Item: A working day leaves me so tired my legs ache. It suddenly occurred to me that I (go me!) had bled for, well, actually, a month exactly now, and I might possibly be a little anaemic, yes-no-maybe? Luckily it has slowed right down to spotting for the past two or three days. But I have some iron pills left. I might take them.
Item: Half my colleagues think I’ve been off work for three weeks because I was on study leave and/ or holiday, and bounce up to ask me if I’ve had a good time. I say, calmly, ‘actually, I was ill,’ and they say ‘oh dear,’ and we gossip about things that have happened at work since I was last in.
Item: One of the above colleagues got in an ‘oohh, and you’ve lost weight!’ before I could say I had been ill. I said I just HAD to go the ladies’ and ran away and locked myself in the disabled cubicle and sat with my head in my hands. I just sat there. For minutes on end. It’s true. My breasts have deflated back to their normal 36DD (I was seriously heading for E by five weeks) and I have lost all the midriff puffiness (all hormonal retained water, of course). It makes me feel tearful thinking about it even now, but I did not cry then. I simply waited. And eventually I went back to my desk.
Item: I wouldn’t even mind if everyone at work knew what had happened, as long as I didn’t have to tell them.
Item: People who I am absolutely sure know about the miscarriage and yet have not phoned me or written to me or emailed me or texted me:
- The aunt who sent me a happy congratulatory card, and who I wrote back to saying it had all gone tits up;
- My father (he signed a card his wife sent);
- The other aunt, who I know my mother has been talking to, and who told my mother, and so my mother told me, about the three miscarriages she had in between her two healthy beautiful grown-up kids.
People who probably know about all the above and haven’t written, phoned, emailed or texted:
- My sisters.
- The rest of my aunts and uncles on my mother’s side.
The parts of the above that made me lose my temper and rant on and on about my bloody stupid bloody fucked-up bloody family last night:
- My father.
- Happy congratters Aunt, who used to be my favourite, most loving aunt when I was growing up.
- My sisters, and this because either Mum has told them everything, and they stink, especially Trouble as Diva gets extra time for having Aspergers; or, my mother told them nothing, whereapon she stinks, as I asked her to tell them; or she told them the good bit and forgot the bad bit, which is fucked up, and also, where are my congratulations, then? I do not know which of these possibilities is the actual. None of them make me happy. I daren’t ask my mother, because she is doomed to have her ear screamed right off whatever she says.
Item: There will be a Giant Family Get-Together at the beginning of July.
Item: I need to rewrite the ‘about’ page on this blog, don’t I?