Item – Diclofenac makes my skin peel. I am pathetically grateful that it doesn’t do this by adding in blisters and a hearty rash (hey, they’re all on the leaflet), and it’s not sore, not in the least, not even itchy I promise or I’d be making a Great Big Fuss, but, here I sit like a particularly louche and frayed serpent the evening before a good shed. Yes, it is exceedingly attractive and I’m sure H thinks so too.
Item – On the other hand, this period just gone was both lighter and shorter than previous ones (and considerably less painful – yay drugs! – and I only threw up once, and needed less cocodamol than usual). NSAIDs, I have always been told, should make periods lighter. Clearly, strong-arm tactics work on more than just the exceeding discomfort.
Item – How much of an almighty kicking is my liver taking, then?
Item – I am, you see, increasingly aware that this drug regime is not a permanent solution, and that I only have somewhere between a few months and a few years before I have to stop trying to get pregnant and turn my attention to beating my uterus into submission before it ruins all of my life instead of just one or two weeks out of five. And this includes my no longer being able to drug the bitch into temporary silence because the drugs are too harsh on everything else (I shall spare you any kind of details about the First Defecation Post Three Days of Diclofenac Up The Jacksie).
Item – On that note, given that my cycles are getting so predictable, my next period is due around about my birthday, which is also the anniversary of my first miscarriage. Ah ha ha ha ha.
Item – I said that deliberately so my cycles would fuck with me and let me take the birthday off.
Item – I did lose four pounds this week, despite The Chocolate Festival. So I am driven to the conclusion that pre-menstrually, I turn into a dromedary and store at least two litres of excess fluid in my belly flab. Anyway. Back on the salad wagon. I have a wedding to go to in June and I’d like to feel smug at it.
Item – Oh, fuck it all, I want a baby. I am very angry this last cycle was a clear and shining Not Pregnant. H and I had a great deal of beautifully timed sex, I ovulated on day 19, no reason for it not to have worked at all. Oh, no reason for it to have worked either, I know. It’s just such a royal baboon’s arse to be at the beginning of yet another cycle, after years of this crap with nothing to show for it.
Item – Onwards. Someone pass me the loofah and a bottle of cocoa butter.