Blood testing in two days. This evening, I got that white discharge thing that I got the day before my last test, which doesn’t make me very hopeful, but we’ll see. Damn-all else happening – I’m not tired and no superhero sense of smell.
(That just prompted me to look up whether dogs know when a woman is pregnant and it seems they do – check out the two comments here from 22 September on whether dogs can detect pregnancy, pretty amazing. A trip to the kennel would certainly be cheaper than the €40 the clinic charges for a hCG test).
Anyway, I was out for lunch with friends last week, three days after the IUI and, walking back to our cars, I noticed my friend had a flat. Turns out she has a super-duper air compressor thing that plugs into the cigarette lighter and inflates the tyre temporarily in eight minutes (German engineering, very impressive – my 12-year-old Toyota Yaris’s accessories don’t get more sophisticated than the can of antifreeze in the boot, and even that’s from Tesco). As neither of us could be bothered to read the manual, we were on the ground peering at the pressure dial on the pump in case the thing exploded for a good portion of that eight minutes; every time the wind changed direction and the exhaust fumes wafted towards me, I silently apologised to any nascent life within me. I was also icy cold crouching there on the ground, as I had been expecting to be jumping immediately into a warm car and hadn’t worn a coat.
Then, on Monday this week, I was standing in front of the microwave (which is a lot older than the Yaris) reheating food when it started to crackle and flash.
So a repaired tyre and one new microwave later, if there is somebody in there, they must be pretty bemused at my mint tea drinking and general abstemiousness in the face of the noxious fumes, freezing cold and escaping radiation to which they have been exposed in the last two weeks.
The remaining pregnancy test of last month’s three-pack is safely tucked away in a drawer. I’m happy to wait. Part of my coolness is also about being a bwaAaak bwaAaak chicken and not wanting to know if it’s a negative.
Mal sehen, as the Germans say.