Fine. Here. Straight-ish answers. Now fuck off and die, kthx.
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I would be happier if I could keep my mouth shut.
...seriously, it's not like I even KNOW. *sigh* There's only two options, but they were both at damn near the same time, so technically could be either. Aye, I have my suspicions; but I'm tired and grouchy and hormonal and easily-confused so I'm not willing to talk abut them, k?
*another sigh* Yeah, if you haven't guessed. Despite the fact that it shouldn't be POSSIBLE, despite having only a brief bit of teh sexx0r anywhere near the time when it could have happened, despite a few other factors that it vaguely embarasses me to list and annoys me to think about, despite everything... yep. Whee. I keep hoping that I'll miscarry - that's what, according to the latest medical opinions, should have ALREADY happened, in the unlikely event that I got pregnant at all, but as it has not happened yet I am not going to count on it and am already with the contacting of assorted clinics. *twitch*
I really want to cry about it. I haven't, and I don't think I will let myself, but yeah, I want to. It complicates an already uncomfortably complicated season. It's something that even though I know how to deal with it and already know what I'm going to DO about it, I would rather not have to deal with. It frustrates me, because I shouldn't be having to deal with it in the first place.
Scar tissue, my arse. *mutters* Seriously though, why NOW? There've been six million other times when it should have been MORE likely to happen - more sex, closer to ovulation, my body in better shape, etc. Why now? Why, after THAT many times of my body proving the doctors right, does it now decide to prove them wrong? *twitchtwitch*
I had been trying not to talk about it, beyond vague bitching occasionally - the bitching is, trust me, necessary for my sanity - but after enough poking and prodding when I'm tired and just want to not be pestered any more, yes, I'll give in and explain, dammit. I don't want to. I didn't want to. Particularly since it does indeed seem to bother the person who was poking me as much as I was afraid it was. Question after question after question and no matter how often I say 'drop it' or 'I don't want to talk about it' he keeps asking for details I can't or won't give. Grr. Leave me the fuck alone, I've been effectively PMS'ing for three weeks now and it's not getting any better, do you not have a survival instinct?!
No, I don't really understand it either, but meh. Men are weird.
So yeah. I get to try to either schedule an appointment for while I'm up in Portland over the holidays - oh yay, so much fun, really - or to schedule it before/after down here in California, which is an equally bad option due to the shithole that is this state's medical care. At least in Portland I'd be going to a place I trust and have been to before, where I know they'll do good clean work and be there for follow-up problems if any arise. Except... well, PORTLAND. So very not convenient after I leave and come back to LA. Either way, I'm gonna be screwed over somewhat. Not happy.
What's most likely going to happen is I'll get a referral from the place in Portland for somewhere down here, possibly for two or three somewheres. I'll check them out, and yes, if I get even the slightest weird vibe, I WILL be walking out the door and finding somewhere new. I am extremely picky about who gets to put things into my body for ANY reason - thus not ever going back to the local ER, those fuckers shouldn't be shoving things into garbage bins, let alone human bodies - and as this is a potentiall damaging procedure that I WILL be doing under full anesthesia, yeah. Good vibes necessary. Ideally I'll find somewhere that will use nitrous for the first stage; I am still scared enough of needles and panic enough in strange medical facilities that the added sedation would be a Good Thing. I'm not counting on that though, as a lot of places only provide gas for partial anesthesia and I'll be damned if I go through THAT again - yes, tried it once, BIG mistake, never doing it again.
Ehh. So yeah, if I seem a bit moody, just don't push your luck, please. I'm coping with this as well as I ever do but it's not a happy cheerful topic and as a general rule, I don't want to talk about it, k? I've already gone through the 'I want to keep it' depression twice, it's hard enough to deal with as it is, if you DARE try and argue with me about my choice I WILL either ignore-and-block you or hunt you down and kill you, and if you take away my pickles and chocolate I'll torture you first, THEN kill you. Grr.
Oh, hey, for amusement: pickles, eggs with peanut butter, potato chips, canned peaches, fresh plums, roast beef, uncooked mushrooms, arby's sammiches, cucumbers, tuna with peanut butter, peanut butter all by itself, grape juice, waffle batter - fuck cooking it, I wanted raw batter, chocolate, and canned pears. I'm just waiting to see what irrational food my tummy decides it wants next. Yes, I do in fact hate mushrooms, dislike chunky peanut butter (which was what I used), have occasional issues with grape juice despite loving grape soda, and generally not care much about canned fruit. It's been entertaining in a disturbing and somewhat queasy way.
*wanders off holding her tummy and grumbling under her breath*
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