Updates first. I have managed, whooping with triumph, to extract an appointment with dismissive Mister Doctor from the clutches of the NHS. All I did was phone the given clinic number half-a-dozen times, listen to the phone ring relentlessly and forever for three of them, leave messages on the answer-phone for two of them, and on the sixth go, speak to a human being, who cheerfully and calmly booked me an appointment right away. For NEXT WEEK. Blimey.
Not that I want to see Mister Doctor again. But as the ACU said I need gyneacologicalling before they can carry on ferreting about in my undercarriage, looking for flaws, heigh ho. And anyway, I am beyond sick of the bleeding thing. It would be nice to not bleed for, oh, maybe three or four weeks or so?
And in Other News, it came to my attention that this career thingy that many people have, and, by gosh, even plan, was possibly a good thing I ought to look into, and how about putting off careering for a good year or so and becoming a student again? so if anyone asks (and they do) about the careering I can sweetly say I am gaining further qualifications while really bumming about in jeans and elderly teeshirts for just a little longer. And if, as I expect, I don’t get in, I can say I tried, and that should work too, kind of. I think.
So I applied to University.
And by ‘eck, but they went and accepted me.
Which I am not sure was part of The Plan.
So, as of September, I shall be spending an entire year doing an MA full-time, while working part-time.
Which means that getting pregnant any time before, oh, say, next Christmas, would be D-U-M-B. I say Christmas, because it might be rather ‘fun’ to be The Pregnant One at Uni, for once. Also, if I am The Pregnant One, some other poor 19-year-old kitten won’t be because I have bagsied the role, and therefore I will be doing my bit for humanity. But I cannot for the life of me see how to be the One With The Newborn while trying to dissertate.
So, really, I don’t want the ACU to get all radical on my ass and actually make me pregnant, as such, just yet. In which case should I waste their time? But if I go away for a while, I’d have to start all over again with the appointment booking months and months waiting thing and I’d rather they got on with working out what is wrong and what to do about it now. I am not getting any younger or less rusty about the lady-parts, despite the sudden re-upgrade to student.
And of course if I did get pregnant now I would be so, so very happy. And we’d manage. And I’d beg them to let me do the MA in segments and it would, yes, it would, all work out and I’d have a baby.
And before I get too flighty with the image of my own darling little child, I must point out to myself that there’s a long way to go in any case,and even if the ACU do work out the miracle cure thing, what are the chances of anything actually working between the end of March and Christmas? Not high.
And if I am a student, my family might just stop asking me when I am planning to get on and have a baby (yes! Indeed! Even the family members who know that I am infertile do this! I’d like them not to!). On the other hand it might make them ask even more ferociously – why am I arsing about at University when I ought to be procreating before extreme old age makes my one remaining ovary shrivel from Satsuma of Evil to Raisin of Doom?
Incidentally, we shall be testing this last hypothesis on Sunday, as we are going to a lovely big family Christening, for my lovely brand new cousin. Hurrah! Also, babies! Aigh!
And then there’s the whole issue of how H will deal with being essentially abandoned by his wife as she gallivants through the Groves of Academe. He was not exactly wonderful about the first MA I did, though he did try, bless him. And I am sure I was very trying. It’ll be fun, H sitting about wondering if his wife is the one with the brown hair and glasses or not, and who is this mysterious unseen entity who keeps littering the flat with lecture notes and finishing the milk before scrambling into bed with him in the dark and demanding to be inseminated
I really am making myself nuts now.
Incidentally, peanut butter gives me heartburn.