Things that remain unresolved:
- What the hey-in-fucketty is happening about the possible rescheduling of the surgery. I didn’t try calling on Thursday or Friday – as I actually have a job, see? – and am gearing up for the re-assault of the day surgery unit telephone un-answering service. The whole subject makes me tired. Eh. Needs must.
- The Official Medical Advice from the day surgery unit, re: baby-making sex and the cycle in which I am due to have this surgery is don’t. If I ovulate early or when I usually do, this cycle will not be the cycle I have surgery in. If I ovulate later than usual (for me), it will be. H is all, well, let’s use contraception then. I am all, well, we could be ‘wasting’ a cycle for nothing, then. Net result, we have had no sex at all.
- My mother is very horrified at all the waiting and rescheduling drama, and wants me to go private right now this minute. OK, there’ll be less waiting about, but surgery done privately in Britain doesn’t really seem to be done to a higher standard than the NHS (fresh flowers in the waiting rooms are not my priority, nu?), and I have heard some absolute horror stories about private clinics refusing to deal with complications and dumping the poor patient back into the NHS system anyway. So I am in about seventeen minds about this. Haste! Caution! Haste! Caution! I am 36! I am in agony! One slip of the knife and I’m spayed! What to do? What to do?
A thing that makes me bloody angry:
- We went to my mother’s this weekend because it was Minx’s birthday tea. The tea-party went rather well, Minx and her friends screamed ecstatically at the tops of their voices all afternoon (an I make a noise like that, it’s because I am dying), she liked her presents, and all was well. Her father, revolting specimen of humanity that he is, used the occasion to tell her mother my sister Trouble that he was leaving the country to be with his new squeeze. Which would be all very well, but he expects Trouble to break the news to Minx (strike one), he still owes Trouble, my mother, my step-father, and several other people in the area a lot of money for bills and rent and loans and such and he has made no plans to get the money to any of them before he leaves (strike two) and he seems to think if he leaves he’ll be exempt from child support (strike FUCK YOU). Never mind the whole at-his-daughter’s-birthday-party, a venue he clearly chose because he knew Trouble wouldn’t make a scene for Minx’s sake.
Something that makes me weepy and irrational:
- Minx’s birthday tea was also the anniversary of one of my miscarriages, two years ago. It was a scary one – for no good reason at all (I was only just over four weeks pregnant) I bled in a manner best described as unwisely lavish, and ended up being hospitalised, go me. I have been on the verge of tears and/or tearing someone’s head right off (no one in particular. Anyone would do) all week. I think I will get over all my miscarriages at just about the same time I die of extreme old age. I think anyone who expects me to get over them any sooner can go play in traffic.