I had dinner with The Family on Wednesday. On Thursday H came home, and I was Pleased To See Him. Friday I worked the late shift. Tomorrow, my mother is coming to dinner.
I’m sure if I stopped and counted I would have hours and hours and hours of spare time to do whatever the hell I liked in, but somehow it never seems to work out like that. So I am about 87 miles behind on replying to emails, commenting on blogs, and responding to events generally. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
Anyway, dinner with The Family (paternal assortment) went very well, and we all happily discussed nice light jolly subjects and I drank a leeeeeetle too much wine and let my Dad drive me home and he laughed at the desperately untidy state of the flat. Which served me right. Flat resembles explosion in the back room of an Oxfam shop.
Dinner with my mother will be somewhat less light and jolly as my mother does sometimes actually want to know about the contents of my pelvis, and it is currently a subject I am not feeling light and jolly about.
Last Sunday, for example, I am pretty sure I ovulated. I haven’t been charting fanatically at all since Christmas (it just all seemed so pointless, under the circumstances), so I can’t prove it with a neat rise in temperature and detailed descriptions of my cervix and its *cough* doings, but I had EWCM before and none since, and I got That Ovulation Pain Thing. Nobody get excited; H and I were contraceiving at the time, as despite Miss Consultant’s Green Light I really didn’t want to get pregnant this cycle.
(Not that I thought I’d be having a cycle, as such, as I have no faith at all in Satsuma despite her insanely cooperative attitude these past few months. But I digress).
I was thinking that I hadn’t really bled while losing Zombryo (apart from the bleed before my HCG levels rose (God, but that was all so confusing and weird)), and it seems a little… icky… to ‘carry on’ without, as it were, scrubbing the ole ute clean and growing a nice fresh lining from scratch. I did spot non-stop for two weeks, so that probably was ‘enough’ bleeding to remove the remains of the old lining, but still. It just seemed icky.
And I was thinking that I needed a marked and unmistakeable ‘place’ to leap back onto the TTC wagon from, because explaining when my last period was to the EPU was bad enough with Zombryo The Astonishingly Early Implanter. I’d rather not have to say ‘technically, before Christmas, but I’ve been pregnant since, and now I’m pregnant again, and no, I haven’t had a period’ ninety-eight times to as many different medical professionals in case I snap like a water-biscuit.
And I was thinking that I needed a little more time to ‘get over it’ and look forward to the idea of getting pregnant again with some kind of positivity, rather than sickening dread.
(Not doing so well on the last one. Might have to carry on regardless. Heigh ho).
And, mostly, I thought all the above vapouring would be moot, as Satsuma would no doubt be thrown by all the weird hormonal activity and go into a sulk and shrivel up like a prune and never do anything ever again ever at all ever so there.
However, Satsuma sprang into action again only a couple of weeks after my HCG reached ‘less than one’. Odd sense of humour, that gonad.
Or maybe she was faking. I wouldn’t put it past her. I’d love to be able to trust my body, and my interpretations of my body (especially after the deeply, deeply weird moment at the beginning of the latest misery-festival, when I knew I was pregnant, despite all sense and symptoms saying otherwise), but we’ve shared many, many years of uncooperative mutual hostility, my body and I, and that kind of history is hard to get over.
We will find out, one way or another, next weekend. Either nothing will happen, and more nothing will happen, and in a few weeks time I will give up and go to Doc Tashless and demand provera (hateful fucking drug) in an attempt to kick everything into action. Or I will spend Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday wishing I was a) dead, b) being prepped for a hysterectomy or c) menopausal, depending on how recently I had some codeine.
It feels quite odd, to be so nearly sure I did ovulate. That’s what normal human females do.
Oh, yes, I am hugely aware of the irony of being befuddled by my own ovulations despite having been pregnant several fucking times in the past couple of years. I live on irony. Prevents anaemia.