I am writing this in a seriously recumbent posture, having had That Sort Of Week, you know? Very. Yes.
Item – I worked many many hours. Many many lots. Yes I did.
Item – I went to collect my chlamydia results. The GP receptionist said I’d need to ‘discuss the results’ with my GP first. I asked for a phone consultation, because I was going to work to work many many hours, and of course she called while I was on the train (what do want to shout on the train? Chlamydia! When do we want to shout it? Now!). She said the result was ‘normal’. I asked if I could get a print-out of the result. She said ‘of course! Just ask at reception!’. I banged my head on the train window for a bit.
Item – H and I tidied the house, and did laundry and vacuuming and then the house looked less like a skip with expensive electronics in it and more like the residence of adult humans. It is already reverting.
Item – H and I went to see the embryologist team at Riverside Clinic to discuss PGD by CGH, and OK, more about that later but OH MY GOD THE INTENSITY.
Item – Then H had a concert and I went to the theatre and a friend stayed over. This was all very good and lovely and I had a marvellous time. It did involve an awkward moment when said friend, who is dating a person with kids to general astonishment as he has always been solidly NO KIDS THANKS, said thoughtfully ‘you’ve given up on having kids, haven’t you?’ and I said ‘well, not exactly…’ and then spent an interesting half-hour explaining the science of IVF to his increasingly bewildered face. And then we both sighed, and stared at the floor, and pondered the weirdness of everything.
Item – And then H had another concert and his mother and aunts came. And we took them out to lunch on Saturday. And we did not discuss IVF because loud restaurants are not conducive to such conversations (see what we did there? Machiavellian, I tell you. *snort*), and I pondered how much easier it was to discuss these issues with Mr Joyfully Child-Free up there in the previous item than it was to discuss them with my MiL. It helps that he asks and she, err, doesn’t, or at least doesn’t ask me (and she once witnessed me go grey-green and start shaking like a leaf under the oncoming tread of Cute Ute the Despoiler’s monthly rampage. Since when she doesn’t talk to me about That Sort Of Thing. I don’t know either, and I can’t be arsed to pursue it).
Item – Today, I took H out to lunch and fed him fancy chips while I had a sort of ‘everything that’s bad for me’ food-festival including pork-belly and scallops, to go with the week-long coffee-unpasteurisedcheese-and-sushi farewell extravaganza I have been making working 11-hour-days bearable with. And then we went home and drew diagrams with arrows saying ‘if none fertilize’ and ‘in case of OHSS’ and ‘more than three?’ and read bits of consent forms to each other. Because my period is due today or tomorrow (eh, it’s 8pm. I’ll go with tomorrow) and we have to tell the clinic a) that it’s Day One, and b) if we are doing CGH and if so, whether we want the testing done on day 3 of the embryo’s life, or day 5.
Item – What in the name of wonder are we doing? What are we doing? What is this insanity?