Item – My periods are truly, utterly vile. Vile vile vile.
Item – So I didn’t eat or drink for 36 hours, and didn’t get to take any painkillers at all for 24, as every time I swallowed so much as a sip of water, I puked. I seem to have pulled a muscle in my solar plexus from throwing up so hard so often.
Item – I have lost 6 pounds since Monday (BMI of 30! You are mine at last!). I don’t recommend it at all. The cracked lips, dry flaking skin and pallor are so not a good look, and my fat tummy now looks like a collapsed soufflé. And as soon as I’ve spent a day or so drinking normal amounts of water, I shall no doubt reinflate, so it’ll all have been pointless and pointlessly unpleasant.
Item – Why, yes, I assumed the foetal position and rocked back and forth whimpering and sobbing on innumerable occasions since Tuesday morning. Also, swearing, moaning, begging it all to stop, and beating my little fists against the lino. Fabulous way to spend the equivalent of a long weekend.
Item – Of course, I’m feeling a lot better now. Bleeding in an extravagantly lavish manner normally reserved for expensive water features, but better. And today I have had two cups of tea, a rice cake, three spoonfuls of yoghurt, a bowl of soup and a very very small portion of icecream. And several glasses of water. And, and this is important, quite a lot of painkillers. Hurrah!
Item – H had to fend my mother off, as she telephoned last night announcing she wanted to visit me. Yes, well, I’m not keen on being visited when I’m lying on the bathroom floor shouting ‘fuck!’ at the underside of the lavatory bowl. I, lying face-down on the bed stoned and whimpery, could overhear snippets of the conversation, which included H saying, firmly, that actually the only real cure is a hysterectomy, and then explaining that May’d be throwing up a lot, and then that no, he didn’t think May could come to the phone and chat right now. I remember thinking, abstractly, that I felt very sorry for the woman H was talking about, poor cow. It all sounded utterly dreadful.
Item – So I am going back to the GP tomorrow, and I think I might cry in his or her office. I am hoping for a referral to a gynaecologist who actually treats Periods From Hell. Miss Consultant and The Professor both seem to take the view that as my adenomyosis/fibroids/whatever-in-Buttfuck-Ohio-they-are aren’t causing the miscarriages or preventing me from getting pregnant, my painful heavy periods are irrelevant. As a Quality of Life issue, they are getting really rather goddamn relevant, don’t you think?