Item – We, H and I, have our initial, Be Poked For All The Blood Tests, Endure All the Probes, Produce All The Samples consultation at the Riverside Clinic in a week’s time. This will take a good couple of hours. And then we will, possibly that very day, know if we are doing IVF in June, or if we are hopeless cases who will never have a biological child grown in this ‘ere Uterus Of Despair. So H and I are TOTAL SHUDDERING NERVOUS WRECKS OF HORRIFIC HORROR.
Item – Riverside Clinic are prepared, if we are suitable candidates, to do a cycle with us the very month we have LIT, so no worries there. *Waits for other shoe to drop with a resounding clang*
Item – I need to have a smear test. H needs to have an HIV test. I shall be going to the GP this week to organise the Pokening. I don’t know how H is organising the HIV test, or if it is being done by the LIT people, or by the Riverside Clinic, or what. I’m sure H has told me, but my brain is startlingly non-retentive at the moment. H? Did you tell me? What am I doing? Who am I and why am holding a rubber chicken?
Item – The stress of this, and the constant rows with H, and the general run-down-ness, and I am as brittle as spun glass and as irritable as a sackful of wet cats being bounced along a holly-hedge. I think, this week, I have managed to piss off every single person I know. Go me.