This is my mind and I think I have lost it

Item – Where to start?

Item – Oh yes. H brought ice-cream (Ben & Jerry’s, something involving caramel and chocolate buttons that really, really, should not be allowed because how in God’s name do you stop yourself hunting down the carton to dig out more chocolate buttons?) home this evening It was technically medicinal, to soothe my battered throat and bored and fidgetty house-bound soul, but he later remarked that what he really wanted was another mention in my blog as an all-round, 24-carat-gold, super-star husband. Ah.

Item – Yes, I still have the Cold of Filth. The gremlins managed to divert the nasal outpouring down the back of my throat just after lunch, so I have swapped sneezing and tissue-filling for a cough like an excitable cigar-loving seal in an echo-chamber. I’ll get croup again, so I shall.

Item – H sneezed this morning. The bastard.

Item – I have decided not to take Big Heap Medicine for colds, despite all the lusciously inviting adverts for every conceivable brand of decongestant on the telly at the moment, because it is 11 days past ovulation and, well, anyway. So I am feeling considerably shitter than I need to, on the very slight off-chance that I’m not alone in here. Typing that out made me feel small and stupid.

Item – To go with tonight’s small and stupid theme, I peed on a stick this morning. On day 11. And it weren’t the first pee of the day neither. Stick, he say, ‘piss off, stupid female.’

Item – I thought I saw something on the stick a little later. But only in direct overhead lighting conditions while I glance at it out of the corner of my eye from the other side of the bathroom during an impromptu rendition of the Stick-and-Bucket Dance performed on one leg while singing ‘Knees-up Mother Brown’ in a hoarse falsetto. Any closer or less frantic inspection reveals – nothing. Stick, he say, ‘Let the Mind-Fuck commence.’

Item – Meanwhile, the NHS surges up out of left-field and hits me across the glasses with a wet carp. The doctor I spoke to about counselling in the first place, back on the 14th of November, called me, actually called me, to say he’d referred me to the only counselling service in the area that dealt with infertility and miscarriage. Hurrah! Ah ha ha ha BUT, it’s at that hospital, the one where I spent so very very many head-fuckingly awful hours when I was losing Pikaia, where the EPU staff were cretinously unpleasant and where I spent far more time than any woman should throwing up, hyperventilating, and bleeding. I have a sort of post-traumatic allergy to that hospital. The very idea of having to go back there for any reason at all makes my stomach hurt. Of course, counselling would help with that. Ah, but also, clinic hours are weekdays between 9:30 and 4:30. And I would be going once a week for twelve weeks. But… but… but I work full time. My work-place is over an hour from the hospital. Part of my general fucked-upness is the stress of how and how much all this is affecting my ability to go to work and do my work and not alarm anyone at work and now they want me to somehow blag an entire fucking morning or afternoon off a week? Why the hell don’t they do evenings or weekends? Why the hell not? I work full-time, damn it. Lots of infertile miscarriers do. Why on earth would I want anyone at all at work to know I need bloody buggering counselling just so I can bear their pointless little control-freak whining about time-keeping and coffee-breaks when my baby is not only dead but was never alive in the first place?

Item – *ahem* I seem to have freaked out a little there. Sorry about that.

Item – H said, when I told him all this, ‘well, we’d better look at alternatives then’. H thinks that hospital can go swivel too.

Item – If anyone wants me, my pee-stick and I will be hanging out in the bathroom with the last of the chocolate buttons.

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9 responses to “This is my mind and I think I have lost it

  • Geohde

    I hope your pee stick gets some better manners, soon,

    xx

    J

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Firstly, can I just say that the cigar-loving seal in the echo-chamber description is nothing short of inspired, and you must totally finish that book soon and give it to me to read.

    Secondly, I understand the call of the peesticks. Completely. I have spent more hours than the average woman staring and squinting at faint lines, strong lines, evaporation lines, control lines, gaps where lines should start to appear, blanks where lines haven’t appeared,… and that wondrous thing that is a shadowy, is-it-there-or-isn’t-it line of an early positive.

    I absolutely hate that you feel small and stupid about daring to hope, and want to rush down the M40 in a big gust of snot streamers and clobber you (kindly & gently) for your absurdity before applying bracing pots of tea to your inside and hugs to your outside.

    Drink a bit less (starve that cold!) and have another biscotti dip with a more treacly specimen of yellow later; might give a rather better idea, even this early.

    I am going now, to dream of a magical land in which Husbands go out and buy you ice cream. The only food John ever comes home with is half a carcass slung over his shoulder. It’s not the same.

  • Nina

    Please hope! I’ve lost all mine and was a complete b—- yesterday to someone. You deserve a bit of hope.

  • Solnushka

    But of course you can’t take anything for the cold. I understand you can’t dare to hope, but it’s not like it’s out of the question. Therefore it is emphatically not stupid.

    Plus, I also think that hospital can go swivel. And share you irritation with certain NHS services refusing to admit the possibility that doing evenings and weekends would make everyone’s lives easier. It’s not just the stress of the situation, it’s the stress of then having to catch up on the damn work. It’s not like it goes away!

    Go Dr Tashless though! That was a boot up the bottom. Hope he’s as successful with the IVF list.

  • Jane G

    Oh I know all about those pee sticks, sitting there in their cupboard, willing you to give in and pee…. I’ve even been thinking of conducting an experiment (to overcome the whole hcg shots in my system and possibility of false positives until 17dpo) where I test at the same time every morning, and if the line is getting fainter, I’m not up the duff, but if it’s getting stronger I am. I should really just have some cop on and wait until Wednesday morning to test, but patience was never a virtue of mine.

    At least your NHS offer free counselling for more than one session. One session of counselling was all I got courtesy of our health service, but luckily I work for a large multi national so the company’s employee assistance scheme stumped up for five counselling sessions. Otherwise I don’t know what I would have done. Cracked up most likely.

    I’m keeping my fingers crossed for you. Test again tomorrow!

  • Katie

    Been there, done the stick-and-bucket dance.

    Although an hour’s travel each way might put me off, I’d actually be inclined to see a proper infertility/miscarriage counsellor (not even sure there are any in my regular part of the world) even if it meant a morning off work each week (and even if it was in the hospital only associated with horribleness).

    Actually, make that ESPECIALLY if it meant a morning off work each week. I think you need decompression time after strong emotional experiences and a long journey on public transport can be quite good for that. Especially with your/my shiny new ipod.

  • womb for improvement

    Can you try for a one off session with the counsellor? That way you can check how you feel about going back to the hospital and whether you get on with the counsellor and think a 12 week thing will be fruitful. Then you can worry, or not, about how to negotiate the time off – or the counsellor maybe able to recommend someone else nearer – keeping different hours. Good luck.

  • Korechronicles

    I know, I know. What is it with counselling services that have such ridiculous hours? It’s the long dark hours NOT at work, NOT with others, that bring out the scary and horrible monsters of the mind. That’s when you need someone to talk to. So sorry that what should be a simple thing…get thee to a counsellor, post haste…turns into a drama in four acts. None of them short.

    Those pee-sticks. An ugly race with manners to match. And it would be nice if you could keep on hoping, for a whole lot of reasons. But, if you can’t bring yourself to do it then hand it over to me and I’ll do it for you. Happily and with bells on.

    And hoping the seal departs soonest.

  • thalia

    I’m sorry the counselling offer is so poor. Are there any infertility clinics near you? Because even if you aren’t a patient, if you are a prospective patient their offering might be worth trying?

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