Driven to my knees

Item – I went to the Hospital Out In The Country this morning, for my day 3 (or, ‘any day between 2 and 4!’ (which was just as well as it was day 4, but the clinic’s shut at weekends) bloodwork (estrogen, FSH, prolactin). Miss Consultant had ordered this all back in November, and I never got it done because I became pregnant that very cycle (I ovulated about a week after the consultation), and you can’t really do accurate day 3 bloodwork when you’re actually miscarrying. But hey! I’ve just had a normal, no-I’m-not-pregnant period, so we go back to Finding Things Out.

Item – This is, in FOUR YEARS of infertility treatment, the first, 1st, FIRST, day 3 FSH test I have had. The first. Primo. Only. Oh, I’ve had estrogen and FSH tested on other, completely bloody random days of the cycle, usually in the luteal phase, but never on the day it actually gives any answers as to the state of one’s ovaries. Is it me, or are my doctors incompetent drivelling moronic hacks who simply do not know how to do the most basic basicness of their basic bloody jobs? I mean, I know I have irregular cycles, which makes timing this awkward, but the HOITC has a daily walk-in phlebotomy clinic, as does my GP, so all anyone would have to do is send me away with the paperwork. Like Miss Consultant finally did in November. Reasons why no one’s done this test before? Even though I asked for it? I can’t remember. Originally, something about it all being sorted out when I did IVF (which I am not doing any more, on the NHS at least, on account of getting pregnant every third or fourth cycle, and then spoiling it all by miscarrying every single bloody time). Recently? Pfft. *Throws up hands, stalks into kitchen to bang cupboard doors about*.

Item – Anyway, the phlebotomy clinic was fine. Short wait, favourite phlebotomist (the expert, gentle one with a sense of humour who always gets a vein first go and it never hurts). The waiting room was, of course, full of pregnant women (good luck to them, I say. May they always be that grinningly pleased with life), and I now have a bruise despite the extreme gentleness of the needling, but it was fine.

Item – It being mid-January in Britain, I got drenched, soaked, half-drowned and sprayed with puddle-water (by a giant twatweasel who did it on purpose. The bird, I flipped it) on the way there, and on the way back (minus the purposeful twatweasel). And then I realised I had no pain-killers on me and the damp in the crotch of my jeans could, yes, be rainwater creeping up my legs, but could also be something worse oozing downwards instead. I rushed home.

Item – It was something worse. And I was so crampy I kept, helplessly, cursing out loud as each stab got me. The nauseating, dizzying cramps of days one, two and three of the cycle are worse, I think, because they are nauseating and dizzying, but these sharp knifing ones are pretty much as painful even if they are less all-encompassing-and-destroying. So I called work again and said, look, I’m really sorry, but (ahhh, shit) I can’t come in today after all (ow), but I’ll see you tomorrow (fffff… damn it). And then I took more painkillers and crawled about on the kitchen floor for a bit, trying to make myself a cup of tea and put the laundry on, yelping at intervals. Reading this back, I’m half horrified at myself, half overwhelmed with pity. But I feel a lot better now, and I seem (fingers crossed) to have stopped bleeding quite so extravagantly.

Item – H had a bad sad last night. When we’d clambered into bed, he told me he was sad about the most recent loss, and he wished we had a two-year-old too. We cuddled each other for a long while, and I kissed the tears from his eyes (which made me feel like crying too). Poor dear man, poor sweet good man. It makes me so sad. He’d be the best daddy ever, he really would. He already uncomplainingly cleans up vomit and does back-rubs without being asked. And if he feels this protective and nurturing towards me, just imagine how devoted he’d be to a tiny child. At least, you imagine it. I can’t without crying.

Item – H was still gloomy when he got back from work. I asked if he was feeling OK, and he sighed and said he has a ‘bad sad hangover’ from last night. ‘You could always blog about it,’ I said. ‘I’m much better now!’ he chirped eagerly, and sprinted away to put the kettle on. *I Raise my eyebrows*

Item – I had an interesting new variation on the usual dead baby dreams. I actually had my new-born baby in my arms, but we were being chased by Bad Guys™, and I had to do things like jump out of windows and climb down drain-pipes, knowing all the while that the slightest slip, hesitation, or fumble would mean I dropped the baby, or let the Bad Guys™ get her. I managed to wake myself up several times, so anxious I was starting to hyperventilate, but always fell back to dreaming about the same, desperate running, the leap from roof-top to roof-top I just couldn’t make, the knowledge that this was somehow all my fault.


