- I left work this lunch-time and was promptly mugged by a migraine. I felt like someone had smashed me across the bridge of the nose with an iron bar. I staggered home and filled up on ibuprofen. Even once the pain-killers had kicked in, I felt disorientated and cotton-wool-for-brains. Not conducive to getting on with my essays at all. This made me exceedingly cross (oy vey, the crossness begins). Also, mildly panicky as to whether the eye weirdness I ALWAYS get with migraines counts as the sort of visual disturbance one should stop using Clomid for. Yes? No? Anyone? Also, I do not think I have had as many migraines in the rest of my life as I’ve had in this past year.
- Still a little crampy, even though the Red Tide turned itself off on the afternoon of day three with the suddenness of an upturned bottle reaching empty. Spot. Spot. Spot. Ow.
- In the past few weeks, I have bumped into the following opinions about period pain – a) It’s not that bad and girls who make a fuss are wimps (by some tosser on a forum discussing how to deal with your daughter’s periods). b) Painful periods are a psychological reaction to the disappointment of not being pregnant (by some other tosser on another forum on painful periods – you can see my reading matter was getting a little preoccupied). c) My periods wouldn’t be so painful if I just RELAAAAAAAXED. No, wait, to be fair, the actual phrase was, ‘you need to relax more, I’m sure the stress is making it worse,’ which doesn’t necessarily sound bad, but it was said by sister Trouble, and naturally I was incandescent with rage the second she said it despite my cool and bland exterior – cool and bland because I am an excellent liar and dissembler and I’m sure she meant well, but I AM NOT GOING TO FREAKING RELAX, ALREADY. Sheesh. d) ‘Your periods will get a lot better once you’ve had a kid’, said, luckily, not to me, but by a woman with kids to another woman without, both of who I work with and whom I overheard in the ladies loo while I was dealing with the Dressing Station At The Battle Of The Somme in the next cubicle, last Friday.
- The enormo-bruise on my right thigh I got well over two weeks ago, when a security gate slammed shut just as I was walking through it (stars, I saw them). It’s still luridly green and it’s still tender. And you can see the exact outline of the edge of the gate in purple against the green. Mmmmm, yummy.
- And then, of course, there’s my heart, which pretty much matches my thigh. We’re very keen on matched accessories chez May. My socks match every day.