A kind of desolate blank

Item – It has been a week since I last blogged on this here blog because nothing is happening. Nothing. It’s January, it’s gloomy, my job is irritating the living shit out of me, Satsuma seems to have gone into hibernation, H’s job is irritating the living shit out of him, etc. It’s boring boring boring. Dreary dreary dreary. Meh.

Item – Also, there is still no sign of the letter offering me the appointment for the follow-up-to-the-surgery consultation with Miss Consultant. You know, the surgery that happened in November. So tomorrow I shall have to spend my tea-break trying to get through to anyone at Miss Consultant’s office who a) isn’t the cleaner or a passing patient who fancied answering the phone, b) isn’t the answer-machine (I swear to God they take the tapes out of that thing just to burn them unheard on the roof, giggling all the while), and c) has a clue who I am, how to find my record in the system, and is prepared to tell me the date of my next appointment at once without trying any ‘we’ll send you a letter’ shenannigans.

Item – Re: Satsuma having gone on strike – well, right up until Thursday, which was day 17 of this cycle, I was clearly producing No Oestrogen Whatsoever. Which is weird. For me, at least. Normally the Signs of Oestrogen are apparant by day 11. Everything that happens that isn’t like what usually happens is of absorbing interest to me, because I have now not eaten wheat for a month and a half, and I want to know if there’s a point. Is there? Do I feel better? Will it take longer before noticeable changes are noticeable? How about now? Anything? And now? Anyway, Satsuma seems to have remembered her duties (note use of word ‘seems’) and we now wait to see if I ovulated last night, or will do so at some point in the next week, or whether she really is hibernating and this is merely a yawn-and-roll-over.

Item – As for the weight-loss thing, well. Bitter McTwisted seems to have taken the veto on wheat to mean that chocolate, being wheat-free, is perfectly acceptable, as are potatoes and rice, and I have not lost a single pound. No, wait, that’s not accurate. Over the past two weeks I have lost and regained the same two pounds every four days four times over. The end result is the same, but the anxst is doubled.

Item – When I was three and old enough to have friends to tea for the event, my mother made me a double-decker bus birthday cake. I think, basically, she made three rectangular chocolate sponge-cakes, stacked them on top of one another with a ‘cement’ of butter-cream, and covered the whole thing in pink icing. It should’ve been red icing, of course, but turning the whole batch scarlet took rather more colouring than she’d bargained for, so my particular bus was resolutely, camply, sugar-pink. And the wee faces of the passengers lining every window were smarties. And I loved it. I am no better a baker now than I must have been at three (unlike my dearest Hairy Farmer Family Wifey, who is a Cake Goddess), but used to amuse me to think that when my own sproglet turned three, I’d make him or her an ineptly pink double-decker-bus cake with smarties on. After all, if I’ve remembered the cake all these years as the height of cake genius, it’d be a tradition worth insisting on. This weekend, the weekend when I should have been making this stupid bloody cake, I made vegetable soup, two portions, one for me and one for H. And later I will cook trout, two portions, one for me, and one for H. And that’s it. No third. No three-year-old third whose birthday cake should be the Great Big Stressy Thing for this weekend. Instead, I stressed out about laundry, specifically, my tee-shirts, and H’s socks. And no-one else’s anything.

Item – And then H wonders why I am so AMAZINGLY FUCKING BAD-TEMPERED this week.


32 responses to “A kind of desolate blank

  • Anonymous

    So sorry you are feeling this way. I wish you could be fast forwarded out of January at least. I hope better things are around the corner for you.

  • Valery Valentina

    The pink bus is a beautiful perfect memory. So sorry this anniversary is hard, so sorry you are without bus. In my mind i see a three year old boy, pointing out that pink is for girls. He will be happy when he gets to eat from a blue plate though….

    Hope that H will read this soon and give you the biggest hug from the whole weekend so you can have a bit of a cry and not have to carry the temper around. And maybe BmcT will save a smartie for you.

