A second week of painful, pointless cramps is drawing to a whiny, pointless close, chez May. Dear God, peeps, I am so sick of this. Ow.
Incidentally (do I mean ‘incidentally’? Probably I do not. I am too tired to go and check what I really mean. We’ll have to wing it) – incidentally, did I tell you my left Fallopian tube is stuck to my lower bowel? I mean, I didn’t even know I had a left Fallopian tube – I thought I’d lost most of it when I lost my left ovary to a gigantic rogue teratoma that twisted and ruptured when I was 18. However, when I last saw Miss Consultant, the other week, she showed me photographs of my innards, and lo-and-behold most of my left tube is still there – I only lost the fimbria. The tube, disconcertingly, is stuck firmly down to my descending colon in a frankly graceless zig-zag. Miss Consultant didn’t seem particularly bothered by it – after all, it’s not as if I use that tube for anything these days – but it occurs to me, do you think it might be painful to have, well, basically an extension of your bloated and much troubled uterus glued to your lower bowel? As in a regular, reccuring viciously stabbing burning pain, worse during menstruation and the follicular phase when everything is being oestrogenic and sucky anyway? Any thoughts? Because, OW THE FUCKING FUCK.
Anyhoodle, I am in pain and very tired and oh my word I am cranky. Cranky is an interestingly cute term for border-line psychotic, isn’t it?
H is feeling a bit better, if not Quite The Thing – his distressed belly has a tendency to make a noise like elderly plumbing contending with the radiators in an underfunded stately home – and he will be going back to the doctor’s in a few days time for blood-test results and what-have-you. Between us we’re not exactly Happy McClappy The Picture Of Health, eh?
I will spare you eighty-seven bitter paragraphs on the matter of sex, sex when trying to get pregnant for the sixth Goddamn year in a row, sex when feeling under-the-weather, sex when one is a ‘habitual’ miscarrier, and, grandiloquently, sex when all-of-the-above. But it’s not pretty.
I wish I wasn’t so tired. I have several things I want to blog about and no bloody energy. H and I went for a walk today and when we got home I did some washing up and after that I felt like I’d gone three rounds with Mike Tyson and I don’t like it.