I am not at work. I should be at work, there is work to do at work, there are, in fact, appalling amounts of work at work, and on Monday I will be panicking and taking regular breaks just so I can kick my arse in private, what with the teetering tsunami of work threatening to crush me to my desk.
I am not at work because I am crampy.
Isn’t that the most pathetic thing? Here I am, TOTALLY taking advantage of the fact my work-place is cuddly and indulgent about sick-days, and lets you take ever-so-many before even beginning to give you the suspicious stink-eye. I know I could have gone to work. I could have even done some. I would have been unbelievably foul-tempered and inclined to screw up people’s lending records in new and increasingly daft ways, but I could have gone.
The truth is, what is really wrong with me is raging self-pity.
Back before the surgery, back in the time I can’t stop myself thinking of as The Bleedening (which is sad. Sorry), my cramps were worse. They were so very obviously worse. I used to cramp from solar-plexus to mid-thigh, I couldn’t pee, I’d get pale and dizzy and sick with pain, my back would hurt so much I’d thrash about all night like a beached fish, desperately trying to find a position I could lie in without feeling I was being driven over by a train. Not so fun, huh? Then the nice doctors went in and picked all the tethers of scar-tissue out and lo and behold! I could pee! And my back didn’t hurt so badly! It was amazing! I was so pleased at all this that I was rather chirpy about the fact I was still having bad cramps. And I went to the gynae/ACU/whichever they are people for a post-surgery check up and alas the consensus seemed to be, ‘you cramp. Sorry. Suck it up’. But hey. I then ‘conveniently’ didn’t have another period for three months and my mind was on Higher Things.
The cramps now, well, this is day five of cramps, as I had preliminary ones to go with the two days of spotting (and this is day three of heavy bleeding, though it is only heavy bleeding, not torrential Victoria Falls of Gore, and the most annoying thing about it really is the having to wear pads (with wings!) as well as a tampon the size of a guinea pig). This basically means I haven’t slept that well in five days, what with The Essay Crisis That Lasted Until Dawn, and the pain, which wakes me up, especially in the early morning when my bladder decides to get in on the act for old times sake.
This morning I just went, well, nowhere, really. I sat in a horrible little heap by the computer in my jim-jams, feeling guilty and embarrassed and arguing that I should get dressed right now and go to work right now and who cares that the ibuprofen hadn’t even taken the edge off? I could stand without falling down again. Go to work. Go to work. Go to work. And this went on right up until I was well past the ‘leaving on time’ zone and well into the ‘this excuse had better be good’ zone. And then I called in sick and took my aching pyjama-clad pelvis back to bed.
I wanted the surgery to fix, well, all sorts of things, but the bleeding and the pain would do for starters. As it is, I think it might be within reason to say I am bleeding heavily today because my uterus spent three happy months laying down the Lining to End All Linings, and I am very glad I ovulated and am having a clear-out before the whole thing started leaking helplessly, unstoppably, all over again. Or, possibly, women with heart-shaped or arcuate uterii bleed more because they have more room to grow endometrium on. Or, possibly, I was cursed at birth. (By a MAAAAANNNN. For not being a proper Catholic, no doubt). The pain thing, I am not so happy about. But I think I am doomed. I had painful periods as a teenager, painful periods on the pill, painful periods off the pill, painful bleeding whenever the bleeding got heavy – the fact I was a bit of a medical mess and therefore had things to blame the pain on was probably obscuring the fact that I was *sigh* cursed at birth.
Anyway. Enough whining. I am boring myself now.
Matters arising: Deanna and Geodhe’s comments in my last post, about Clomid, made me realise I had raised being wilfully obscurantist to a new height. Sorry. I am not on Clomid at the moment. This ovulation was entirely spontaneous (if you can call Mad Women Bellowing Daily At Her Lower-Right Quandrant To Just Get The Hell On With It spontaneous). I am going back to the ACU in less than two weeks, and then they will probably put me on Clomid, as that was the plan, wait and see, does it work by itself? Not really, bring on the Mood-Enhancers. My main worry is that they’ll say ‘but you ovulated!’ and throw me out, while I wail and plead because twice since the summer, and also, three months apart, and also, who say’s Queen Satsuma will ever do anything ever again? and also, the Luteal Phase, for crap’s sake!