I haven’t been very talkative, have I? I am busy. I am writing. Writing essays takes TIME. Most of the TIME is spent looking things up I’m sure I read a few weeks ago that may or may not be relevant. Usually, they are spectacularly irrelevant, and I have clearly misremembered everything except the name of the author. Also, though a combination of my supreme pratt-headed ineptitude and H’s brisk desire to close all these darn browsers lying open all over my desk-top so as to get the damn computer to run properly, the half finished online job application was lost. And I am rewriting that too, as it’s due in on Monday. H is feeling bad about this, so I am feeling bad about this AND bad about H feeling bad as it wasn’t really his fault. Busy busy.
Anyway. In other news, Friday morning I went for my 7-day-post-ovulation scan and blood-test. To my persistent bewilderment everyone kept referring to it as ‘day 21’. It was actually day 31, and six-days-post, because the ACU doesn’t DO weekends. The ‘day 21’ thing was making me feel like a rather underachieving slacker. I was slightly late, because the bus had gone for a nap in traffic, and so of course I was booted to the back of the to-do list. This made me very much later for work than I said I’d be. Fret fret.
The scan itself was done by Nice Lady Wand-Monkey again, who was pleased to note a corpus luteum where the follicle had been, and a sensible uterine lining, which she measured, and I forgot to ask for details, but ‘sensible’ is her word and I am happy with it. She then explained that I could phone on Monday for my blood-test results and depending on those we can discuss the protocol for the next cycle – whether I need more Clomid, monitoring again, that sort of thing. And then she wished me luck and sent me off to get my blood drawn.
I didn’t have to wait very long in the blood draw waiting area, which is very good, as this is also the Ante-Natal clinic waiting area, a fact that never ceases to royally piss me off. Half-a-dozen elderly people swapping grandchild anecdotes, three pregnant women smiling away, and me. I was positively looking forward to being stabbed at that point. The phlebotomist however was very good and very gentle and also found a vein in my right arm, which is interesting, as my right arm has no veins at all and the blood circulates in it by osmosis alone. He confirmed who I was and what my blood was being drawn for, and when he’d taped cotton-wool over my puncture, he too said ‘good luck!’ and seemed to really mean it. After all, what reason on earth could a woman have for a ‘day 21’ progesterone test except That Reason, for which ‘good luck’ is an appropriate remark?
And I felt all moved and flustered.
And I charged madly back across town to work, late as hell and, having forgotten my mobile phone, AWOL into the bargain. Of course, everyone at work was worried that I might have ended up under a bus and not in the least bit cross with me, which was very touching too.
I lost it altogether on Friday evening. H was out at a work ‘do’, which seemd to involve getting rather drunk, and I planned my own private evening of debauchery to revolve around pizza and Torchwood. The pizza was good. Torchwood made me cry. The documentary on Thomas Tallis and William Byrd that preceeded it made me cry. I sat and wept at the telly all evening, in fact, and when H came back, somewhat tipsy and in an indecently good mood, he failed to notice I had been crying and so we had a row and I cried even harder.
I really am not dealing with the stress and grief of all this very well at all. Not least because I don’t have the TIME to deal with it.