Curiouser and Curiouser

I’m getting good at this whole dark-art-menstrual-cycle-prediction thing. With nary a clue, apart from my heart spending 24 hours trying to explode out of my chest like a startled pheasant, I correctly diagnosed ovulation – or, at least, an event involving a strong LH surge. 13 days later, when John peered into the saucepan I was cursing loudly over and pulled a face – ‘It’s a funny-looking texture!’ – and I burst into outraged and mortified tears, I managed to surmise without a great deal of difficulty that my uteri would very shortly be closing for renovations. 

A scientist I am not, but overly analytical I certainly am, and it’s exasperating me mightily that not one, but a confusing two variables have altered this month, in the ongoing crapshoot that is the workings of my reproductive system, and I don’t know which one to credit for improvements. Firstly, I have been taking low-dose aspirin since my last period, and secondly, I started Loestrin combined contraceptive pill on the first day of this period.

Either the co-incidences are piling up, or the low-dose aspirin must step forward for a bow. Fact number 1: my cycle came in at a magnificent 5-and-a-little-bit weeks, which is my shortest natural cycle… ever, I think. Why, how, or even if, aspirin c/should shorten my tediously protracted follicular phase, I really don’t know. *intrinsically Jewish gesture denoting nonplussedness*

My right, Harry-housing uterus, only ever seems to shed road tar, not endometrial lining. The adenomyosis pain that leads me to regularly chew on the furniture is unvaryingly very left-uterus centred these days, with only an occasional bout of snarling from over on the right. Not so this time. Fact number 2: right uterus has done 90% of The Hurting this period. And, for all I know, (I was bleeding far too copiously to even think of attempting to find out) 90% of the bleeding, too. I conclude that the lovely Problem-Uterus May was correct, and that the aspirin has tickled things up in my right uterus no end.

My periods have, the last 18 months or so, become progressively more painful, and rather less heavy. Fact number 3: this period was a proper, days-of-yore, when-I-was-a-lad, don’t-make-’em-like-they-used-to, retrospective, authentic, like-Granny-used-to-make tsunami – characterised by remarkably little pain. Now, allow me to assure you that there was still pain. (So stop that there sympathy of yours in the act of convoying straight out of my blog! *waves clenched fists* Back! Come BACK! *dancing on spot* I’M STILL SPEYSHUL!) It’s just that there wasn’t bloody agony this time, which I’d virtually come to look upon as par for my course(s).

Now, either the aspirin achieved a hat trick for me with most mysterious pain-reshaping and management – or the pill has worked its Old Black Magic in jig time. Because my uteri like the pill. They behave on the pill. I wangled myself onto it at an early age, as my pubescent periods were essentially in danger of flooding the nearest river delta and sending me to an anaemic early tomb (don’t, for the love o’God, start me off on the subject of 1980s sanitary towels. I’m told I start to produce too much spittle.), and stayed on it for 15 years, give or take. It didn’t eliminate period pain, but it consistently delivered (primarily right-sided) low-mid-range pain, entirely treatable with over-the-counter analgesics, of just the type I have just re-experienced. 

Spooky.

Anyway, none of it matters a damn just at present: I started the pill a few days ago and will continue it for 3 weeks. Following a very productive session with the senior nurse last week (appointment was on my 36th birthday, which was a birrova pain, but standard array of bloods taken from both of us, standard swabs taken from me, all consents signed, prescriptions issued), I have a baseline scan booked for the 21st March. Provided neither of us is discovered to have inadvertently collected an STD or one of the Heps lately, then we’re good to go that day. Any lingering hopes I may have had of proving at baseline that my right uterus is a malevolent, clutching, retentive harbourer of substandard lining have now been kicked into touch A) by the Period Massive and B) the fact that I have remembered that the pill buggers about with your lining thicknesses anyway.

In the meantime, to keep me occupied, I have to buy my drugs. Yippee. I have a prescription for everything except the gonadotrophins, which our nurse sensibly said she would issue once they know my AMH result – which, come to think of it, I should really ring them up about tomorrow; it’s been a week. If it is nice and high, I needn’t take out an actual mortgage buying my stims; if it is low, then there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth in the outer darkness of my credit card, etc.

Either way, the New Age of Austerity is biting at Hairy Towers: money is tight, and so, sadly (and ubiquitously), are my waistlines. And one of my bi-annual episodes of reduced co-parenting approaches: John, after a couple of months of comparative agricultural down-time, is due a sharp increase in farming activity: the lambing is about to start in spades.

As it has for us before, lambing will cause a problem if this cycle is successful: ewes carry toxoplasmosis (as do cats, which is why litter trays are a no-no in pregnancy) and I have zilch antibodies. Nary a one. I have handled enough sheep to have justifiably and fairly caught it by now – but no. John has never been tested, but irrespective: his work clothes will have to stay at the farm, his hands, already raw from the washing after constant immersion in amniotic fluid will have to be scrubbed, and the dogs will have to be rather better supervised in re: consumption of afterbirths. Yuk, I know. I’m not sure how we’d either restrain Harry (who has unsurprisingly decided that his life’s desire is to bottle-feed baby lambs) or hose him down sufficiently for peace of mind, but… well.

 
“We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.”
Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead
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19 Responses

  1. […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Hairy Farmer Family, Hairy Farmer Family. Hairy Farmer Family said: Curiouser and Curiouser http://wp.me/peQTG-112 […]

  2. I just found a miraculous new thing – maybe they have it in the UK too. Antibacterial hand lotion – kills germs while keeping skin smooth. Perhaps you should invest in gallons of that?

    Best of luck in getting those uteri in line…

  3. Sounds promising . . . .

    Shame about the timing of the lambs though.

  4. Sounds promising indeed. The best – I am hoping for it, as usual.

    And Mrs HFF, the way you write is so lively and vivid, I’d read your reviews of kitchen gloves. Or clothes pegs! You could make anything funny and compelling.

    May the road rise with you!

  5. Wishing you nothing but luck. And a sheep germ free future for however long necessary.

  6. Awkward sentence construction due to late night exhaustion. But you know what I mean.

  7. Oh, hell, I didn’t realize sheep carried toxoplasmosis! What a pain in the arse.

  8. It is such a shame that there is not a toxo vaccine that you could take, life would be less stressful for sure. But great news about the aspirin doing the trick.
    It sounds like we will be cycling right after you, we hope to be good to go in April sometime.

  9. For a start Happy, Belated, Birthday.

    I hope your AMH results are nice and high and give your wallet some light relief.

  10. God you poor thing, all that sounds like an effing nightmare to contend with, and that was you being positive! Good luck. x

  11. Ahh, aspirin. Cheap and effective. If only the rest of the world worked that way…

  12. I know J was supposed to wash his lambing clothes himself in the machine, so how about he throws H in too?

  13. I just went off to pat my aspirin bottle lovingly. Am seriously considering taking it every day for a month just to SEE. I mean, what could go wrong? Apart from bleeding out, that is.

    *Frets vaguely about toxoplasmosis*

  14. […] it’s dreadful staining stuff – and I was very conscientious with the nailbrush and handgel, and washing my clothes. I don’t deserve toxo after that, and I’m sure my risk is no […]

  15. Hey, that post leevas me feeling foolish. Kudos to you!

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