    Hugs from Holland

    • May

      H did indeed read the post and come to me right away to give me a big hug. Still haven’t had a cry. I was going to, walking home in the starlight this evening, but then just as I was feeling hugely yearning and sad and the tears were welling up etc… I trod on a snail. It rather wrecked the mood. And then I had to feel guilty about the snail.

      Hugs from Britain.

  • a

    Why don’t we just call this a respite…a break before the next exciting thing happens.

    Maybe it’s good that you get a chance to mourn what might have been without the added angst of what’s-going-on-right-now.

    I hope Satsuma is merely cooking up the perfect egg, so to speak, because she’s so happy to have a break from wheat. As to the weight loss…well, I’d throw out the potatoes and rice and just go with all chocolate, all the time. That’s healthy, right?

    • May

      All chocolate, all the time sounds like a recipe for perfection. What’s a little potato compared to chocolate? And anyway, chocolate is rich in iron and magnesium. It’s practically a health supplement.

      Anyway. Yes. Lack of things to develop extra agida about is good, at the moment, what with work being plenty agida-inducing all on its own. (And I keep being interrupted by the Positive Thinking Fairy, who says: there’s a recession on, be grateful you have a job, yada yada yada AUGH (that last bit was Bitter McTwisted)).

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Oh, my poor honey. This is brutality upon brutality. What can I say? The pink bus of splendidness so, SO deserves to be yours, and vegetable soup and trout, while worthy in their own way, are an unspeakably bloody poor pair of substitutes, on every level. Add January gloom, job-apathy and Satsuma vaguaries and you have a recipe for some very savage bad temper indeed, no matter how equable a mood you started out in – but you also have your clinic’s administrative fuckwittery to cope with, which is insult to aggravated blasted injury.

    They are buggers at doing this, the NHS, they really are. You are quite right about the ansaphone: they must cast them down, making quite sure to rip the tape from the cassette, streaming, smouldering from the roof, in a cabalistic ticker-tape strewing. Think Tubbs & Edward, the piggy, the ansaphone cassettes, and Danse Macabre playing at full-volume and there you have it. NHS administrative procedure’s finest hour.

    I am so, so sorry my dear. For all of it. Even H’s socks, because it is the little things that chew away at your equilibrium until you are suddenly sliding fast downhill before you even knew you’d lost your even keel.

    We need a meet-up. January is proving a tough old month.

    • May

      January can eat my shorts. *sigh*

      I rang the clinic today, and the phone went ‘ring-ring… ring-ring… ring-ring…’ forever, and then it was the end of my tea-break and I had to go and actually, you know, WORK *spit*.

      I fully expect the NHS gremlinbots to pick up the phone and shout ‘Are you local?’ down it at me.

      Bless H and his socks. They end up all OVER the living-room. As do his trousers (ooh-er). At least he does his own ironing, or when I’m in this sort of disastrous mood I’d no doubt take my feelings out in a smouldering way on his back pleats.

      Yes. Meet-up. Must be planned. I need to get drunk with the right sort of people. *hug*

  • Jenny F. Scientist

    Although I have not seen an answering machine with an actual TAPE in it since roughly 1994, I am perfectly willing to believe the NHS still uses them. If you are speaking metaphorically, please don’t disillusion me.

  • wombattwo

    Good grief – what is wrong with the NHS?! Infertility is hard enough without having to chase them all the blasted time!
    So sorry there’s no pink bus tomorrow. Sending love and hugs and chocolate and a wish for you to look after yourself x

    • May

      NHS is wonderful and excellent and my family who like to fall out of trees and get obscure forms of cancer and develop random allergies to antibiotics would be lost without it. That said, PLEASE UNIVERSE MAKE THEM ANSWER THE M*TH*RF*CK*NG PHONE. Eheu. Bloody bureaucracy. Darn it to heck.

      I have eaten chocolate. I have made large mug of tea. I had a hot bath with Extremely Scented Bath Products (including floating pink petals (looks adorable, total effer to clean out of plug-hole)). So I am doing as I’m told (smiley face). Hugs to you too.

