My weekend is being filed under ‘ruined’, and cross-filed under ‘shite’ and ‘miserable’.
But I haven’t thrown up yet, so yay.
On the other hand, I did slowly slide down the bathroom wall until I was lying on the lino (ick. Hairballs) and have a little weep at 4:30 this morning.
H is being very sweet, refilling my hot-water-bottle and rubbing my feet and such-like, but he is absolutely hating this (we shall BOTH totally spend our forties dealing with menstrual PTSD). And I got all shirty with him because he went to sleep in the spare room (we were both snoring. That is not why I was shirty) and he slept in until past 11. So I had a Squeaky Princess Foot-Stamping attack because I had to make my own TEA at ten am, dammit, and anyway, he was happily asleep and I was just so goshdarn envious what with the being awake for hours in ridiculous amounts of pain. I could’ve just kicked him awake and demanded slave-service, but hey, much more fun to be the martyr, don’t you think? No? I see your point. Next time, I’ll kick him awake.
Anyway. Painkillers are working in a half-assed way at the moment (hence online presence). H thinks I should go back to the GP on Monday and slide slowly down the wall of his office until I’m lying weeping on his lino. Maybe I could score some methadone.
I think the real issue is, I need to start taking the mefenamic acid at least 24 hours before the first twinges begin, as instructed on every ‘dealing with dysmenorrhea/endometriosis*’ website I’ve ever seen. But I daren’t, in case there’s the teeniest weeniest chance I might be pregnant and oops, I’ve just poisoned the poor little fecker on top the massive hazard of being in my damn uterus in the first place. I am aware this is more than a little daft of me – I have Really Sensitive Pee-sticks, and we’ve all established that temperature charting is fairly reliable for me. I could start drugging up as soon as I notice the first temperature drop, even. But this cycle, despite the huge obvious temp-drop, the utter lack of metal-mouth, nausea, or sore bazoomas past day 11, and despite the lack of well-timed sex, I was too chicken.
I am a dill-weed. And now the Cute Ute has spent the past 36 hours flailing about in agonised hysterics. So. [Takes self by shoulders and gives self a good shake].