Medical

Well, that was the shortest appointment ever. We arrived, were shown to a room, a registrar came in (whome we'd never met before). I described my symptoms, he said he wanted to examine me, I said I had hoped that the ultrasound they did before, plus my GP's examination, might suffice. He expressed surprise that I appeared upset (How many people approach with equanimity a rectal exam that is absolutely guaranteed to be painful? Hmm? Answers, please!)and toddled off to speak to the chap I met before, the one who actually did the ultrasound. The "consultant". I'm a bit hazy on degrees here - but the consultant appears to be in charge.

The consultant thinks I have my expectations too high and that it's likely that this is as fixed as I get. He also thinks I'm too uptight to be examined anyway, so he's going to send me an appointment for an exam under general anaesthetic on the 8th of August.

Please excuse me while I freak out a bit here. My "expectations are too high". I expected to be 25, having had a kid, and able to do wildly unreasonable things like, ooooh, use a tampon, or, God forbid, have sex. And I can't. My baby is 14 months old now - or very nearly - and I am 26 and a half, and I'm beginning to feel like it's a form of secondary infertility. Rob and I are discussing how we might cope if this really is as good as it gets. We're both young. This is, pardon the melodrama, a life sentence for both of us.

This has got to be fixable. They can fix anything nowadays. If sex reassignment surgery is possible, surely fixing an owie ought to be, too?

Further to my earlier post...

Medical:

I am in the process of making an appointment to see a GP. My favourite GP is off on maternity leave - she's the one who has been dealing with this all along. So I went to the drop-in baby clinic at the library, had Linnea weighed (more later) and spoke to the Health Visitor. The GP I've been seeing about all this isn't "my" GP; I am registered with the charming gentleman who dealt with my lung infection. Let's call her Dr A. Dr A is on maternity leave, so the Health Visitor gave me the name of Dr B, a female GP who also specialises in ob/gyn and who jobshares with Dr A.

The receptionist with whom I tried to make the appointment wasn't keen on my choosing my GP. She tried to argue that it didn't matter which female GP I saw; I countered that one (Dr C) had looked at me and said outright that she didn't know enough to tell whether there was even anything wrong or not, whereas it's on the practice website that Dr B specialises in ob/gyn. So she is going to ask Dr B whether she will accept the appointment. I get to phone up at 9 am tomorrow and check. Whoever I get to see, I will ask for a referral to a gynaecologist, because I think that the problem is primarily gynaecological, not colo-rectal.

And if, in August, I get no joy, I will sit down with Rob, go over our finances, and see if we can borrow enough against the house to go private.

Meanwhile, the support and outrage help a lot. Thank you, all ye who support me in email.

Linnea:

We brought her with us to the hospital - we only just made it, due to my heat-induced sleep-deprivation, and a bus-driver who refused to allow a buggy on board. She ate a banana while I had my refreshing little chat, and then we all went into town and she played in the Biscuit Tin Cafe while I updated my journal using their free internet access. Then Rob went to work and she fell asleep.

I posted a parcel, had a leisurely lunch reading email, left my shopping on the bus because I was distracted by the sudden, piercing and urgent need to distract a small girl who didn't want to sit in her buggy, she wanted to sit on the stairs. I rattled a book at her until she got interested, then handed it over. Sometimes not being related to a child will net you the most fabulous results.

Linnea woke up and had lunch once we got home, and I changed her and brought her to Baby Clinic, where we met her best friend, Esme the Fantastic Health Visitor. Linnea was weighed (only 12.13 kg or 26lb 12oz - she's normal! 98th centile normal, but still - normal! She's back on the charts!) and played with some other kids there - there was a small black girl, walking like a pro at 11 months, and stupendously cute in a blue dress that was true "babydoll" style. And there was Iz, our neighbour's baby - white, wearing a white dress with ickle pink flowers. And a Chinese baby, but he was mainly off crawling on his own, not quite old enough to play with people.

The 11-month-old liked Linnea an awful lot, and gave her lots of cuddles. Linnea liked her, and gave her toys (sometimes rather hard, but the intention was good...) and we generally had a gorgeous time, all mums and babies playing together in the cool indoors.

Then I pootled off to make my GP appointment and collect my lost property (nappies and fruit tea, in case you were wondering) and we spotted a playground -

Well! Not only has Linnea spent the day pointing out airplanes to me (including one she couldnt' see, but heard, while we were indoors; she said "Day!" and pointed at the ceiling) but she also pointed out some trains, which has caused assonance confusion. While in clinic, I was telling this to Esme, and she saw Linnea look at me, then out the window, as though she hoped to see yet another plane just because I'd said the word. We saw a fantastic goods train that went behind some trees and then we could see the front and the back on either side of the trees at the same time. I hope I didn't irritate the people behind me - I stopped mid-pavement to hunker down beside her and watch a plane. No-one said anything, they just walked around. Perhaps the weather is mellowing the general population.

She got extremely excited at a small flock of birds (species unknown; they were birds) that darted around between the houses on one street.

I put her in the swing facing the train-line and she spotted most trains before I did; I think she hears them coming. Then she climbed the climbing frame and slid down te slide, all on her own (I was busy having a little private panic attack while I watched my baby confidently amble around next to a two-foot drop onto whatever they surface playgrounds with). Then she climbed the slide.

My baby's a climber. It makes her prone to scabs. Shame there's no anti-climbing Clearasil equivalent.

Then we saw a helicopter, and played gonnagetchagetchagotcha, and two small girls - one aged five and a half, and one so much older that every time the five-year-old announced an acheivement she dripped scornful "Oh, that's easy!" on it. The five-year-old was unfazed and showed me her knickers (green).

Then we came home and watched telly. I'm beginning to enjoy some of the children's TV. While watching Linnea was persuaded to snack on some cucumber; this heat has ruined her appetite.

Daddy came home and brought Linnea out to buy Mammy some chips. On the way home, she gave a hop and a wiggle, and her nappy appeared behind her on the pavement. Her t-suit was still on, and one side of the nappy was still fastened. Rob was Officially Impressed.

She's out in the garden now, presumably dipping her chips in the paddling pool With any luck she'll want to go to bed before 9 again.

My day was, overall, pretty good. I'm happy now.