I wrote a little while ago that our trip to Great Ormond Street Hospital in the summer had turned things kind of upside down, right way up and then left them hanging, slightly tentatively, just to one side of our normal. As follows such an experience, a week, or two, or sometimes six later, the clinic letter drops through the door. The carefully crafted summary of your time with the Doctor and whoever else happened to be there at the same time (at Great Ormond Street there tend to be a few observers, juniors, visitors, other professionals).
The appointment in question was with the Rheumatology team – a referral had finally been made by the community paediatrician who was only doing it for the money and as such, the Cheetah Keeper had an hour with the Rheumatology consultant and specialist physio to make the decision as to whether all his issues can be put under the Ehlers Danlos Syndrome diagnosis. The odds were (are) stacked in favour of this diagnosis and I had carefully prepared a sheet of notes about the family, our diagnoses, the Cheetah Keeper’s history, my hopes and concerns