12 responses to “Driven to my knees

  • a

    Hurray for the bloodwork! Finally! Maybe you can be reassured about the state of your ovaries.

    Sorry to hear about the bad sad…it was, of course, bound to happen. Hope H is really feeling better, and not just faking to avoid helpful suggestions on how to feel better.

    Newborn baby dreams, regardless of what kind of nightmare, are slightly better than dead baby dreams, in my opinion. Doesn’t make it any less unpleasant…

  • Erica Douglas

    The recurrent miscarriages are worrying me. See if your bloodwork included tests for antiphospholipid syndrome.

    It’s pretty easy to treat – aspirin, prednisone, maybe heparin or lovenox.

    • May

      Thanks for thinking of me and looking out the links. I’ve been tested for this on three separate occasions by three separate clinics, and I don’t have it. But I do have some sort of vague clotting disorder, and I was on aspirin for the last pregnancy and I was being tested again to see if I’d need heparin as well during it. We’ve got that part of it all covered.

  • Korechronicles

    May the deliberate splashing twatweasel get water in his distributor and come to a grinding and expensive halt. And then be piddled on by a flock of over-flying ducks. Karma, please take care of that for me.

    And to H, I can only send hugs, lots of them and a bucket load of sorry to go with it.

    And as for the menstrual vipers, I am hoping they have finally left the building and you are feeling more on top of things. Hugs to you as well.

  • twangy

    It is astounding that despite having been stuck so many times you practically know the phlebotomists to have round for tea, or something, that a proper FSH test has not been done. I dunno, man! Words fail me. Fingers crossed for good results, in any case.

    Luckily you are a POWerful woman, as they say in Kerry, and can even do laundry while in that kind of pain, as opposed to just whimpering under the duvet/applying face to cool tiles and groaning. (Which is what I’d do).

    Much sympathy to H. It’s got to be very hard on him.

    Re: dreams, NOT your fault, needless to say. Please listen and inwardly digest, May’s subconscious.

  • Womb For Improvement

    Thank goodness Miss Consultant seems on the ball regarding your FSH. I hope it is a sign of similar efficiencies in all other areas.

  • Bionic Baby Mama

    i am very, very sorry to hear about all the suck, especially the totally unnecessary twatweasel bullshit.

    …but i never the less feel my life is the richer for encountering the word “twatweasel.”

  • katie

    I suppose it doesn’t help to say I can’t remember when I last had a dead baby dream?

  • manapan

    Oh, those dreams suck. But you know what? You’re already wonderful parents. Look at everything you’ve done and continue to do, simply for the hope of having more than a few days with one of your children. (((hugs)))

  • wombattwo

    I’m not sure if this will cheer you up/raise a slight smile, but I remember one day as a med student when I had to leave the ward round rather unceremoniously after my menstrual cramps made me almost pass out in a little old lady’s lap. I was taken to the ward office by my male friend, who then proceeded to sit there looking at me in absolute horror as I proceeded to swear and vomit alternately with each cramp for the next hour or so. Of course the physiotherapist trying to teach a group of students in the same (very small) room had a rather interesting side show. Eventually they all ran away, probably because they all thought I must be about to die or something. As they left I heard voices saying “Oh my God, what’s WRONG with her?!” and “She doesn’t have to be so… noisy about it!”
    Anyhow… I’m glad you’ve finally had your FSH done, and I hope that the results are OK. I can’t imagine how devoted H would be to a child without crying either, much sympathy to you both.

  • Betty M

    So glad the FSH has finally been done. Perhaps HOITC needs a copy of the NICE guidelines on fertility workups which has a Day 3 FSH test as practically step one. GRRRR.
    As to twatweasels – words bloody fail.
    Thinking of you and H both.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Oh, May.
    Not your fault. Not not not. Not.

    Bastard dreams. I wish I could erupt into your dreams and drive the Nasty Dark Elements off, utilising something comically Dali-esque as a sword, and leave chocolate, Aragorn, and a superb new crochet pattern in my wake, as I caper off into the darkness herding Nasty Dark Elements firmly ahead of me. I want to capture all H’s Bad Sads and take those, too. At the risk of sounding like an awful hybrid of your mother and Jesus Christ, I want to take everything bad away. I have to be content with waving a metaphorical fist at the cosmic ruffians instead, and it just isn’t on.

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