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.

7 responses to “Vagueries

  • a

    Minx’s father would be what is commonly referred to in the US as a douchebag. Do you know anyone who breaks kneecaps? That would be a fitting message.

    Do they have a half-private option, where you can just bribe someone to answer your phone calls and reschedule your appointments? If they are not susceptible to bribery, then socialism is more rampant than I would ever have thought.

    Apparently, I am in the mafia today. One would think that getting my husband to watch Jane Eyre with me last night would make me more cultured, not less. Oh well – it’s probably because we have to watch the second part tonight. Tomorrow, I will be more cultured. Or I’ll start taking bribes and breaking kneecaps. It could go either way.

  • bionicbrooklynite

    whoa, whoa, whoa — no sex at all? now i’m worried about you. ach. that i should live to read such a thing.

    i would wish for a mining accident to befall minx’s sire, except 1) that might make minx sad, and 2) that might actually get him off the hook for those support payments. so maybe instead i will wish for his exciting move abroad to unwittingly put him in the position of very, very closely resembling someone in the new place whom everyone hates — a noted sex offender, maybe? i am thinking of that scene in the big lebowski when the jesus has to go door-to-door telling everyone a registered sex offender has moved to their neighborhood. only mr. ex-trouble doesn’t get to be good at bowling, even

    third, i am now and forever to sorry for all these anniversaries, each and every one. and i will be sorry afresh, every time. much love to you and h.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    What helps, I find, is throwing my toys out of the playpen and adopting an Archchancellor Ridcully approach to things. If the person you want to get hold of to solve your problem isn’t obtainable, then find someone else – nearly anyone in NHS administration will do – and make it THEIR problem. Which it is, in fact.

    There are a number of ways of making someone take up your burden, and I often choose between A) being loudly abusive (of the system, unless someone has been Incompetent, in which case: knives), B) wailing in high panic, not always feigned, and C) outrageous flattery. Making an obvious note of their name, job title, and expected call-back time, and asking if there is an email address to confirm the conversation by also assists. The squeaky wheel – a a single ear-splitting squeak, as opposed to a continuous squeal will do as well – definitely receives All The Grease.

    One should not have to do this. One should not. Yet one has to.

    One should not have to call Trouble’s ex-partner Fucktard either, but one absolutely does.

    And my own opinion is that the NHS is currently a poor place to exercise socialist beliefs. Throwing money at it seems, sadly, to be the way forward these days, and I am afraid I would echo your mother. Dealing with the NHS, when it is being sticky, is enough to incapacitate you in hospital through stress alone.

    And… hugs. Always hugs.

    • Laurel

      Fabulous advice and thoughts, HFF. I might just employ your patented Ridcully Approach myself sometime soon, though fortunately nothing is pressing.

      Hugs too, May, that’s the only thing of substance I have to add. I really do hope that the surgery, once sorted out, brings you some answers that at least lessen the uncertainty.

  • twangy

    No, quite. The best one could hope is to accommodate the pain of a miscarriage, somehow, however imperfectly, and just accept that you’ll never be the same again. The particular nature of this loss, I think, is the way it accompanies you so painfully into the rest of your life.

    I can’t say enough how sorry I am that you are suffering that pain.

    Good luck with the squeaky-wheeling. And I CAN’T BELIEVE how puny the ex of Trouble is. OH! GGGRRRR. Poor Minx.

  • Carole

    Nuts to the “Getting Over”. Some things are very sad and they stay very sad, damn it! Sobbing 24/7 for the rest of your life could be considered as a teeny touch on the extreme side, but twinges of grief every now or them are perfectly normal and acceptable and right.

    I really hope you have managed to get through to a sensible NHS person with the relevant planning calendar and a working pen by now. I would also be feeling the siren call of private practice, if you have enough shekels in the old sock. Time’s winged chariot etc. I thought that many doctors nowadays do the private stuff on the side, so you may end up with the same ones anyway. Earlier. Which would be nice.

    Minx’s father is a fuckwit. Hold another party sans kiddies and make it all about making scenes with him. While someone else nips round to his lair and takes all items of any value.

  • manapan

    1. I’d go for faster, but that’s just me. I mean, you’re miserable. Why prolong the agony?

    2. Wow, that guy is a douchecanoe. Poor Minx. Poor Trouble.

    3. (((hugs))) I hope that someday soon, one of those anniversaries will have something happy associated with it.

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