Item – I woke up (listen! I woke up! That means I slept!) this morning and found my thighs were stuck to the mattress. I scrambled out of bed and ta-dah! Blood-stains. Marvellous. Bloody marvellous. Thought I could get away with just washing the sheet, but no, it’s soaked through into the mattress cover. OK, wash that too, take it off the bed, AARGH there’s blood on the duvet cover as well. Fine. Strip the entire bed (which had had clean sheets on, you know. Obviously). Flat now full of drying laundry, as, naturally, my PJs copped it, as have several pairs of knickers.
Item – In between laundry loads and bouts of self-pity and underwear changes, I obediently went to see the GP this morning. Hey, it was dear old Doc Tashless! Long time no see! And he remembered me and all the infertile sheeeit and everything! I explained the period thing was getting very, very stupid now, and he agreed. He also (um, wow?) had letters sent over from the ACU from my last HSG, and therefore was fairly confident in saying I didn’t have fibroids or endo, as my periods were shitty then and are shitty now and have been shitty since forever. He thinks it’s more to do with excess prostaglandins. He gave me a prescription for Tranexamic Acid (oh, hey, I remember that from the Bleedathon) AND Mefenamic Acid and strict instructions to get back to him at once if they didn’t help with the next period I had. I pointed out I’d taken them before and they hadn’t helped vastly. He eyeballed me and said, firmly, ‘but have you taken them together?’ and I had to say, no I hadn’t, and he waggled his eyebrows at me. Apparantly they work much better together.
Item – and then he leaned over and gave me a good hard stare. ‘You look pale,’ he said. ‘Do you feel tired a lot?’ I nodded. He got me to stick my tongue out. ‘Hmmm,’ he said, and printed out another form. ‘Go and get a blood test done. The blood clinic is still running, they should be able to fit you in. You’re probably anaemic.’
Item – Oh, joy.
Item – We have a wonderful phlebotomist at my GP’s. He’s very quiet and reserved, but very, very gentle. Which is good. And I only had to wait half an hour to get stabbed. And then I went home.
Item – Still bleeding like a stuck pig. Arse. Change underwear again, decry stupid organic unbleached cotton and corn-starch-plastic hippy sanitary towels which claim to be for heavy flow and when actually faced with a heavy flow, soak through in minutes.
Item – But am in hardly any pain at all now. Fab.