Wednesday, February 09, 2005

tip of the iceberg updatey stuff

My leg still hurts and my back is killing me.

Four weeks folks. Four weeks. Ay carumba.

On Monday I worked my regular six hour shift, and because a client cancelled at 7am, I had almost half an hour to do stupid things like clean the stupid mirrors or ask the stupid members the stupid questions on the stupid survey sheets until I had two more training sessions and two more classes to take and then after that, a zillion more clients to work with. I asked if instead of doing the stupid windows, which as an aside, I don't mind doing but being injured and etc, doing windows sucks because it hurts, if I could take the opportunity to recover from the 6.15 am thrashing and do some of the front counter work instead of doing my regular filling in time stuff. I got an affirmative so began folding brochures when not ten minutes late, shitface comes out and shits himself, telling me if I can't work, I shouldn't be here wankwankwankblablabla. All this for not even a half hour of mirror cleaning? Take a pill, dude. Everyone knows I'm in delicate petal mode at present, and still roster me on because when I'm doing what a personal trainer does, I do it regardless of my personal pain (violins please). It's only when there's no trainer work to do that I ask for delicate petal treatment, not demand, ask, and who in the name of fuck is it hurting if I do other work that needs to be done anyway? I don't expect a pat on the head for doing this job, cuz that's what I'm pained to do, so no I don't need positive feedback to keep me going-but I also don't expect to be chewed out when I'm fucking doing my job either. Maybe it's because this pain (sob) has been going on for four weeks but dammit. :madface: I felt like telling the shithead to shove his stupid job up his stupid arse but I love my job (sob) and I love the people I work with (sob) and I love my clients too (sob) so I didn't quit. You might wanna punctuate that last sentence btw....

This back and leg thing. I trade treatments with Aria. He's a triathlete and I'm, well, in pain. I work on him and he works on me, which works really well. So last Friday and then again, Monday we did each other and then we had a cuddle and a cigarette the pain relief was phenomenal both times, for him and for me, but I did some stupid arsed thing on Monday night, and I hurt again (whine). I think I know what's going on, but working on one's own coccyx is a little difficult and anyway, don't you go blind doing stuff like that? *ahem*

Aria, as I mentioned, is an elite athlete, so it's real kudos to be working on him. I fret about being crap at this but Aria says I'm really good. Really. Good. Me. Good gosh.

I've been wishing my life away because of a love for coffee. I have maybe two cups of coffee a day. Okay, three. Alright. Honestly? You beat it out of me. I'm drinking my fourth now. God. So anyway, each morning I have nummy two stove top espressos (be still my beating heart) and the rest of the day disappears into a flurry of meaningless fluff as wish it away, eagerly awaiting the following morning so my love and I could meet again. This affair is getting out of hand, and this three or four cups thing has got to stop. God knows what it's doing to my non existent fertility. I read that more than [random number goes here, random being relatively low] milligrams of caffeine reduces a woman's chance of getting pregnant by fifty percent. Oy. And it's not like I'm addicted cuz I'm really not. I could totally go without it if I wasn't so totally in love with the taste of it. Herb tea is alright, but it sure as shit ain't coffee, and I certainly can't imagine anticipating herb tea like I do coffee. Does anyone anticipate the steepage (I also totally made that word up) of the something you could grow in yor backyard. I don't see how they could. Tea is so, agricultural. I mean, coffee is too, but there's also the deliciously erotic contemplating of the roasting and the grinding, and that kinda trumps the mundane concept of agriculture and cow pats. Then again, as my fertility really is non existant, it can't really be reduced by fifty percent, can it. I mean, half of nothing is still nothing, right? If my fertility was to be factored numerically it'd be a big zero, so giving up coffee is going to push it up to two times zero, which is (wait for it) still zero. So what am I worrying about? Salut!

Speaking of Really Is and etc, my day 21 bloods were drawn on Monday, which is only my technical day 21 as the reality is that Tuesday was day 14, but as my as three cycles have been only 21 days, we're going with the technical argument but since I was there on the Monday already, they decided that it was close enough and took my technical day 21 bloods on technical day 20. Arguement being, we can always follow up with a really truly day 21 if the technical one bombs out. Which it did, and my E2 and progesterone leves are saying I'm either about to get my period or I didn't ovulate. No prizes for guessing which it is. As an aside, E2 was 0.3 and progesterone was 0.1. I have no idea what that means because I've only ever known them to be in tens, but this is in decimal points, so they either use different calibration or I'm pretty light on the ol' hormonies.

I was there already on Monday meeting with Anne, one of the centres counsellors. Nice lady, and it didn't feel like an interivew, which I imagine it is in part, as they need to assess me and my suitablity for donor sperm as much as I need to form relationships with the people who are going to help me through the biggest job of my life. I only just realised it is when I wrote that just then. I'm not scared either. Is that good or is that being in denial?

The other gym needed me for the 9.30am class today, so I got to see my Wednesday morning girls, Mel and Mel. I used to always do this shift so that's how I know them. The other Mel was there too, and I shit you not. It's true. One class, three Mels. I love doing classes with all of them. I told the first two Mels my plans because I think talking to them is one of the things that's encouraged me to follow this through. I suppose to, I want to tell someone, anyone, dammit, because this doesn't seem real yet, and I want it to feel real. Back to the Mels. They met when they both did pregnant lady aqua aerobics. Neither had been trying to get pregnant, in any case, one was on the pill, the other was apparently infertile due to endometriosis-and lo! They both got knocked up around the same time. They're great women and I love that they're both are so real about the whole deal. The hardships, the boobs, the feeling like shit, the boobs, the not sleeping, the boobs, the weight gain, the boobs...yeah, I know. Boobs seem to feature a lot when you're talking babies. They both wished me luck, like really and truly, none of thus cursory wishes shit, and Mel told me it's the best thing I can do. And I believe her. Aw. *sniff*

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