Complicated week, this

Still spotting, but very little. I called the ACU this morning, and the Nice Lady Wand Monkey Nurse called back to go through my concerns with me, and decided that as long as the spotting stays brown and pink and light, and I am not in pain, or at least, not in consistent pain (I am still getting twinges and dull aches, but they never last for more than half an hour at a time), I can just carry happily on until my Viability Scan on the 2nd. If it gets worse, call back. If it gets much worse, rush madly to the nearest A&E. As this is pretty much my ‘How to survive the exams’ plan, I felt a warm glow of smugness at my common sense slosh through me for, oh, minutes on end, before remembering that I had nevertheless had another little weep yesterday night, and freaked H out into the bargain, which gave him stomach ache for the rest of the evening (H emotes with his digestive system. It’s no fun at all).

So. Am training myself to ignore the spotting and get back to the happy.

This is going to be the most taxing week. It started with the exam, survived that. But there’s more. Oh yes:

Item: Tomorrow I am going to dinner with my father. He is down this end of the country for once, staying with one of my many brothers, and I will be trekking across the city and out the other side to see him. It’s my birthday next weekend, so he particularly wants to treat me to a meal out. He is also a big drinker. I am (need I point out?) not drinking just now. Also, I cannot predict when and why I feel sick – it comes on any time between 11:30am and 5:30pm, and sometimes eating helps and sometimes eating makes me feel wretched. I am delighted to be feeling sick, it’s reassuring what with the spotting, but what exactly is a Dad to think of a non-drinking, nauseous daughter whom he knows is doing fertility treatment? Exactly. This may all lead to a premature reveal, coupled with frantic telling-everyone-else-Thursday-morning. Not our plan, that. Bother. On the other hand, Dad would be tickled absolutely pink to be the first to know (apart from H, and you guys, and half the ACU staff, and an online friend of H’s who is in the exact same situation, down to diagnosis and treatment and a recent BFP, that is. We needn’t tell him about that).

Item: The builders are coming back to FINALLY (argh argh grr snarl) finish the bathroom floor on Thursday morning. Why they couldn’t have done it properly in the first place…

Item: On Thursday afternoon, a dear friend is coming to stay for a long weekend. We are celebrating my birthday by attending eight plays in four days (the Shakespeare Histories Marathon at the Roundhouse). We planned this back in December, as we are both raving Shakespeare nuts and to us, this is bliss on earth. My huge birthday treat. I have been SO looking forward to it. My friend – let’s call him E – is a sweetheart, and may, possibly, notice if I am feeling pukey or not drinking. I can’t claim to have flu as he is something of a gentleman and will no doubt valiantly attempt to escort me home. Again, premature reveal is a distinct possibility. Heigh ho.

Item: I have a case-study to write, and a dissertation to look thoughtfully at. Eek eek eek.

Item: My current boss is starting a turf-war with my future boss over my study-leave, my leave allowances generally, and who exactly will line-manage me when Dream Job starts. As an early salvo in this war, she took me aside for a ‘little talk’ about wanting to be sure I don’t overload my job-share colleague with work while I concentrate on my studies and new role. The emotionally black-mailing tone of this, trying to guilt me into not taking my full allowance of study-leave, made me fucking furious. I have always been extremely careful to make sure job-share colleague doesn’t get landed with more work than I do, and I had always been trusted as one of the hardest-working and most responsible people on the team. I am sure this is all turf-war tactics and nothing much to do with me, but I won’t be able to continue heaving trolleys and boxes about for much longer and Lord knows what ammunition that will give her. So tomorrow I have to talk to ever so many people about this. Damn damn damn damn.

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3 responses to “Complicated week, this

  • Heather

    If you talk to your father in the morning, tell him you came down with a stomach bug – just a 12 or 24 hour thing. You can feel good enough to go out but not feel “good” and totally a reason not to drink if you already feel like crap?

    You can tell him it is a side effect of one of your meds or something and your doc says not to drink if you already feel ill or something…

  • Rachel

    I have to admit to being totally puzzled at how people keep their news secret for so long. I always chalk it up to them being real adults who live in the suburbs and work 9 to 5 jobs (not fair, I know). Since I’ve been homeless and traveling for the past week I have basically told everyone I’m staying with about my news (despite its tenuous nature) because I need help with my luggage, not drinking coffee, alcohol, the usual obsessiveness. Unless you think these people would not be supportive in case of bad news, I say share away.

  • Solnushka

    About the only people who know me well who didn’t twig the minute I gave up drinking were my parents. I find that mildly disturbing, particularly as in reality I don’t drink that often. Still, it’s telling when you are the only one sober at the work’s Xmas do I suppose.

    My parents, on the other hand, were just wilfully dense. In the weekend they were visiting, I fainted in the midle of a concert at them, refused all alcohol over three days and rejected three dishes in quick succession when I found out that they contained blue cheese, liver and uncooked meat.

    And still they didn’t guess.

    Still, it doesn’t hurt to try to brazen it out.

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