The year’s parting mind-fuck

Yesterday afternoon, I thought I might be ovulating. I was getting quite a sharp pain in my ovary region, and, golly, was this a touch of scarlet spotting I saw before me? Ovulating on day 15 of this cycle? Really? Unbelievable, I thought.

Last night I wondered if I might be having some kind of ruptured ovarian cyst problem. I was bleeding more and more, and feeling more and more pain in said ovary region. Arse, I thought. I knew it was too good to be true. Satsuma, stop kicking me, thank you.

Before dawn, I was still awake, lying in a huddle on the In-Law’s sofa bed, in pain and making various chemist-raiding plans (I had no sanitary protection, I had no pain-killers. There was no way in crikey I was going to need either. Day 15, see?), when a little, calm, ironical voice in the back of my head said, ‘oh, and a pregnancy test.’

‘What would I need one of those for? It’s day 15.’

‘Humour me,’ said the little voice.

When H woke up, I asked him if he’d pleasepleaseplease go to the chemist and get me some tampons and, oh, a pregnancy test. H looked at me as if I was delusional, and quite rightly. ‘Just… humour me. Worst case scenario paranoia,’ I said. He duly came back with a box of tests.

You can see where this is going, can’t you?

And then my Father-in-Law drove us the 20 miles to the nearest A&E, and that’s where I spent the afternoon. Pregnant. Bleeding. In pain. With a suspected ectopic. In a hospital gown, with a drip needle in my hand. Waiting for my blood test results while other denizens of the Deepest Country-side wept and bellowed and giggled and gossiped in cubicles all around me.

Beta came back at 33, which makes no sense at all. Did I mention this was day 16 of this cycle? And that my last period was quite as heavy and clotty (ie, very) as usual? (Oh, why so I did.) They sent me home with instructions to come back for another Beta in 48 hours (umm, whoops, on New Years’ Day, that’d be), or if I collapse or haemorrhage or explode or whatever.

So, you know, re-write of Halloween. What is it with me and festivals? What on earth shall I manage for Easter?

Dear 2009, please fuck off, you absolute puddle of arse-gravy of a year.


21 responses to “The year’s parting mind-fuck

  • betty m

    Oh no – not again. 2009 needs to go f@&$ itself. Massive sympathies and fervent hopes that 2010 is way way better.

  • Twangy

    oh May – oh no. I can’t believe it. How can that be?
    So sorry for you both. Unbelievably shit.
    So awful to have to sit it out too.

    Very shocking, even at this distance. Can’t imagine for you.

  • Bkwyrm

    Oh May. What an incredibly shitty run of luck.
    2010 has a lot to make up for, doesn’t it.

  • a

    So sorry that this is happening, May.

    I hope 2010 is a year without mind-fucks.

  • Ben Warsop

    Oh my dear. Poor you. Poor H. Poor in-laws. Poor poor poor you and H.


  • bir

    Oh May, that is just crap crap crap. Fucked actually. Holding on to that hope for you that somehow when you go back in a couple days that those numbers are actually doubling. But if it’s all not ok then I’m thinking of you and sending 2009 crappy piss-off-for-May type vibes x

  • Carrie

    what the hell??? seriously.

  • QoB

    oh wow. I think we all wish you were kidding too.

  • Korechronicles

    I cannot believe that I have sat here for a good five minutes and not one expletive that has run through my inventive mind has seemed adequate to describe this twist in your 2009 year.

    Sorry May, sorry H. Totally insufficient, but completely heartfelt.

  • meganlisbeth

    oh god, no, May. i’m so sorry.
    fuck off 2009!
    oh May, May, May.
    i’m sending so many hugs.

  • Nina

    Oh, hon. Good luck on doubling betas, and maybe 2009 won’t be as horrid as you thought? I soooo hope not. You and H don’t need this. Crossing all available appendages for you that it’s not an ectopic, it’s something significantly more wonderful.

  • Rachel

    I really don’t know what to say. It really does seem like your luck has been clobbered into oblivion this year. Obviously things can only get better. I’ll be thinking of you and hoping that this adventure in hospital-hoping is at the very least less unpleasant than the last one. And I really hope SOMEONE in the NHS trust takes this seriously. Immediately. In fact, if they don’t I’d be happy to come over and clobber them as far into oblivion as your luck for the year.

  • Melissia

    Good God May, you and H cannot catch a break can you? I am so sorry! And to be away from home, that just adds insult to injury, I am so sorry. This year cannot end soon enough. Keeping you both in my thoughts.

  • MFA Mama

    What the blue hell, woman??? Am worried now.

  • g


    May, I am so sorry.


  • Solnushka

    Oh no, May! So sorry and thinking of you both.

  • manapan

    I’m so sorry. All I can say is that 2010 had better bring rainbows and ponies and real live babies to you both. The Universe owes you big time.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    I’ve just evicted the lads and sat down to the computer with the vague hope that I might have imagined yesterday’s bonkers Nuts news.

    But no. It’s real. It’s horrible, awful mindfuckery-misery. Sharp pain and bleeding with a low beta sadly does not admit of a great deal of hope for me to express. I’m so inexpressibly sorry, my dears. These are not happy times.

    God only knows what your hormones are doing to themselves, but they need a jolly good talking to: one simply should not ovulate whilst menstruating. I occasionally do, of course, but that is no reason for anyone else to be obliged to suffer the Madness of disorganised hormonal surges and falls.

    Of course, one of the ironies of this latest unpleasant twist – (and I am hoping against bloody hope, naturally, that this is NOT NOT NOT an ectopic) that despite your evident and impressively improving ability to become pregnant all by your very selves, your doctors (if they are anything like mine were) will probably jump up & down for you to choose IVF for any future attempt, in order to suppress erratic & haywire hormone surges and introduce an orchestrated & controlled correct array instead. Which is not a comfort, I know.

    All I can usefully suggest is an early bed tonight. 2009 does not deserve a wave of farewell; I feel that rolling over in sleep and farting vaguely in its general direction might be more appropriate. Bloody year.

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