On Wednesday we went to the ACU (Assisted Conception Unit) to see the consultant, in case he, she or it had any grand plans for my innards this season.

  1. My miscarriage was not in my notes and Miss Consultant wanted to know why I had such a big gap between Clomid cycle 2 and Clomid cycle 3. So I had to tell her.
  2. To be fair to Miss Consultant, she was decorously sorry.
  3. Yes, she did say it was excellent that I responded so well to Clomid (aaaaaaaaaaaagh. And again, AAAAAAGGGGH), but said again how sorry she was it ended badly in the very same sentence, so there were no awkward pauses in which I could plot her untimely demise. And it is excellent that I respond so well to Clomid. I also respond well to clinics that keep good notes on their patients, but clearly I can’t have everything.
  4. Miss Consultant was, however, a little concerned that I had had an infection, and wants me to do another Hysterosalpingogram in case my one and only fallopian tube is now a mere piece of spaghetti and as much use as one in egg transportation. Because infections can cause scar tissue. Occasionally. This is only a ‘just in case’. Really. Nothing to worry about. No fucking irony at all in the fact I may never be able to get pregnant because, ah hah hah, I once got pregnant.
  5. And I should really stop freaking out and imagining worst case scenarios. It’s only a precaution.
  6. The radiology department made me feel utterly homicidal, because they only do HSGs between day 5 and day 19 of a cycle and I was too late to get mine in by day 19 of my cycle (‘We’re fully booked! We can’t book you in this time! We don’t care what Miss Consultant says!’) and have to call them when my next cycle starts. Which could be any time between mid-October and 2012. AAAARRRRGGGGH.
  7. Miss Consultant noticed I’d put on a bit of weight since my last visit back in April. Well. Yes. I was pregnant, and then I wasn’t pregnant, and then I comfort-ate my way through my dissertation. I do know I’ve put on weight. She gently reminded me I had been ‘doing so well’ with the weight thing, and that being very overweight was a risk factor both in not being able to get pregnant and in having miscarriages, and I didn’t want to go there again. At which point the Positive Thinking Fairy caught hold of my hand and led me away to an inner flowery meadow with blue-birds and kittens and a large G&T, carefully explaining that Miss Consultant had said she didn’t want me to suffer that again for any reason at all, especially not a preventable one. Nevertheless, Bitter McTwisted, who had been hammering to get in from the moment Miss Consultant mentioned the word ‘weight’, gate-crashed shortly after midnight to point out that whatever Miss Consultant meant, my lardy arse was a dangerous baby-murdering monster and everything from my miscarriage to the current collapse in house prices was entirely its fault. Even though anembryonic miscarriages are caused by genetic mince and don’t have time to be caused by lardy arses.
  8. So I am eating less and exercising. I was going to anyway. Is it just me, or isn’t there something Hugely Irritating about being nagged to do something you were actually really truly just about to do, actually? And the crisps I ate earlier this evening were an illusion caused by too many walks in the sunshine.

On Thursday I behaved abysmally, bellowing and swearing at H for a minor infraction of the current (as in, I only just invented them right then and there) house rules on serving dinner, and eventually sat down and cried and cried and confessed I was actually really upset by the visit to the consultant.

On Friday I had a headache. And was sick to death of myself. So H dragged me out to the countryside and showed me a great many trees, some cows, and a beautiful view of the rolling hills of Southern Britain. This cheered the both of us up so much we took advantage of the fact my period had stopped to resume marital relations, wherapon Cute Ute decided she hadn’t quite stopped after all, and now I am washing the bed-sheets. It was Very Gothick. With a K.

And tomorrow is my second Blogoversary. Three years of this (two chronicled here). Three years since I threw the Pill out. Three years of ultrasounds and x-rays and drugs and surgeries. You load sixteen tons and what do you get?


11 responses to “Benched

  • geohde


    Just pleasd for a script for some progesterone and book your HSG- then take the progesterone at a point that times your bleed so that you can have the darn HSG between day-thingy and day-whatsit of your cycle.



