non event
And there went Period watch 2007. Over before it even started, and this entry is brought to you by the number 2. As in day 2, as in I don’t know what the fuck is up with my (insert bunny ear air quotes) womanly times (end bunny ears) but whereas once upon a time it was Bambi and all ready to scamper away the second you so much as thought the word “boo”, now it’s that bitch at the bar, baseball bat in hand and ready to crack your skull if you stand in the way.
And while I still find it hard to believe that this helluva time of the month is a normal event, I’m still vaguely chuffed that it arrived smack bang thirty days after my last trip down the River Flo, which arrived thirty days after the last, and so on and so forth. Never. In. My Life have I been so regular. I'm also high fiving my brilliant self for getting my bloods drawn last Thursday, aka Day 23, because it was the EXACT day progesterone levels should be tested in a thirty day cycle, and I must have ovulated on the day I suspected. Lesson learned? I rool.
So anyway, I’m all bleeding and yet not dying, and am eagerly anticipating the “introduction” *polite cough behind the hand* of the sonographer’s handy dandy transducer on Tuesday morning. Well, not anticipating it, more like anticipating getting the fucking exam over and done with. “Wear a skirt” I’ve been told, presumably to freak me right out and possibly because the public hospital the reproductive unit is associated with is too cheap assed to provide hospital gowns.
Do not like this public hospital dealio. Much prefer the old unit with its magazines and waterfalls in the foyer.
BUT! My old reproductive endocrinologist is here and without him as my advocate, I might not be doing this at all.
So yes, Tuesday. My ovaries will be checked and my uterus will be….somethinged, and then there'll be more blood letting, this time from the socially acceptable route, my arm. Then collate collate collate, all in time for my appointment with Marc, aka Repro Man, on the 16th of this month. That’s when we…or he…or me…shit. I have no idea what’s next. I’ve got to see the something nurse about something, then I’ve got to get the donor sheets before I eenie meenie minie moe my way into choosing the father of my newest child.
I’m not certain of when all the real deal bizzo is happening, but the last time it all happened pretty quickly after the results came in. Well, quickly when one considers that things go according to your cycle and given that my cycle then was anywhere between twenty one days and NEVER long, so I’m guessing with the virtual Swiss watch I’ve got ticking in my nether regions these days, it could be as early as October.
*links lead to entries about the same shit on days gone by, back when I was introspective, thoughtful and possibly a little bit interesting. Enjoy.
And while I still find it hard to believe that this helluva time of the month is a normal event, I’m still vaguely chuffed that it arrived smack bang thirty days after my last trip down the River Flo, which arrived thirty days after the last, and so on and so forth. Never. In. My Life have I been so regular. I'm also high fiving my brilliant self for getting my bloods drawn last Thursday, aka Day 23, because it was the EXACT day progesterone levels should be tested in a thirty day cycle, and I must have ovulated on the day I suspected. Lesson learned? I rool.
So anyway, I’m all bleeding and yet not dying, and am eagerly anticipating the “introduction” *polite cough behind the hand* of the sonographer’s handy dandy transducer on Tuesday morning. Well, not anticipating it, more like anticipating getting the fucking exam over and done with. “Wear a skirt” I’ve been told, presumably to freak me right out and possibly because the public hospital the reproductive unit is associated with is too cheap assed to provide hospital gowns.
Do not like this public hospital dealio. Much prefer the old unit with its magazines and waterfalls in the foyer.
BUT! My old reproductive endocrinologist is here and without him as my advocate, I might not be doing this at all.
So yes, Tuesday. My ovaries will be checked and my uterus will be….somethinged, and then there'll be more blood letting, this time from the socially acceptable route, my arm. Then collate collate collate, all in time for my appointment with Marc, aka Repro Man, on the 16th of this month. That’s when we…or he…or me…shit. I have no idea what’s next. I’ve got to see the something nurse about something, then I’ve got to get the donor sheets before I eenie meenie minie moe my way into choosing the father of my newest child.
I’m not certain of when all the real deal bizzo is happening, but the last time it all happened pretty quickly after the results came in. Well, quickly when one considers that things go according to your cycle and given that my cycle then was anywhere between twenty one days and NEVER long, so I’m guessing with the virtual Swiss watch I’ve got ticking in my nether regions these days, it could be as early as October.
*links lead to entries about the same shit on days gone by, back when I was introspective, thoughtful and possibly a little bit interesting. Enjoy.
posted by aibee at 15:13
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