Well, I have taken to my bed. Thankfully, I had changed the sheet not 24 hours beforehand, but the pillow cases and duvet cover are… of older vintage, and a whole day of spilled drinks and melting snacks haven’t improved the general festeringness. It’s looking like that thing of Tracey Emin’s. I will have to ask for John’s help later to change the cover: it is a superking monster, a two-man job, and I always feel that the task would be ideally suited to a trained set of C18th sailors, with masts, spars and rigging available. A great deal of arm agitation seems necessary to settle the new cover into place; unfortunate, as the change is inevitably undertaken at bedtime, when John’s domestic fires burn at their absolute lowest. He has a tendency to lacklustrely poke his side vaguely inside the cover, dive swiftly under the resulting lump, and lie there looking smug, while I fuss over my own, compromised-by-lump, side, like a cross hen.

I digress.

The bleeding, although still very red with the odd small clot, has been tailing off this afternoon, and could no longer be classed as heavy – at least, not by didelphic, menorrhagic me. The pain, however, is becoming a little worse, which leads me to suspect that there is still active bleeding taking place in there. I am rather worried that it is quietly building up behind my cervix to stage a repeat of yesterday morning, and emerge in half-pint quantity all of a sudden. It really was so alarmingly sudden and… haemorrhagey. I am extremely worried, of course, that the pain indicates that the area of bleeding is extending northwards, and is currently dislodging Turbo, hanging on for grim life in there.  

After doing battle with the never-answered telephone system at my clinic, I finally lost patience, rang the nurse helpline, and bleated to a Real Person, even a friendly and useful one. She intercepted my (since-superceded-by-holidaying-Professor) Consultant mid-corridor, related my woes and current distrust of heparin, and brought back a message endorsing temporary discontinuance of them. Recommence upon cessation of bleeding was her advice, although I think I will wait until Monday, regardless, when I have an appointment with my Prof. (The two-week appointment referred to in previous post was simply to ensure I have weekly scans booked for the time being.)  Still, even Monday seems like a long way off currently, what with the whole increasing-pain-and-copious-blood thing, so even if I have nothing sinister to report, I shall go back for a check on Friday.

Thank you, most sincerely, for your support, handholding, and skillful application of duct tape. It is very greatly appreciated and consoling, because I am miserable. If I am to actually miscarry, I would greatly prefer to do so before Turbo starts looking distinctly humanoid, which will be soon. I would like, if I cannot have another living child, a rapid, merciful close for both the foetus and us. To have Turbo cling on bravely in the face of a hostile environment – and the fault here seems blatantly not that of Turbo, who has been textbook perfection since fertilisation – and then lose the battle with the uterine elements further on down the line, would be torment added to distress. Do Not Want, etc. I am desperately hoping for a better outcome than my current discomfort tells me is likely here.

Still. I have books. I have internet. I have highly unusual amounts of peace and quiet (only excepting my wretched, moronic geese, who are making my supposed rest a honking travesty, and, given that my temper is currently lethally short, risking imminent transmogrification into a large pot of goose fat).

So. Mustn’t grumble!

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