  • geohde

    Alternatively, and this is me because I am Very Naughty- if you’re not ovulating and there’s no possibility of radioopaque dye disturbing a pregnancy (like me when not on clomid), just fib and schedule the damn thing anyway šŸ™‚


  • Heather

    Happy Blogoversary!!

    I wish people realized that we DO realize when we gain/lose weight. We are not oblivious. Truly.

  • Korechronicles

    Buggrit to the radiology unit and it’s bloody minded-ness. I can’t offer the good medico info as (a) Geohde beat me to it and (b) I am not the clever dux of medical school ie I am totally unqualified to suggest anything. Mind you, since I have a significant stripe of Bolshie in my otherwise nice, polite personality, I do think her second suggestion has merit.

    And as for the weight gain – AAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH right along with you. Nothing sends me running to the lolly jar and couch potato-ing quicker than being told by someone, anyone, that I could do with, you know, losing some of it. (See Bolshie above).

    And Happy Blogoversary to you dear May and many happy returns!

  • womb for improvement

    This sounds familiar. A consultant not having the full complement of notes, ‘just one more test’ before we get onto the getting pregnant action and an HSG in your next cycle – whenever that might be. I hope they start the assisting thing soon.

    And Happy Anniversary.

  • Pamela Jeanne

    Happy Blogoversary my lovely friend. Glad you had a good romp and a chance to take your mind off of the stressful visit with the consultant. Just keep visualizing that rolling, lush countryside when things feel overwhelming…

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Blappy Hogoversary!

    And you saw that Clomid comment coming from about, oooohhh, half a light-year away?

    Tact and a tiny wee bit of the milk of human kindness do admittedly go a long way with patients – are you hearing me, I.F. Drs?! (Not you, Geohde. You are delightful and lovely.) It shouldn’t be the exception to the rule to walk away from an important consultation feeling like you are moving forward in a sensible direction, having just had a meaningful discussion among adults. As opposed to being patronised by an avuncular twat, which is horrifyingly common.

    Whenever John tries to ‘encourage’ me about losing weight, I put my gym shoes away, and go rootling for the chocolate. I get that upset about it. Gah. When my consultant (a scrawny little slip of a man) pointed out dispassionately that my BMI was 31 (Now 33. Eeek.) and consequently I would be ineligible for NHS-funded IVF, I just wanted to crawl under his door and out to the car. So humiliating.

    But May, your miscarriage had bugger-all to do with your cuddlesomeness, and a whole lot to do with shitty luck this time around. I know (Oh, I KNOW!) it’s easy to intellectualise sensibly and yet hard to truly persuade one’s inner self… but it really was a tiny imperfection in an immensely complex genetic handshake. Not an extra half stone of comfort food. You have been much in need of comfort, and it has NOT given you a lardy arse. Pleasingly curvy, yes. Lardy, no.

    Whilst I can confidently exonerate said curvy bottom re: miscarriage, I had better just double-check with you that it is not responsible for the current fiscal meltdown, as I’ve just heard that Bradford and Bingley has gone down the financial loo. If it really IS your bottom causing the current money-market crisis, please can you tell it to stop? Hubby is sobbing and shredding share certificates with his teeth.

  • Jane G

    I am pmsl at HFF’s comment re: Bradford and Bingley!

    Lack of sensitivity/notes is nothing new with IF/gynaes. I went for a check up six weeks after my first miscarriage, on the date that I should have been going for my first scan. The receptionist had no record that I had miscarried and started asking me was this my first pregnancy etc. Apparantly it’s not in the hospital’s procedures to send charts to the consultant if the patient has miscarried, and the receptionist I spoke with on the phone made no note of it when I rang up to book the post D&C appointment. Needless to say I sat there trying to give her my details through torrents of tears and snot. Horrible, horrible experience.

    I hear ya as regards post miscarriage comfort eating. I dived for the left over Halloween chocolate after my first miscarriage, and I am still carrying that extra stone on my hips and belly almost two years later. I just can’t get up the motivation to shift it.

  • Xbox4NappyRash

    Hmmm, doctors are twisted, just twisted.

    (as an aside, who would put money into a bank with BINGLEY in the title? Zippy, george?)

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