The genetic counsellor who cajoled us into doing the amnio just telephoned.
I surprised myself by finding absolutely no malice anywhere inside myself when I told her what had happened.
She called, introduced herself, animatedly told me she had GREAT NEWS and that the results were absolutely clear, and I could hear that she was about to ask if I wanted to know the baby's sex.
I quietly and calmly told her that I'd gone into early labour precisely a week from the amnio procedure.
She covered her gasp impressively well.
She asked if I'd gotten in touch with the OB who'd done the amnio, and I replied that I had little interest in doing so.
She offered her condolences, and I thanked her calmly.
She asked if there was anything she could do, and I methodically rattled off the series of questions that I'm still saving for the appointment with the original OB/GYN (there have been four of note -- the first one that followed my blood pressure, the second one that did the amnio, the third that authorized the demorol when I first went into labour, and then suggested I go to a different hospital when the labour wasn't slowing, and the fourth -- the one that actually delivered our son with her gentle hands.)
I asked how long until we could try again, and received one of the three stock answers that I've been hearing from everyone. (first: don't wait, my uterus is plump and primed for the filling, second: wait one period, just for everything to stabilize, the third -- wait three to four periods or six months just to "make sure") She added that whenever we felt emotionally ready was really the right time, and I appreciated the wisdom of that.
I asked how we could avoid this next time around. Not avoid the amnio entirely -- but avoid having such an unadvisably late amnio, as well as avoid potentially jumping the screening gun and deciding amnio was really worthwhile. In restrospect, a one in two hundred chance of anomaly, especially when backed by two perfectly normal ulstrasounds and five other solid test results -- was not good enough reason to allow ourselves to be pressured into it at all.
Do we blame ourselves? I don't, and I think Dave is too intelligent to fall for that as well.
Do I blame the genetic counsellor for applying her well-spoken pressure? Apparently not, judging by the civility of our conversation today.
Do I blame the OB for sticking me three times with a needle and drawing blood? I'm not sure, but even if I did harbour resentment, there is very little remaining.
Do I know what to do next time? Very definitely. Do I know when I'll get pregnant again? Not yet, and the waiting game is stressful but I'm determined to have autopsy results as well as a full checkup before even counting my periods.
Am I over it? No, and I never will be, but I am definitely at the point where I don't need the tears anymore and I don't hate myself for wanting to learn as much as possible from the experience.
*ring ring*
My ex-boss just called. Today has been all about heart to heart talks with coworkers. More about the career combobulations tomorrah.