I have nearly killed the Case Study Beast. Really. It’s so extremely late that my tutor is going to look at it and at my eager desperate grin, and sigh, and hand it back to me, and close his study door very firmly and very finally in my face.
It gets worse. Despite the Writer’s Block (Extreme Version – Platinum Edition) and the desolate weeping and the lack of proper references and the gnashing of teeth and the *ahem* depression thing, and despite staying up til 4am last night to try and finish it, and despite the shocking migraine that that dumbass plan gave me and despite spending this morning clutching my forehead and walking into door-frames, I somehow wrote 4009 words where I needed to write 3000. There is a word for this kind of ineptitude on a majestic scale, but I can’t think of it off-hand, and anyway, must sharpen my shears and hack a big enough hole in it all to fit in the vital last paragraph in which I try to explain that I do have a clue, no really. And I don’t think I even wrote it in English. In fact, am I writing this in English? And is gin good when editing? Yes?
Anyway. In the midst of this morning’s lop-sided puffiness and staggering-in-circles while the horse pills kicked in, kicked out again, kicked in, fell over, the ACU got back to me.
Ah, yes, because, weren’t we trying to get pregnant? Didn’t I leave messages about this some time long long ago before the Case Study caught me in its bull-dog jaws and shook me like a rat?
Anyway. I explained to the nurse, who, incidentally, had my notes during this conversation and therefore did not ask tomfool questions, that I wanted to leap back into the saddle, but Satsuma wasn’t cooperating, and I knew this because I chart my temperature and Other Fertility Signs RELIGIOUSLY, and was it OK to take the provera I still had from, oooh, February, I think, when I was prescribed it in case I failed to get a period all by myself before Clomid 1, the which information Satsuma took as a personal challenge? I don’t think I phrased it quite like that to the nurse. Anyway. She was gearing up for an answer when suddenly she asked me to hold on, and proceeded to hold a discussion about me with a passing consultant, which I could half-hear (so irritating, as I am very nosy, and am I really ‘one of the clomid girls’?), and then picked up the phone again to confirm that yes, I could go ahead, take the provera, take the clomid. I didn’t need a scan because I responded so text-book well last time. But she’d book me in for a further consultation in any case, err, the earliest date for that would be end of September, and I could get a further prescription for Clomid then if I needed it.
If? Ah hah hah hah.
‘Umm, so I don’t need a scan or bloodwork through this cycle?’
‘Nope. Just call us when your period starts, so we can mark the cycle down in your notes.’
‘Oh, and be sure to take a pregnancy test before you start the provera.’
Is it me, or does the NHS have no idea what fertility charting is or how it works? No? Thought so.
And then I went and peed on an OPK and a pregnancy test, and lo and behold, each was negative and lily-pure. As expected.
When H came home to his headache-raddled, slightly over-caffeinated and manic wife, who still has to somehow – did I mention? – remove 500 words from her work while at the same time ever so carefully inserting another 200 or so that make sense, we had a sensible discussion about timing. Oh, and H had brought me flowers, because I’d had a hard week. Not just any old flowers either, no, he’d picked out ones I particularly LIKE and got the florist to make up a bouquet for me from scratch. Literally, as it had sea-holly in it.
No, you can’t have him. He agreed to marry me, the fool, and I’m not letting him out of my clutches.
Where was I? Oh, yes, discussing timing. Upshot, no, I do not start 5 days of provera at once, because I might end up getting my period next weekend and next weekend we are staying with the In-Laws, and I might quite like to enjoy the weekend, a sensation incompatible with my uterus’ guerilla emptying technique. No. I start taking the provera in the middle of next week (and yes, H did look vaguely troubled and asked me if provera was one of the drugs that made me psycho, because me + psycho + in-laws = hideous social embarrassment as he tries to pry my teeth out of the table-leg and all he did was ask me if I wanted more tea). Which means I rather wasted today’s pee-sticks, but we brought another eighty bazillion cheapies off the internets the other day as OPKs in proper pharmacies are so expensive they may as well be gold-plated, so ha ha! I can pee on things for fun now! And guess what google searches that last sentence will bring me!
So. You know. Back to it in, say, two weeks time. Clomid Take 3 – Once More With Feeling.
Right. Where’s my garden shears.