I spent this morning writing letters to family and friends, thanking them for their excited and congratulatory cards and explaining that, sorry, but they could take the congratulations and excitement back now.
I also let some other people I hang out with elsewhere online know. I’ve been friends with some of them for six or seven years now. I’ve even gone mad and met some of them in person. So, you know, need to know. And a few of them were beginning to wonder where the hell I was. Especially as I’ve only shared this blog with a couple of them. Not everyone needs to know about my EWCM.
And I finally got an email back from my tutor, who simply had been out of the office for a long weekend (what, tutors are allowed holidays? The idea). He sorry to hear about it, and offered sympathy, and left it up to me to tell him when I felt I could get on with my coursework. See? Perfect email from tutor to troubled student. Kindness makes troubled student cry, so it’s just as well she’s tucked up at home watching the rain fall and eating chocolate ice-cream.
So. Got through quite a few tissues today.
My mother called me last night, to ask if I wanted to go to the opera tomorrow. Umm. Really? The opera? Just a few hours after an ERPC/ D&C? Umm. No. She also told me that I ‘sounded much better’. Ah. Do I. Fine.
I think I must be doing the Five Stages of Grief back to front. MsPrufrock mentioned them (and made me laugh, yay!), and I looked into it because, what the hell, and yes, I am doing them wrong. They are supposed to go Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and finally Acceptance. I started with Acceptance, was sad but very calm for a couple of days, my Mum came over and unwittingly tipped me into not only Angry but Fucking Furious, and since then I have been dicking about between Depression and back to really really quite cross. Denial and Bargaining both seem to be utterly pointless. Deny what? My body is in denial – ow my tits – but bargaining? Hah. What for. And I keep trying to swim back to Acceptance. I don’t know why. It’s only been a week since I’ve known for sure this pregnancy was so over. Why I expect myself to be able to process, accept, and sail on, I do not know. This sucks. It is going to suck for a while. It is going to suck, occasionally, until I die. And yet I waste precious sobbing time trying to chivy myself into doing the washing-up and just generally getting a grip.
I sound fucked up to me too, you know.
To all the commentators (and Mel, for the mention) – Thank you so much for your kindness and support. And you are all saying the right things. And I love you for it. And thanks to you, my stats are now saying my ‘busiest’ day (bless WordPress for changing that from ‘best’) is now the 3rd of June, and not Black Tuesday last week. This is a wonderful thing.
Tomorrow, back to the EPU (hah! EPU! HAH! Hah and arse) for that final what-the-hey-is-going-on-in-there scan, followed, probably, by a trip to theatre (see, Mum, that’s why I can’t go to the opera. Am going to the theatre! Heheheh!). If I don’t post for a few days, it’s probably because I have anaesthesia hangover.