      • wombattwo

        Ah yes, it has its uses certainly. I wouldn’t go anywhere else if properly sick, there just isn’t the staff around in private hospitals. But sadly organisation, correspondence and just damn well picking up the phone are not its strong points…
        for what it’s worth, I just go with the ’email consultant directly’ policy. Seems to work occasionally. I bet her work email address is findable…

    • Jenny F. Scientist

      They seem quite good when one’s having a medical emergency (I’ve had one in Great Britain, and they were delightful). But if you’re not bleeding, coughing, or dying, forget about getting anyone to call you back!

  • bionicbrooklynite

    the bus sounds so wonderful. i wish i were looking at pictures of this generation’s edition right now, i really, really do.

    cooking soup for two is just not how it should be.

    much love to you and a sound kicking to the nhs layabouts.

    • May

      I had a sort of Grand Fit of Melancholy a few months ago, because we needed new soup-bowls and we BOUGHT TWO. We buy everything in twos. It’s so depressing. *Is depressed*

  • Kylie

    There isn’t much more to add- the world sucks and I hope that January passes quickly.

    Here is hoping that the pink doubledecker gets to make its appearance in about 46

  • Solnushka

    *hug* Just *hug* I wish you had gotten to make that cake.

    • May

      Yeah. I’d’ve invited you and yours to eat it, you know. There’d’ve been booze for grown-ups to wash the taste of Excessively Pink Icing away with and everything.

  • Amy P


    Yes, by rights we should be seeing if our almost-age-mates can get the idea that that person in the picture is really really far away.

    And even if that didn’t come out quite right (does it ever?) I think you know that the intent was good, at least…


  • manapan

    ((((hugs)))) I am doing the Ugly Cry wishing that lovely pink cake was on your table right now, with helpful hints about its construction stored in your memory for the other kids you had toddling around the house.

  • Katie

    Oh dear, lots of hugs for the anniversary. I am finding I make myself think less about the missed birthdays as time goes on, but it’s catching sight of friends’ children the right age that does it for me now.

    • May

      Oh, yes, the ‘mine should be just about at that age’ thing. It stings. I think it all stings less as time passes, unless I am in an Epic Sulk anyway, in which case Everything Stings. But three-year-olds are rather heart-breakingly sweet at the moment.

  • Womb For Improvement

    Oh I know. Well I don’t know exactly as I have never had a due date. But I have had plenty ‘I SHOULD NOT BE HERE DOING THIS FOR TWO IT SHOULD BE AT LEAST THREE’ moments.

    • May

      It’s the way supermarkets package things in twos, or fours, or MANY MANY LOTS. I end up buying the two chicken-breasts or yoghurts or whatever in a state of total AIGH, while people all around me are buying MANYMANYLOTS. And nappies. I am overcome by the thought of fellow-shoppers buying multipacks of fruit yoghurt and nappies. I need to get out more/stay in more/drink more before going shopping [delete as applicable].

  • korechronicles

    I am so sad for you and H that you are stuck so firmly in the place of Two of Everything and that I can’t wave a magic wand if I had one and make everything better. It’s just so bloody depressing and adding insult to injury that you have to jump through hoops, many, many hoops tied together with rubbishy answering machine tape to simply get someone to talk to you about your next step on the ladder. As someone with a total lack of any semblance of an atom of patience, I am stamping my feet and swearing loudly on your behalf at the black-hearted, phone non-answerers employed by Miss Consultant.

    I’m especially sorry about the pink iced bus and that its absence and all it represents is weighing so heavily on you. And that the grey, dreariness of the weather is sending out echoes. Hugs from a slightly warmer Villa Kore.

  • Betty M

    I have been AWOL so coming late to this. I so hope that by now at least the phone has been answered and arsey work colleagues are out of your hair till next week. I would so love for that pink bus to be needed really soon for you and H and it pisses me off that the Universe isn’t powered by the wishes of the internets as you’d have a load of people wishing hard for you and H.

  • g

    Anniversaries suck. In a few months, I should have a five year old starting school, rather than the memory I have of the bus derailing and screeching to a lethal anomoly halt.

    Thinking of you,


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