It’s Mother’s Day in the UK on Sunday. That vomit inducing, commercial day of stupid designed to make mothers feel special for being able to reproduce and infertiles feel like grief stricken, worthless nobodies. This Mother’s Day is extra special for me this year, being the non-due date of my only ever pregnancy.
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The good (ish) news is that I have a follow up appointment on Monday. In an hour of hysteria after discovering my BFN I wrote a list of questions so long it could only have been written by a completely desperate and/or crazy person. They are going to love me next week. I am not sure I have the energy for any of this anymore, so I should be thankful that I utilised my post-BFN rage for good and wrote a list at all. I hope I can be bothered to ask all my questions, but right now I am 50% sloth, 27% wine, 15% utter misery, 5% The Vampire Diaries and 3% chocolate digestive biscuits.
More good-ish news is that according to the OPKs of Useless Hope I have indeed ovulated this week. However, I always ovulate and I never get pregnant so not sure why I am bothering with the but-I’m-tired-do-we-have-to-can-I-finish-watching-this-episode-of-the-office-first timed sex, but of course, I am. I am skeptical about ovulation this month anyway. Normally I have very clear, sharp pains over the ovary that’s (allegedly) doing the business but I’ve had no pains this month. When I say no pains, obviously I mean I have the constant abdominal pain that never leaves me (thank you endometriosis), just nothing specific.
I have also (at the time of writing) not started any fights in the swimming pool, even though there was a floater in the medium lane this week.
Hopefully I won’t explode from stress with the weekend and appointment of doom approaching, but I don’t think I can make any promises. I wonder if it’s possible to drink myself into a coma for a couple of days without any lasting damage?*
*okay, calm down, I probably won’t.