Item: Still bleeding. In fact, what with yesterday being my birthday and one of the days I was spending some twelve hours at the theatre, I bled even more heavily. As I was not in any pain, had retched violently that morning and the previous one, and there were no (TMI) clots or shreds of anything worrying, I stiffened my upper lip and ignored it.
Item: Or pretended to ignore it. Or was consumed with private thoughts of the bitter irony of miscarrying on my birthday during one of the most bloody, gore-soaked stage-productions I have seen in a long while.
Item: This morning’s pee-stick (umm, yeah, still doing that every few days. Believe me, so would you under the circumstances) came up positive before the pee had even soaked as far as the control line. The yes/no line is considerably darker than the control line too. All this means is that in the past eight hours, I have secreted rather a lot of HCG. It means nothing else at all. Nevertheless, it cheered me up.
Item: It is the Bank Holiday weekend and the Early Pregnancy Unit is closed until Tuesday. If things are making me frantic, I can always go back to Accident & Emergency, but actually, I want a look with a decent scanner and someone who KNOWS about early pregnancy on the other end of the wand. Because, if Pikaia hasn’t budged, I want to know where the FUCKING HELL all this blood is coming from. So I am waiting until Tuesday. Unless Something Happens.
Item: And I haven’t felt sick yet today. As I seem to cycle rapidly between morning sickness and evening sickness, but never both on the same day, this probably means nothing. But my boobs are less painful. Cue mad woman crushing her chest with her hands and hissing ‘hurt, damn you, hurt!’ Pregnancy can turn you into a perfect masochist.
Item: I mentioned at the end of the last post that we’d started telling people. I’m not entirely sure what H’s rationale was, but mine was ‘I want people to know that Pikaia exists. Even if s/he doesn’t exist for much longer, I want people to know of Pikaia during his/her lifetime. I don’t want people to know of him/her as just a sad little episode in my past.’ For my birthday, therefore, I received a couple of extremely excited and congratulatory cards. They made me smile and cry all at the same time.
Item: My mother is being a star, excited but cautious, concerned, caring. My father got drunk, took H aside, ordered him to look after me, and declared H to be his besht mate. Oy. He also did not respond in any way to the part about bleeding and the afternoon spent in A&E. However, he did set fire to the chopping knife while cooking dinner and then pick it up by its molten handle, burning himself and flinging the flaming thing across the kitchen, and yes, it did glance (harmlessly) off me. My Dad, the psychosomatizer.
Item: H’s parents do not know about the bleeding and the scariness. H simply couldn’t think how to tell them over the phone.
Item: I am not enjoying being pregnant AT ALL.