Item – So, Gentle Readers, here’s a question for you all. I have been trying, lately, from time to time, to reply to the comments you so thoughtfully leave me. And, err, should I? Do you come back and read these? Do you like that I comment on your comments? Do you find it interesting/amusing/worrying/tiresome [delete as applicable]? Or are you completely indifferent? Do you never read the comments anyway (you should, you know. My commentators are fabulous).
Item – I peed on a stick this morning (11dpo), and it is demurely negative. This concords with my inner Spidey sense, which tells me I am as pregnant as a brick. Heigh ho.
Item – Everything is wrapped and labelled and in boxes. We seem to have several boxes of chocolate left over. Ohh, what a shame.
Item – I have put on three pounds in the last two days. Put. ON. three pounds. It soothes my soul to blame this all on hormonal water-retention, as I usually put on anywhere between two and five pounds the week before my period starts, but still, AUGH. In the interests of Truth In Reporting, I have updated my ticker. In said interests I should also report I have done this so I can feel undeservedly smug when it has all come off again by New Year (post menstrual deflate and nauseated three-day starvation diet). And then I will eat the left-over chocolate.
Item – I am aware this blog, in the last year, has morphed from an infertility/RPL blog to a ‘Just how much do May’s periods suck, eh?’ blog. Sorry about that. The thing is, they really do suck so much. (If we go to the In-Laws together after the first couple of days are over, I will, by the way, TOTALLY be taking the wet-wipes and baggies to deal with the Unsavory Hands/no sink or bin in lavvie Issue. Genius idea. Why didn’t I think of it?) But the amount the first two or three days of my period suck, is not compatible with visiting family at all. At all. It’s not just a case of me being tired and in pain and tetchy, which would be manageable. After all, I am in that state from day 5 of my cycle until I ovulate. Yes, I am serious. Pain. Every single day. Until I ovulate. Endo/adeno is Not For Wusses (and alas, I am a wuss). The pain on the three Bad days can be so severe I can’t speak clearly, am dizzy, vomit repeatedly, cannot stand up without feeling in imminent danger of fainting (I have been known, at least once a cycle, to crawl to the bathroom on hands and knees, as standing up is so difficult), I cry uncontrollably, I sometimes moan or cry out, especially when trying to fart (don’t laugh. You have no idea). The drugs I have been given do, so far [frantic hunt for wood to touch] get the pain levels down to a six or seven on the Manksoski pain scale, heck, some cycles they’ve got it all the way down to 4 or 5, which feels like being lifted to Heaven on the shoulders of 14 strapping angels who all look like Johnny Depp, but I still throw up for the entirety of the 2nd day, and I still can’t eat, and when the drugs work well they make me very sleepy and somewhat drunk-acting, and I can’t wear ordinary clothes because the pressure of waistbands is excruciating, and I can’t walk anywhere at more than a shuffle, bent over, and I have to go change my san-pro every hour or two, and I can’t use tampons for the first three days either, because inserting one feels like I am stabbing myself through the back of the vagina with a red-hot halberd (I guess that’s the endo in the Pouch of Douglas).
Item – OK, that all, written down, fills me with horrified pity for the poor cow who… oh, it’s me. Arse. Anyway, the point is, the actual point is, I don’t want to go through that in my In-Laws’ tiny house surrounded by MIL and FIL (also recovering from surgery, ohhh, this things come not in single spies but in battalions), and BIL, and H’s aunts and their spouses and teenage children. And I’m sure they’d all really enjoy their festive lunch to the background noises of me keening in the lavatory (you can totally hear what’s happening in the lavatory from the dining room. I get so constipated when we visit) and then crawling back up the stairs on hands and knees, grey in the face and sweating like an old cheese. It’s not the sort of suffering that can be done discreetly. We’ve all had family events where someone had to lie down on a sofa for most of it and then was quiet and would only take a weak cup of tea, and it was fine, I know. This is worse. I’m sorry, but it is.
Item – Incidentally, how in hell do those of you up here on the Menstrual Suffering Olympics podium with me who also have small children manage? How? How? Because, yeah, I am concerned that if I ever get a kid of my own…
Item – Current plan, call In-Laws on Boxing Day and explain that May has Collapsed. What we haven’t decided, is whether H will go down to see the In-Laws without me, or whether he will stay with me and we’ll both go down a couple of days later. H, bless him, favours the latter, as he wants to look after me. But what with all the hospitalised people and unwellness in his own family, he may be needed there more urgently.
Item – Abrupt change of subject! Because we were all getting rather depressed!
Item – Finally and most importantly, I want to wish all my readers, regular, casual, occasional, baffled-because-Google-led-them-here, or any combination thereof, an extremely happy, peaceful, stress-free holiday season, and a 2012 of perfect fulfillment, glorious joy, wonder, excitement and granted wishes.
And for those of us who just feel Christmas is a bit shit this year, I’ve been listening to this song on loop for a month now, and getting all teary-eyed and empathetic.