Item – I have reached the unfortunate phase in which the nice, comfortable numbing ice of shock and startlement starts to melt, and I keep accidentally putting my boot through a rotten patch and having to limp about for hours with the Sodden Sock of Uncomfortable Thoughts. So, yeah, welcome to the weepy, irrationally angry, panicking part of the show.
Item – Physical recovery notes: I can walk for fifteen minutes before my leg starts aching. I can even run little errands. However, I still can’t walk very fast, and if I over-do it I feel like Woman Who Has Been Fell-Walking For Seven Hours, rather than Woman Who Went Round The Supermarket Looking For Lemons, Cream, And Gluten-Free Pasta. I had a slight cold, and then another slight cold (or one long cold that paused for a wee rest in the middle), and had quite a few episodes of breathlessness, lightheadedness and once, a near-faint that cheered H up no end. My left leg is not particularly swollen any more, but is covered in visible veins now, so my legs don’t match anymore. Which I don’t really care for. I am also very prone to bad, day-long headaches, three or four days a week. My recovery has slowed right down to a very sluggish crawl. I don’t know if I’m well enough to go back to work next week. H definitely thinks I’m not, which makes me feel weepy and panicky in itself.
Item – Then H was in the wars. He had a nasty abscess, which needed lancing and draining at the A&E (well, it might not have, but the GP panicked), so we had another long dull afternoon waiting about at that Goddamn hospital, and then the young doctor who assessed H insisted in putting a drip cannula into the back of his hand in case he needed surgery on the horrible oozy mess. H hates needles. He really hates needles. He had to leave the room every time I was approached by a nurse bearing tourniquets while I was in hospital. It was in a mahoosive display of loyal solidarity that he used to sit with me for at least a few goes during the IVF shoot ’em up. And there he was, needled, and covered in adhesive tape. When the more senior doctor finally did fight his way free of the operating theatre and come lance this stupid abscess, he did it all with lidocaine jabs. And then took the useless cannula out, ripping nearly all H’s hand-hair out in the process, which I am told hurt more than the needle. Anyway! H has to see a nurse every morning to get the dressing and packing changed (ugh) but it’s healing very cleanly and he has finished his antibiotics now and I swear, he may NOT have any more ailments this year, because between us it is the outer freezing darkness of enough already on matters medical.
Item – So far I am happy with the Cerazette. No bleeding, and, best of all, no endless fucking cramps and bowel spasms. So far fingers crossed touch wood kiss iron spit on the coals etc.
Item – My bloody mad family struck again, in the form of a surprise relation who finally, well into adulthood, tracked us down and said ‘Hi! I’m so-and-so’s child! Yes, while he was married to thingy, the bigamous old goat. How many other kids did you say he had?’ In the event, Surprise Relation was absolutely lovely, but I skipped several family meet-ups despite emotional blackmail because heyo! Not well! Really not well! So there was that.
Item – Yes yes yes I am working on the WTF appointment blog post. I really am. I said I would. It’s very difficult to write, is all. 6AA, the perfect embryo we did so much to keep safe inside me, died anyway. I nearly died. Something is very wrong and everyone talks phlegmatically of trying again with the frozen embryo as soon as my haematologist clears me for pregnancy. I think everyone is stark staring mad with unwarranted optimism.