Bun-free oven
22.07.16, 2:58 pm

Holiday was awesome, and consisted entirely of walking and drinking beer. James and I both basically decided that, for once, we’d forgo the usual Museums And Culture holiday, and instead just tramped around the beautiful countryside for hours. We’d then come home, sit in the local pub and have a couple of pints, and then either watch telly or read until bed. It was fantastic. I also decided to ignore the nurse’s ban on sex, because it’d been over a month and I’m only human. On the second to last day I started bleeding a bit again, but at this point I was so smoothed out I just thought ‘fuck it’ and convinced James to go to the pub early. Alcohol doesn’t cure all of the world’s problems, but it does make it a lot easier to care less about them.

Had my 8th blood test on Wednesday, after my period arrived 4 weeks from the end of the second big bleed, so basically on time give or take. Nurse rang in the evening and I could tell it was good news just from the tone of her voice: hormone level has dropped from 36 to 3, which means it’s officially all over as anything under 5 is classed as ‘not pregnant’. I reckon there must have been a little bit of something left inside, as the drop off rate has been agonisingly slow, and the period turning up just flushed it out.

With hindsight, my body was actually pretty awesome in just shutting the whole thing down as soon as it realised something was wrong. The doctor seemed convinced it was an ectopic… maybe it was, I dunno. Nothing is gained from worrying about it. I think the main thing is that I was incredibly lucky in that it just took care of itself, and it was early on and I never formed any kind of attachment to it, and I managed to hold my nerve and not go for the nuclear chemo option.

So yes, no more trips to G1 ward, no more junkie arms, no more being greeted with ‘Helloanypainanybleeding?’, no more sitting in the waiting room and knowing that others are idly wondering why you’re there and why there’s no one waiting with you. No more praying that your egg will just die, please just die and let me get back to normal, and not sleeping, and spending the day at work hiding your needlemark and fretting the time away waiting for ‘No Caller ID’ to ring your phone and tell you what your magic hormone level number was… that was the worst bit, to be honest. Keeping it together at work and waiting for the phone to ring.

My body seems to be gearing up to ovulate again – it may have done it last month too but I was too distracted to notice – so I guess we’ll go back to trying again. Must confess I’m a little apprehensive, as you can’t help but worry that ALL of your attempts are now going to end in miscarriage. This is obviously a crazy-town way of thinking about things though, and the actual thing to do is just to get back on the horse (LITERALLY IF YOU IMAGINE JAMES IS A HORSE) and get trying again.

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