Item – No news about H’s Dad. Which is good.
Item – No sleep either. Which is bad.
Item – H (yes, H) has booked us (yes, us) and appointment with a counsellor. One who specialises in infertility and loss. On Monday. Shout out to HFF, who recommended the counsellor.
Item – Christ, I’m tired.
Item – My boss actually dragged me aside to have a word with me about the amount of sick-days I’ve taken recently. She was very sweet and understanding, and just wanted to be sure I was managing at work and that I was seeking proper medical attention for the recurrent migraine thing. Yes, said I. The hospital appointment next Wednesday, right? said she. Errrr, said I, before bottling it completely and nodding. Because, suddenly, the idea of saying, no, the Wednesday appointment is to try and poach six month’s wages off you for no work while I spawn, did not appeal.
Item – Mostly because we all know the chances of me spawning at current rate of progress are somewhere between laughable and abysmal.
Item – And anyway, I need to save that conversation for when (if, dammit, you pessimistic eejit, if) we start the IUI/IVF gallop.
Item – Did I mention I was tired? Being tired and sleep-deprived is the best way I know to trigger a migraine in myself. And just now, I feel too paranoid to deal with that. I shall have to haul ass into work anyway and spend the day sobbing and drooling and walking into bookshelves there.
Item – I hate being a migraine sufferer so very, very much.