Item: Finally spoke to one of the Borg at Radiology, Hospital Out In The Country, possibly Four of Eight, and do you know what? Do you know bleedin’ well what? It is now policy for all patients getting an HSG to also get an ultrasound on the same day, and they book them in within ten minutes of each other for OUR, yes, OUR, the PATIENT’S, convenience. This was not the NHS buggering me about, this was the NHS being extremely clever and efficient. Too unexpected a development for us mere mortals – I fell down in a dead faint at this point and was finally brought round by the fact I was lying on bare concrete with the windows open during a howling monsoon in the cardboard-box storage room, and also Four of Eight still yelling ‘Hellooooooooo?’ down the phone at me.
Item: Am trying to be cleverer than that even, and book a GP consult for Friday afternoon, seeing as I have the afternoon off anyway, to explore the Counselling Thing. H is convinced it is a brilliant idea, especially as he would like not to have any more teeth-marks in his throat as they are very hard to explain away at work.
Item: Did some tomfool online ‘how depressed are you then?’ questionnaire thingy, and got answer ‘Severe depression, people who scored as high as you are usually seeking medical help by now’. Oops.
Item: I think I have met too many people with severe manic depression and schizophrenia and other really hard-core illnesses. I assumed I was only a teeny bit depressed because I was still upright and functional. Surely, if something is really wrong, I should be unable to get out of bed/ stripped naked and dancing on the roof of the local synagogue/ buying shares in Lehman Brothers by now? Common sense, often chased away by Stiff Upper Lip Drill Sergeant, peeked in and pointed out that freaking the hell out about greasy tea-spoons, whether updating Firefox will take more than three minutes, and being more than eleven seconds late for work, is not good, and nor is feeling weepy most days and treating Dream Job and the MA (the MA, for chrissakes!) like yesterday’s cabbage.
Item: Let us cheer the fuck up a bit. The exercise thing, wot I have bin doin’. I am… not at all thinner. Just… firmer. Note I say firmER, not firm, as really, my belly = Homer Simpson’s, and no doubt will for some time yet. But still.
Item: Satsuma unimpressed by firmERness and has gone back to sleep. Day 12 and I haven’t even had so much as a hint of EWCM. Normally she cranks into estrogen high gear as soon as the period stops and keeps it up until she finally, agonizingly, melodramatically, coughs up an egg. I have no idea if this lack of estrogen is good or bad. I don’t care. I still have that provera and three goes of clomid, so I will win whatever argument she cares to get into about it.
Item: Assuming everything in there behaving, we get three more goes of clomid, followed by another consult with Miss Consultant at the ACU. And then what? Miss Consultant said ‘and then we shall have a rethink’. Is this NHS for IUIs? I’m already on the waiting list for one (1) free NHS IVF sometime in October 2009, at a different clinic because HOITC ACU doesn’t do IVF (yes, I know. WHAT. THE. ETC.) Assuming that they don’t suddenly decide that it’s only for women under ten stone/ over 36/ under 30/ with perfectly functional ovaries in the first place/ egg-laying aliens. Which they might. Dear old bloody old NHS.