While I was tearing my hair out and banging my head on the keyboard of my lap-top, in the throes of composition, I was pretty much ignoring Queen Satsuma. Based on the previous cycle, in which she flipped clomid the bird and didn’t produce anything even beginning to resemble a lead follicle until day 21, I grumpily assumed she’d still be painting her toe-nails when I went for my dawn-of-day 14 scan on Thursday. She infact only started fussing and whining on the Wednesday, and she can do that for weeks at a time (it’s like living with a toddler, honestly. How long does it take her to get dressed in the morning, even with help? How many pointless tantrums per day? Dear God, the whining…).
Nevertheless, day 14, a 19mm follicle. 19, people! Nice Lady Wand-Monkey was quite impressed. And the uterine lining looked splendid. She turned the screen so I could see and blimey, I too was impressed. I faithfully promised to pee on OPK sticks, and I ran outside and phoned H, to warn him his services were most certainly requested that evening.
That night H checked his email while brushing his teeth, and when I clambered (I do clamber. There is a small Matterhorn of books and knitting down my side of the bed) into bed to join him, he, instead of throwing his arms about me etc., was just sitting there, looking into the middle distance. I wanted to know what the matter was. Bless the dear eejit, he commented on how well I must know him. Now that you mention it, I’ve known you since you were 17, yes, but even a plank would spot something was up if they were expecting nookie and got a motionless lump with his hands folded in his lap. And it turned out that a very dear friend of H’s family, who had taught H music when he was a boy, and whom we usually go to have tea with when we visit that part of the world, a special person, a precious person, has just been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and it is very advanced.
No nookie for us that night, obviously.
And it makes me want to put Satsuma in a velvet-lined box and take her out once a day to kiss her, because while her rogue twin did have a feeble half-hearted go at killing me, and while the PCOS thing is very bloody annoying (bloody and annoying, heheh), she is not depth mining my entire person with destruction.
Friday, went into work, realised I’d forgotten the pee-stick, made stealth raid on the chemist’s as I ran through Main Station, duly crossed legs all morning, hid in disabled loo for private commune with own hormone levels. No surge yet.
H commented last night that it was a bit much, that an OPK stick, anywhere from not-a-surge-at-all upwards, looks exactly like a positive pregnancy test. I had been going to bitch about that myself, but decided now was not the time to indulge in Inner Bitter Infertile. It must be spreading. But, yes, it IS a bit much. Grr. Argh. We nevertheless worshipped at the altar of Queen Satsuma, in a very slightly gin-fuelled way.
Day 16 today. I have THAT piece of coursework to finish (dare I mention coursework? It seems to me the second I mentioned my degree crisis I set off some kind of chain-reaction of uncommunicative crises all over the blogosphere. I feel like a bad-luck kitteh). Humphrey Lyttelton died last night – I adored him. It’s all too much. I am beginning to develop a distinct flattening of affect.