Every once in a while, the kitchen becomes a nanobrewery. Today is one of those days. Fortunately, N is bottling from the keg, rather than starting a new brew, because BH Calcutta (Passed With Distinction) here really could not stick the smell.
Bottling is stinky enough.
There are odd noises emanating from the kitchen. And the odd swear word. I wonder if it is safe to venture in and make some tea (decaf. I cannot remember the last time I had caffeinated tea or coffee. I do remember the last caffeinated running gel…. go figure).
I miss running. But the combination of the massive ovarian cyst (yes, still) and general exhaustion means it’s not going to happen any time soon. Aye well. Basingstoke Half is going to happen next year. Somehow. Or Milton Keynes Winter Half. One or the other.
My dear friend W gave me a pep talk, reminded me I have heat, hot water, and an indoor loo (he was born in a dirt shack, his Dad used a pamphlet from Sears for guidance, and almost dropped him), and that I am to stop googling and eat more prunes. Am heading to the health food store at lunchtime. He pointed out the bun is in the oven, and will cook better if I don’t fret myself to smithereens. I think he has a point.
There are so many lovely Christmas trees.
And I have glorious yarn on my desk (a present. It’s silk. I have plans. It will be lace, and the next thing I knit for me. At the moment… I pet it).
The commute was very pretty, and had a bonus extra long nap (train was 20 minutes late into Waterloo). I saw the Chiropractor, who has managed to ease off both shoulder and foot, which should mean no more middle of the night spasms. No acupuncture, not with anticoagulants, but pregnancy means I am more receptive to simple massage (a rare event). Booked in for a month’s time, as I felt rather better for the extremely gentle adjustments.
There’s also fresh pineapple at work. Yum. And I am going to have gluten free mac and cheese for my lunch, and something yum from Leon for supper (packed lunch went by the wayside. By the time I got home last night, all I was good for was to eat supper really slowly, get two questions correct on University Challenge, and knit. Oh. And cry at the Pampers midwife advert).
And then she burps some more… strangely reassuring.
This week has been punctuated with myriad worries (that new mattress was a bit pongy? What if Thing1 ends up with webbed feet? Oh drat. Took wrong version of buscopan: but cannot find any evidence either way to say it’ll hurt Thing1 so probably won’t….). And a degree of googling (am I supposed to have gained weight, because I haven’t really? Oh. Apparently not. Well that’s OK). Random worries. My search history is getting right peculiar.
This week also involved a former colleague taking one look at me and saying “Are you with child?”, which makes me pretty sad I’m not working there anymore as I know he would not have allowed me to do anything (he’s a protective sweetiepie, whose wife lost more than one) more strenuous than lift a mug of tea. N won’t let me climb up on a stool. Mum wouldn’t let me go out in the ice. And I’ve twigged that the OHSS is still affecting me, and that I do expand a bit if I walk too much, so maybe 10,500 steps should be regarded as a limit rather than an aim. And my aim could be 7,500 (enough to earn enough health insurance points to get a free hot drink each week). I need to look after myself. I am pretty rubbish at this.
Mostly, I feel like I’m on the verge of a cold, but without the sniffles. Just that degree of tired…. slow moving. Sluggish.
So, this morning I should be doing Guidemin (Browniemin was yesterday) and working up to my tax return before my Mother in Law arrives (I am not in the mood for my Mother in Law today. I will be nice). Instead, I have had an epic bath and sewn felt onto the back of my mini cross stitches to tidy them up.
How do you deal with athlete’s foot when your preferred option (neat lavender oil) is not an option. And when Daktarin is not an option (blood thinners… apparently I’m not supposed to have vast quantities of mature cheese or broccoli or cranberry juice while on the things)?
I have found some foot powder stuff I bought while on rugby tour. I wonder if it has any potency left. Same active ingredient as you get in Canestan cream. However, it doesn’t seem to contraindicate based on the label. The internet, as usual, cannot make its mind up. So I don’t think I want to continue with that. Maybe I need to get some really low dose Canestan cream?
I suspect I am reduced to wiping the disgusting grot with surgical spirit. I will have to ask the pharmacist in Boots. Maybe a foot bath with lavender and tea tree in it?
Maybe I ought to do some work.
We have cold, icy, rain. N’s run yesterday involved unavoidable deep puddles in which the moorhens were swimming. It sounded horrible. I stayed in bed. I have been sleeping pretty badly for the past 3 months now, and the bed is toasty warm and comfortable.
I eventually hauled myself out so we could go to the Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibition at the Barbican. We did the usual thing of getting slightly lost in the area (why is it so hard to navigate? There are signposts, for heavens’ sake!) and spent a happy couple of hours. I think N enjoyed it more than I did. I flagged massively. All I really wanted to do yesterday was eat…
We had cake at John Lewis. It was very good cake. Although they’ve changed their range again, and the particularly good, sticky, chocolate cake was either sold out or not a gf option. I hope it comes back soon.
I think the cake (it had pumpkin seeds on it) backfired on me slightly at 3am with trapped wind. After a worry that the cramps were indicative of something going terribly wrong, I timed them (madwoman) and realised they were at really irregular intervals: tough to tell without using a watch at 3am, when one’s mind is at a low ebb and one’s perceptions not at their best, and twigged that they eased with escaping wind. I could actually feel the gurgles. Eventually I rolled onto my front…and everything stopped hurting and I got back to sleep. A new cure for trapped wind, perchance? Squash it out? Or possibly coincidence. Either way it was a great relief in every aspect. I suspect much of the discomfort relates to the OHSS: the hormones sloshing about mean that’s really taking its time to go down, and there’s not a massive amount of room in there when one factors in a bladder which fills at the slightest provocation and a sluggish digestion. The bruising from the anticoagulant injections doesn’t help – all over my stomach, with a couple which are actual bruisey lumps (and I have a couple of super bruises from falling over a drawer and crashing into the radiator on Saturday. Am Seriously considering wrapping myself in bubblewrap as Arnica Cream seems to be on the Currently Forbidden list). I think I have an appointment with the anticoagulant clinic on Friday. I’m not sure: I’ve had a text notification of an appointment of some description, but it only says hospital and time. Not department. I am mystified.
So. Wind. Constipation. Lack of sleep. Huge boobs (honestly, it’s very surprising catching sight of them in the mirror post shower). Perpetual burping (mint tea is a huge relief. In fact, mint anything is). Bruises. All things I had not anticipated, but which I am vaguely embracing as this is all kinda miraculous.
Much relief and happiness. It’s still very, very early days. All sorts of things could still go wrong. But right now, I am cautiously optimistic and happy.
The two words “viability scan” are horrible.
It took me fully two hours to get out of bed. I cried in the shower. I don’t “feel pregnant”. I am convinced there will be a gaping lacuna where there should be a Thing1. I am bracing for a really horribly messy period (26mm of endometrial lining plus anticoagulants. That cannot possibly end well). Since the muesli episodes, I haven’t really felt particularly sick, just a bit burpy. I’ve been tired and emotional: but then again I’ve had OHSS and a DVT. I had a nap at work yesterday afternoon, in a wellness room which seems to have been overtaken as a stock room for refreshments for the mini conference going on this week. I haven’t been particularly hungry, and I feel the cold weather. Hardly harbingers of anything other than doom.
4 more hours until the scan appointment. I bet they run late. I bet I’m not pregnant. Again.