Weeks....

It’s been another one of those days... or perhaps I should say weeks.... or even months!  OK, so not quite months, but definitely weeks.

My little man has just finished his fifth round of chemo.  He has had 384 hours of that horrible toxic substance draining into his body.  I wish I could say it is done now, but it’s not.  He will endure another 96 hours next month – taking his total to 480 hours – that’s a lot for a little man!

He has been through so much in his life and still comes out smiling – something I really should learn to do.

But it’s hard for me at the moment.  Not only am I stressing about him and hoping that once it’s done, it’s done – but I'm starting to stress about Koko.  

The pregnancy is going fine.  The scans have all been positive and my blood pressure remains at a lower spectrum level.  I’ve put on weight, but wouldn’t say it’s too excessive (yet) and have managed to maintain some semblance of a healthy lifestyle – despite spending the majority of the pregnancy in and out of hospitals.

So why the stress?  Simple.  I'm currently 29+1 weeks pregnant.  In two weeks time, I will be 31+1 weeks pregnant.  I don’t know what happens after that date.  That’s as far as I got with Dexter.  I'm scared that the same thing will happen again, and although I know we would pull through and cope the same we did with him – I just can’t picture that at this point.

Because I've been classified as ‘very high risk’ I have to attend the local hospitals Doctors clinic as opposed to the midwives clinic.  This means that instead of only travelling 10 minutes, finding a park straight away and no waiting times, I end up travelling half an hour each way, fight for a park and wait and wait and wait!  Today was a two hour wait for a five minute consultation.  And they wonder why I get stressed!

This was the general conversation from the Doctor “because you have had one premature birth, there is an incredibly high chance you will have a second premature birth – but earlier this time, so the next couple of weeks will be very critical for you.  So I’ll see you in four weeks time, thanks for coming...”  She took my blood pressure, listened to the heart rate and sent me on my way.

I was fuming for so many reasons.  Firstly, the wait -  I had to leave my boys in hospital in Sydney so I could make this appointment on time, and yet I could have stayed for two extra hours.  Secondly, the seemingly lack of concern for me!  If I'm so ‘very high risk’ and hitting that vulnerable timeframe, why the delay in seeing me again?  And why is this the first time I've been told I could go earlier than last time?

As soon as I stepped outside the room, the tears flowed – and whenever I stop and be still – they start again.  This is what has been happening all week.  Sometimes I don’t even know why they start, they just do.  I just wonder when they will stop.