[It’s Delurking Week! You can still delurk! Oh, go on, you know you want to.]
At the beginning of the week, I announced we had six pee-sticks left in the house. Any takers on how many we have left?
Six. Yes. I have not peed on a single stick.
Every time I have felt tempted to go forth and anoint the enzyme-linked immunosorbent assay, I have panicked. ‘May,’ I say to myself, firmly, ‘Seriously. What would you do if it was negative?’
And the answer is, invariably, tear all my hair out. And lie, snatched bald and sobbing hysterically, on the bathroom floor for at least 37 hours. And then go for my repeat beta on Monday anyway, and cry in the hospital waiting-room before, during and after. And the whole thing will ruin my stomach lining forever. Not to mention H’s stomach lining.
My hair’s quite pretty, you know. I can’t possibly risk it.
Meanwhile, for those of you playing symptom Black Box* (why, yes, I am a raging geek, thank you for noticing), we have the following ‘rays’ :
- Nausea. Faint, sporadic nausea, which tends to be worse when hungry or thinking about mayonnaise or sardines. Could just as easily be put down to hunger-pangs or nerves.
- Heart-burn. Yes, but I’m a bit of a martyr to heart-burn when stressed.
- Burping. Getting ridiculously frequent. Horrible when coinciding with nausea, as it feels like stomach contents are making a dash for freedom only just thwarted by length of oesophagus.
- No bleeding. No fresh blood at all since the last beta. I can’t, therefore, logically argue it’s all over, as, you know, rising beta as bleeding stopped. But this line of thought makes me fretful, so I shall abandon it right here.
- No cramping. Monday and Tuesday I was afflicted with dull ‘ha-ha I am your period-in-waiting’ twinges, but they’ve been coming less and less frequently, and really aren’t very painful when I do get them. More a ‘hello! This is where your uterus is!’ signal.
- My breasts are declining to get involved at this stage. They look and feel much the same as ever. Once in a while, one or other will say ‘ouch!’ and then disclaim all knowledge and insist I imagined it and could I please stop jabbing and fondling them like that?
- Headaches. Lots and lots of headaches. Probably due to sudden and complete cessation of coffee-drinking. Argh.
On Monday, we shall collapse Zombryo’s wave function by taking yet another beta (I think the veins in my right hand and arm have healed quite well). If said beta is over 1000, we shall know Zombryo lives, and will need an urgent name change to something rather less sardonic. If it is under 1000, but over 64, we shall freak and tear our hair. And if it has gone down, we shall, well. We shall just have to get over it and start all over again. So, so much easier typed than done. Ach. I’d rather not think about that at the moment. Wimpy, but there it is.
I don’t know if they’ll bother with a scan in the third scenario.
The only way out is through. So. Onwards.
* What do you mean, you’ve never heard of Black Box? I spent at least nine hundred afternoons playing this as a kid. Nearly as good as Mastermind for starting all-in family rows.