After I posted yesterday, things went From Bad To Worse, and Cute Ute realised she had a reputation to maintain here. So despite the fact she passed an entire seven-week embryo and all appurtenances without anyone noticing last week, this week she could not pass the shreds and tatters of her lining without donkey-kicking me in the knees and trampling over my collapsed form.
(It’s a thing, by the way, that doctors and EPU staff entirely fail to warn a lass about. If you’re more than five or six weeks pregnant, your endometrium will have become very much more solid what with all that progesterone and HCG, and, err, meaty, and passing it is quite the motherfucking business. Even if the embryo has already gone).
Twenty-four hours or so of actual contractions, by the way. I could time the fuckers and everything. And feel my uterus shrinking as she squeezed. I already look considerably flatter in the stomach.
I am now stoned out of my gourd on my good old friends tramadol and diclofenac, and therefore feel much better about just about everything, apart from those blood-curdling moments when I remember I was pregnant last week and now I’m not. Not a damn thing on earth can make me feel better about that right now.
Next week, I must sort out cancelling all my maternity appointments and scans. Give me strength.