pose to my already vulnerable platelet counts, it was decided there was really no need in my case. I spoke about it with Dr. B (the MFM) during that first, nervous terrified telephone consult.

If you know anything about the MTHFR mutation and its treatment though, you'll know that treatment with heparin is indicated as beneficial to preserve pregnancy at the earliest possible stage, from the moment of a positive pregnancy test, through the first trimester. Cue panic, more raw, mucousy wailing and a feeling of dread and certainty that I and my caregivers, through neglect of the most horrible and obvious kind, had surely killed my baby. <And then I got up, left for work, and had to sit through and pretend to care even a smidgen about a looong meeting on the changes to asylum law which was little more than white noise> I don't know why exactly this particular news threw me so badly - I suppose any such forgotten 'detail', sprung on me so thoughtlessly, probably would have - but for those hours, I was convinced I was once more carrying a dead baby in my useless womb.

So off we went yesterday afternoon, and I won't bore you with the agonizing details, but suffice it to say that several screamy, demanding phone calls back to the clinic, in which I insisted on having our next u/s moved up from next week so that we could see the damage, resulted in a long meeting with Dr B, a reprimand to the nurse who handled the phone call, and best of all <drum roll please> another peek at our little seedling, very much alive and thriving and measuring ahead now at 8 weeks 3 days, having transformed from adorable grey blob to unmistakably human: giant adorable head, arm and leg buds all present and accounted for. And all 1.9 cm beautiful to behold. We found a strong heartbeat immediately with the abdominal u/s (the transvag invader having weilded its last).

I won't be taking the Fragmin, as originally agreed. Dr. B reviewed all my files, and still feels that it's not warranted in this case, especially as (music to my ears) my 'pregnancy seems to be progressing beautifully and you have a beautiful, healthy baby in there'. I trust him. The RE who put that note on my file (truly it seems as an afterthought) apparently makes a habit of that protocol, and I am suspicious of any approach to treatment that deals with patients by rote, irrespective of their individuals needs and histories. Dr. B kindly but firmly encouraged me to relax and enjoy as much of this as I possibly can, and it's medical advice I'll certainly (try to) take to heart. He ordered the scan I had demanded, just as reassurance: he is the first doctor we have dealt with who understands that when he is dealing with patients who have our reproductive history, it's as much about treating the parents and their wounded nerves as it is about caring for their baby. 'We understand that this is not just about the common cold, and you're entrusting your hopes for the future with us'. Melt. I wanted to hug him just as much as I wanted to strangle the RE and his stupid nurse for freaking us out in the first place.

But as promised - and despite unhealthy levels of adrenalin and cortisol having doubtless being released in the interim - a happy ending. Which just leaves me to make introductions.

World, meet little seedling. Little seedling, mee...well, I guess you don't need to worry about any of that right now. Plenty of time for all those introductions soon enough. Today (again) just joy and relief.