Item – I managed to go to several Paralympic events, despite Shark Week. I remember very little of two of them, because I was completely off my feckin’ face on tramadol, and I spent another running to the loo every twenty minutes because even super plus extra tampons were Just Not Helping (thank fuckitty for aisle seats). (Incidentally, the Olympic Park Venue is now added to the alas lengthening list of Public Places I Have Bled On The Lavatory Floor Of – I’m not proud). I am very pleased, grateful (to Fate, and to H, for looking after me) and, for the moment at least, delighted to be British (this won’t last. I’m far too cynical a human being to do Patriotism for more than a fortnight at a time).
Item – Worst, most vile, throwing-up-painful day of Shark Week was of course the day I was supposed to be having my occupational health interview. I had to phone and cancel. I couldn’t stand up. There was a pitiful bit where I tried to get dressed and get the paper-work together while not daring to put my bucket down in case I Needed It With Urgency (‘where’s mah bukkit‘), and then Bitter McTwisted finally managed to get The Positive Thinking Fairy in a head-lock long enough for common sense to reassert itself – ‘will you crawl to the bus like this? How about the train? Would you like to throw up on a train? What if there are no seats? Will you STAND and throw up on the train? No? Go the fuck back to bed, moron.’ So now the whole thing is going to have to be rescheduled. Arse.
Item – Incidentally, HR liaison sent me email along the lines of ‘Why did you miss your appointment?’. Given that I’d spent most of the previous week discussing with them the very real possibility I’d be too bloody ill to go to it, I thought this so ridiculous I had to sit on the fifth draft of my reply all afternoon before I could make myself delete most of it and send the sixth, very brief and polite, version. I mean, really.
Item – Metformin. I have been taking it for two weeks now (barring puke-day of Shark Week, for obvious reasons). I have gone from one pill a day to two pills a day. Soon, three pills a day. I – oh Lord, do I dare say this out loud? – I haven’t had any kind of diarrhoea or upset stomach. Yet. Quick, get me some wood to touch (H, stop sniggering. And you. You can stop sniggering too).
Item – H and I have discussed (mostly, because I fell into A Rage), things about Dr Expensive’s proposed treatment regime that are giving me the yips. I am finding the idea of doing multiple au naturel cycles with LIT, Intralipids, clexane, steroids and progesterone FUCKING BATSHIT CRAZY, thank you very much. H and I are going to write Dr Expensive an email asking for moar better explanations.
Item – To be fair, Dr Expensive’s reasoning seems to be that in the past year-and-a-half, in which I have not had a single positive pregnancy test, I have actually almost certainly been containing a fertilised embryo on several occasions, but my very-much-primed-by-repeat-exposure uterus/immune system is now extremely good at killing them stone-dead as soon as they implant, and therefore before they can chuck out noticeable amounts of HCG. Evidence for this? Those cycles in which my luteal phase was a day or even two longer than usual, and my temperature didn’t drop until the day I started bleeding (rather than two days before), and I felt extra sicky and weird and aware of my nipples. As this reasoning raises my lost-embryos-I-could-have-loved count to double figures, the very idea gives me the screaming meemies. However, Dr Expensive therefore seems to think that I could get pregnant again very quickly, and if I am stuffed full of immune-suppressants and anti-inflammatories and anti-coagulants, the putative embryo WILL have a bat’s chance in hell.
Item – This next cycle, now on day 9, is not going to be the one we do medicated, because the United States are still cherishing the divot Dr Expensive hoiked out of Cute Ute. H and I are going to practice having lots and lots of regular sex, anyway, especially as we have a weeks’ holiday to entertain ourselves in.
Item – My blogging mojo has vanished. I’ve made a temporary replacement out of toothpicks and gaffer-tape, but I’d rather have the real good old mojo back.