To book an appointment with a specialist clinic, one has to tell one’s GP (or, possibly, one’s GP tells one instead) that one wishes to do so. The GP writes out a slip of paper, and one takes that to the receptionist, who takes it to the secretary, who allegedly will come right out and book you an appointment there and then, or (as has happened every time I’ve used the system) will not come out, and the receptionist will return and tell one to go home and wait for a phone-call, as the secretary is ‘a little busy right now.’
It took four days for the secretary to get back to my this time, one weekend short of my ‘this is the fucking limit‘ rule and subsequent seige of the GP’s offices until results, em, result. And, bless her heart, having established that I was me, said ‘I’m so sorry you need this clinic.’ Me too, sugar.
Anyway, I have an appointment to see the Recurrent Miscarriage Clinic at Mothership Hospital on the 7th of December.
Now I was all, whoo! It’s only a month wait! Whoooo! H was more, wtf? A whole month? Bloody NHS. I insist on being pleased. The NHS is perfectly prepared to let people wait for ninety million weeks to have an actually painful and disruptive condition checked. Technically, I’m fine hanging about for a month unless (wahey) I get pregnant this cycle, which brings me to the next big freak-out:
Should I even be trying to get pregnant this cycle? Keeping in mind I always know exactly when I ovulate, so the whole ‘but then we won’t know the dates!’ is bull-pucky. At least, it is for me. And I didn’t have surgery, so I don’t have to worry my pretty head about healing. And I was less than five weeks pregnant, so I doubt my uterus was feeling much strain. I can’t think of a physical reason why I should carefully lay a naked blade down the length of the bed between us.
Emotional reasons? Well. Should I be risking another bleedathon right after this one? Wouldn’t it be more sensible to know what is wrong and why and what can be done about it before offering up more hostages to fortune? And will I snap like a dry twig if it happens again?
Also, I am 34 and beginning to feel the breeze from the onrushing juggernaut of Advanced Maternal Age. Also, I go completely nutzoid at Christmahanukwanzaa (what? Don’t all infertile people?).
Also also, despite the recent sudden realisation that I am quite good at getting pregnant as long as I actually ovulate, I still can’t help but feel that the chances of getting pregnant in any given cycle are somewhere between ‘ah hah hah hah hah hah’ and ‘snowball in hell’.
I never said I was rational about any of this.