Early morning dialogues chez May & H:
‘H? Don’t you want to look at this?’
‘What am I looking at? Oh. Well, I can’t see anything.’
‘You can’t see… With what eyes are you looking, for fuck’s sake?’
‘Really tired ones. What with the storm last night, I did not exactly sleep.’
‘Neither did I. Just look at it.’
‘OK… Oh. Huh. That’s really quite faint.’
‘Yeah. It came up within three minutes, though.’
‘Five days past six day transfer on a cheap Internet peestick. That claims a sensitivity of 10miu.’
Oh my Gentle Readers, the romance. The adorableness. It’s exactly how we all dream of telling our partners.
‘So you’re going to work this morning?’
‘Yes. I feel fine, and I need to think of Something Else for the rest of the day.’
‘Well, take care. And remember not to freak out if you get cramps. As far as I can tell from twitter, everyone gets cramps.’
Bless the man.
So I went to work, and thought about Something Else for as many chunks of the day as I could muster. Work also had air conditioning. I know we had a massive storm last night (‘It lives! It LIVES!Bwahahahaha!‘), and they’re supposed to clear the air, but this city is still and exactly like sitting in a bowl of nasty hot chicken soup. Complete with unwelcome feet and a greasy film all over everything.
And yes, I have cramps. More infuriatingly, I had a trace of pink spotting. Some gentle investigating with a tissue leaves me completely unsure as to whether it originates from deep within, or from the more outward area of my precious, and said precious is actually feeling a tad sore from all the ghastly waxy glop of dissolving progesterone pessaries, also I am on Clexane. So I freaked out for about ten minutes and then talked myself down off the ledge.
Actually, no, I did not freak out, exactly. I was actually hijacked but completely by Bitter McTwisted, who looked at the trace of pink on the toilet paper and laughed, acidly, because chemical pregnancies are what Mays do best. Who the hell was I to think this one would go any differently? It would never go any differently. This was insane and I was a fool. An utter, utter fool.
And then the Positive Thinking Fairy got her in a headlock and dragged her back to my hind-brain. They’ve been duking it out ever since. Don’t they ever get tired? As I type, the Positive Thinking Fairy is listing everything that is different this time, the progesterone support, the Prednisolone, the Metformin, the bloody Clexane (wanna see my bruises?), and Bitter McTwisted is leaning back, staring at the ceiling, muttering ‘yes, but this is May we’re talking about’ whenever Positive draws breath.
I’m not sure which of them dragged me into a chemist on the way home and held out a box of peestick and some money to the lady at the till. This peestick, an ‘Early Bird’, which the internets later told me had a sensitivity of 50miu, also came up with a faint positive within 3 minutes. Christ, those internet cheapies are cheap pieces of shit, aren’t they?