Monday, January 14, 2008

in which a whole lot of sentences run on

It didn't take me long to realise that my initial concerns about my period arriving at an inopportune time for a January cycle were based on my only in my ability to freak out over nothing and NOT on the actual date. December 28, for those of you taking notes, was perfect for a January cycle, given that down regulating would be starting the week after I next ovulated. Which was January 12, for those of you taking even freakier notes.

For close to ten weeks now, after philosophically dealing with the punch in the stomach disappointment of having my December cycle cancelled on November the first because my period arrived a single day too early for them to fit me in before the unit closed over Christmas (It's all for the best. I might get pregnant in the meantime. There's a reason for everything. Trust), I've been staring at the instruction sheet blue tacked to the wall (it's right in front me now, right here as I type) stating that I call the unit the day they reopen - today - to book on for a January cycle.

In the meantime, my job was to get a second opinion on my thyroid, which I did on November 29, and the report on that would have been on my RE's, Marc's, desk within the week.

Which is relevant to this story.

And after ten weeks of literally counting down the days, today arrived.

And I called the unit this morning and was told that, as my RE is away for another week, they can't book me on until he's read the report and made his recommendations.

Which is not what the nurse said when I met with her last November.

And I know that report is there somewhere and has probably been read but it doesn't matter anyway because now I've got to wait another five fucking weeks.

Which would be okay if they hadn't given me another date to hang my entire life on. The booking nurse was all "feel sorry for me because the doctor hasn't updated your notes and I've got to deal with your emotional fallout", and I was all "don't you GET it? I'm not angry at you. I'm not even angry at all. I'm devastated. I can't breathe. I feel sick and there's this rock on my chest and it's crushing me and please please tell me how I can breathe because I can't. I just can't. Please. Tell me how to get through the next five weeks because I don't think I can make it through the next five minutes.".

But I did and I will, and I hope this pit in my stomach goes away soon because it hurts so so much.

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