Daily Archives: October 21, 2012

I think my boss likes me

The Occupational Health report! Yes. My place of work received it, and my boss arranged a meeting, and we met, and I was rather nervous because, you know, cuts in pay or working extra hours were both on the table and I didn’t know which was going to come up. I was hoping for cuts in pay, because working extra hours when I already get this bloody tired seemed miserable.

I am well aware we, H and I, are very lucky to be able to take a pay-cut without much in the way of struggle and angst.

However, Boss Lady’s agenda was completely different. Completely:

  1. She wanted a better understanding of adenomyosis and endometriosis, both generally (she’s not familiar with the details beyond knowing they are gynaecological problem and painful), and of how they affect me. And she did this with grace, humour, and compassion.
  2. She was also very understanding and compassionate about the whole ‘can’t remove uterus, burn it, and dance on its ashes because we’re still trying to procreate’ thing.
  3. She was very unkeen on the idea of my taking a pay-cut or working more hours. She felt quite strongly that as I have a legitimate medical condition, I shouldn’t be put in the position of doing more to compensate. There is quite a lot of complicated office politics behind this, including issues around other members of staff with serious health problems, and other members of staff with – ohh, just say it – serious mooching issues. We both assiduously pretended we had absolutely no particular people in mind at all and anyway neither of us had just alluded to that situation at all.
  4. Also, this is Britain, where we have actual laws protecting workers from discrimination and firing and such because of health issues. At least, we have these laws at the moment (fucking Tories), so I should take advantage of them while they’re still in force.
  5. Decision taken – we carry on as is, but I set my computer up so I can work from home on days when I am ill and miserable but not catatonic or bathroom-floored. On the strict understanding that I only attempt to do some work when I really am feeling able to and don’t wear myself out or try to code under tramadol.

So there’s that. Currently reprogramming laptop. Onwards.


Not random at all

Item – You may have noticed H and I have stalled a little on Forward Progress In A Fertile Direction Also Known As Better Reproducing Through Chemistry. We have all our test results, I have a plan and a clear idea of what I will and will not put up with in terms of treatment. But… [awkward pause]… You see, Dr Expensive’s plan is to do LIT, then do several cycles au naturel, while medicated to the freakin’ eyeballs with steroids and anti-coagulants and intralipids and then progesterone too. H is up for it. I am very (very very very irrationally freakoutily) concerned that we’ll get the timing of the sex wrong (this happens, you know, even to H and May the Defiant Sex-Bunnies Of Doom). Or, we’ll get it nearly right, but it would’ve upped our chances to do it one more time which we didn’t. Or something. And the cycle will end in Shark Week and I am – shall we say concerned? Yes, concerned will do – concerned that I will react very poorly to this and put some kind of strain on our marriage. I am inclined to try IVF, frankly. At any rate, I want to put a definite bloody absolute limit on how many cycles we muck about with freestylin’. Say three. H, however, well, apart from my doing the poor man’s head in re: Correct Timing of PiV, he has reservations about IVF. Reservations he is in fact rethinking, admittedly, but he is currently in a Moving Forward In A Non-Committal Way To Preserve Own Sanity Whilst Trying Not To Freak Out The Wife paradigm.

Item – This, I decided, was a propitious moment to do NaNoWriMo.

Item – Basically, for the month of November, May will be closeted in the study/bedroom/kitchen/living-room floor with her lap-top and all the coffee in the Northern Hemisphere. H has nobly agreed to feed May at regular intervals and chuck a duvet over her every midnight. I did NaNoWriMo once before – before this blog, even, and did in fact write over 50’000 words in one month, and I did in fact get a perfectly useful first draft of a possibly quite interesting detective novel out of it, the only drawback with which was that the hero was as interesting as a roofing tile. Since when, eventually, he had gender reassignment surgery and the novel took off – but NaNoWriMo is for first drafts not rewrites, so New Eve is still in a box somewhere awaiting her redraft and I will be doing something quite quite different. However, the first time I NaNoWriMoed I had neither a full-time job nor a bastard set of damaged innards with a thing about chronic pain and fatigue, so I am asking a vast and complicated ask of myself here. This could be messy. Also faily.

Item – But fret not, Gentle Readers! You will not dwell in the suburbs of my good pleasure. H has also nobly agreed to take custody of the blog while Sturm und Drang is in progress. He his very own self even volunteered unprompted to perhaps take this space to explore his ambivalence to IVF and other such related matters (see? All Items Are Linked And Relevant). So feel free to nag him, starting November 1st.

Item – No news of my SiL. My family is remarkably bad at news. People often get married, have babies, get divorced, move house, and even die in total obscurity. Every few years we have meet-ups and the entire room rings to repeated cries of ‘you did what? When? WHY? WITH WHOM oh my God pass the gin.’ I have called my brother and left phone-messages, but I clearly see that ‘updating little sister one sees twice a decade’ is really, really not on the to-do list, and frankly nor should it be. Just… I worry.