Item – Where was I? Oh yes, moping that my goddamn bloody ovary was being uncooperative and stupid and this cycle was going on and on with no end in sight but any amount of false alarms and general hormonal weirdness.
Item – So Satsuma got on her high horse again and I think – only think mind you – I ovulated on Thursday. Possibly. Or, given that we hadn’t done any horizontal jogging for nine days what with Colds of Filth and General Emotional Wear-and-Tear, definitely, what with The Law of Sod.
Item – So, on Thursday night, given that I thought I had just ovulated with not a single sperm possibly alive anywhere about my person, I had a tantrum, and was angry with H, and angry with my cold, and angry with being angry, and sad with being sad. H and I fought each other to a standstill well after midnight, and then had Make-Up sex, so, technically, this should be a proper two-week-wait with pee-sticks and fretting.
Item – Or not. Now that there was Sex, The Law of Sod dictates that I most certainly did not ovulate. My temperature dropped to ‘excuse me, are you sure you’re not dead?’ levels this morning.
Item – This is not doing my head in. My head is done in. I am currently accepting all and any developments with the mild bewildered amusement of a dairy cow watching alien spacecraft frying crop-circles into the next-door field.
Item – Anyway, Cold of Filth. I went back to work on Wednesday (having spent four whole days more-or-less in bed, coughing like a grampus), and staggered through the rest of the week employing a kind of hoarse growl interspersed with squeaks and hisses, like a very elderly wax cyclinder recording of Tom Waits. Work was melodramatic and annoying, naturally, as ‘They’ can smell weakness in a librarian at 200 feet and attacked in droves. ‘They’ in this case being an unholy mix of new students, new staff, old cantankerous staff, computer woes, building works, electrical problems, and mistakes other people have made and then ladled into my lap because I just happened to be there looking not unhelpful. Actually, I was looking catatonic with sleep-deprivation, but this involves me smiling vaguely at everything and anything. Damn. Oops.
Item – I created much drama Elsewhere on the Internet. I have been a regular Elsewhere since 2004 (since, in fact, before my sodding reproductive status took over my life, so I don’t go on over-much about it all there. I tried, briefly, when I was first diagnosed, but found the medium uncongenial and moved here). Anyway, I was feeling brave and also somewhat overflowing with anxst over the 15th of October (Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day)/approaching miscarriage anniversary nexus, and so when a dear brave friend mentioned her own losses, I joined in, and had a bit of a public weep about it all. Naturally, one of the more annoying and pointless denizens of Elsewhere, took this moment as an opportunity for a bravura display of arseholery, and on being called on it, huffed off. There was much to-ing and fro-ing about his being a repeat-offender arsehole versus his being a super-special-snowflake who should be treated with kid gloves even and especially when he’s being an arsehole. And then he was coaxed back (and I was so hoping he’d stay away this time, and get his support and internet amusements in places better suited to him), and he apologised, so I am now being extremely ungracious and huffy by even talking about it. But I am still angry. Not at the original arseholery, which was a mistimed bit of smart-aleckery rather than a personal insult. I am still a bit rightously titted-off at his first, ‘I’m huffing off in a huff’ face-slap of an apology (seriously, if everyone’s upset, saying ‘I’m sorry if I upset anyone’ is a dillweedy thing to say (also, probably main cause of domestic arguments)). And I am quite annoyed that he’s been coaxed back at all, and we have to keep on putting up with his vagaries and bouts of bad behaviour (Elsewhere prides itself on civilised discussion, wit, and the proper use of the Oxford comma. This person prides himself on the number of smileys he can cram into a post and whenver he does notice political matters are being discussed, making bigoted and usually off-topic remarks). And I am *stamps tiny princess feet* really cross at the whole bravura ‘my life is so much harder than anyone else’s’ performance he gave along with his apology. Because a) many people at Elsewhere have very hard lives, and yet do not behave like serial arseholes, so why the hell does he get away with it repeatedly? and b) while I don’t claim to have that hard a life, I was finally, at last, and it did take courage, openly discussing my losses, as was my friend discussing hers, and we’re both normally very reserved on the subject when Elsewhere, and it was a Big Freakin’ Deal, for me at least, to talk about this in front of these people, and it all got lost in the aftermath of Mission Arsehole Rescue and Rehabilitation. Why yes, I am being thoroughly ungracious and huffy about it. But I am being it here, not there. And I didn’t slam the door on my way out.
Item – And that, m’lud, is why I hate talking about my miscarriages anywhere but here, despite all noble intentions to Raise Consciousness and Increase Awareness.