Frightful Conformity

Thank you so very much for all the hand-holding, finger-holding, toe-holding, tea-making, wheelbarrow-bringing and shoulder massage. I’m in the middle of it all somewhere, feeling loved.

I trudged up the stairs last night, laden with cold and feeling strangely calm about it all before immediately receiving a jab in the solar plexus when I went to the loo; there was a fair amount of pink staining, which had turned brown by this morning and is continuing. I am reasonably sure that this is emanating from Blair, not the pregnant Cameron, and could be something or nothing, but I have decided that it bodes, nevertheless.

The lovely Thalia, who has kindly rescued me from embarrassing myself with science before now, sensibly asked how I can differentiate between the two.

My didelphys is fairly pronounced: my uteri are more polarised than the two shown lined up neatly side by side in the above picture; they are tilted further outwards. (Rookie wand monkeys struggle horribly.) They are entirely unmistakable in terms of identifying which one is complaining – they seldom kick off badly, together, as it happens. When they do, I am completely pole-axed by it.

It was probably 3 or 4 days ago when I first experienced a quite distinct and familiar cramp in Cameron, my right uterus. I can’t fully describe it, but it’s the 5th time I’ve had it, and I’ve been pregnant every time. I managed to ignore the sensation for a day or so, but a particularly insistent twinge at bedtime led me to rummage around for a pregnancy test. I wasn’t expecting a positive, and left it on the side of the bath pretty casually. When I next glanced at it, I mentally remarked on the evaporation line that had appeared. By the time I had finished faffing about at the sink, I had absent-mindedly put together that one doesn’t GET evaporation lines until the things are DRY.

I suddenly hunched over the darkening thing, eyes wide in horror, before erupting out of the bathroom, expostulating loudly. I thrust the peestick at John and flounced back into the bathroom – possibly in order to re-enter the pre-test reality if possible. I have a peculiarly vivid memory of John, who was dozing peacefully when I burst back into the bedroom, holding the test under the lamp and peering closely at it in bemusement whilst being at least half asleep still.

I’ve felt particularly hormonal this last week or so, and I knew from charting LH surges that a period was due, but hadn’t turned up yet. Neither of these factors are odd in themselves, and hadn’t factored themselves properly into my brain until after I had tested, whereupon I realised it was all in frightful conformity.

Cameron was definitely the twinge-ee alright, for a good few days.

Of course, Blair has now started cramping like a git – hence the staining. I have No Idea what this means, and there is No Way of foretelling. I can’t be faffed with all the quantitive beta stuff: it’ll either be, or it won’t. I have a scan pencilled in next Tuesday.

And now I am off out to a restaurant, where I will be required to Smile and Talk.

Arse.

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18 Responses

  1. I just found your blog and have only read a few posts so far. How did oyu happen to start naming your uteri?

    Your story telling makes me chuckle.

    • I used to call ’em Left & Right, but people kept getting confused, and even I used to say the wrong one sometimes. Political ideology was the obvious analogy to draw on for naming, although something like Ermintrude and Endemondidia would have been more satisfying.

  2. I do so hate the smiling and talking…

    I would instead be silent and amuse myself with mentally replaying the pictures of a befuddled John inspecting a peestick…then I could at least smile.

  3. Gahhh!!! Thanks for the update in any case. Who knows what the Dynamic Duo are up to but I’m so hoping this has a happy, or at least minimally-traumatic, ending.

    *wrings hands some more*

  4. I feel sure there is a May election joke lurking but can’t quite pull one out the bag (or not one that would have me saying that I was voting for Cameron which I can’t quite bring myself to say).

  5. What a strange and wonderful place your body is, indeed indeed. I hope that interesting combination of personalities you have inside you behaves for the next 9 months or so. It’s all crossed.

  6. As thalia says, let’s hope the ones inside you behave – as we can be fairly sure the outside ones won’t.

  7. I am here to say only thus:

    Love ya.

    And here for the duration of the election campaigning.

  8. Now the uteri are ganging up on you? WTF? I thought they weren’t on speaking terms?

    Best wishes for a calm and pleasant dinner. Deep breaths. Smile if you can. Make everyone else Talk.

  9. I’m delurking to ask a question because I”m very clueless– can you be pregnant in one uterus and then be on your period with the other one? Do you get extra periods when not pregnant?

    I have everything crossed for you!

    • You’re not clueless, it’s a rare and peculiar anomaly!
      And to cut a long story short, yes you can. Pregnancy should prevent you from ovulating any further, but there have been a number of cases of fetuses of differing gestation in separate uteri.

      There is also a decidual reaction in the non-gravid uterus, the lining of which can and often does shed a little throughout pregnancy.

      Wombs are hormone receptors, so they – theoretically – have a synchronised cycle. My uteri are very different beasties, however, and begin/end bleeding a couple of days apart, as well as being fairly polarised in terms of pain and blood loss.

      • Oh God bless you woman. I can hardly handle (stand) my one uterus.

        You sound very strong and I will continue to send along all sorts of good thoughts to you!

  10. More hugs.
    Can’t believe the two of them are at you now.

    You had to go to dinner, and be all polite? Arg! Poor Ann. What a pain.

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