February 10 really hates me. Last year, my husband announced our marriage was over. This year, in a few hours of pain and panic, I “miscarried” my Mirena.
I think the technical term is “expelled” or “rejected” but that sounds too clinical for what happened.
It was awful being alone, with two kids asleep in their beds, Googling my scary symptoms. At one point I even typed the word “miscarriage” into the search box. So it was almost a relief when the white plastic thing finally appeared in my hands.
Ah! So that’s what was happening! Phew! Bugger …
Yesterday had already been a struggle. And not because I did a sculpt class, then sweltered through an hour-long walk in the midday sun with a friend, then felt a little woozy.
I may also have been battling a teeny-weeny hangover. My dear friends Jodie and Sean came over for dinner on Monday night and a vat of pinot gris was consumed. Jodie is about to move to overseas with her husband, so it was a chance to say goodbye and show her my new house and puppy.
It was funny sitting with DD and two of my oldest friends, showing him this picture of us from 30 years ago …
We discussed taking a copycat snap last night, but Jodie didn’t fancy sitting on Sean’s shoulders, so you’ll have to make do with this one from last year of the three of us …
The fact we don’t get together often enough is my excuse for being a teensy bit seedy on Tuesday morning.
I was emotional for heaps of other reasons, including the rising fear I may need to have my lady plumbing removed after all, following four months of Mirena hell … and it being the first anniversary of my marriage break-up.
It was confronting when I belatedly remembered the not-so-joyous date had arrived. I suppose that means I’m legally able to divorce now. Never in a million years did I ever think I’d be writing those words. But that’s life for you. Unexpected.
It didn’t help that it was FREAKING hot yesterday as I languished in the schoolyard during the eldest’s try-out for netball. The moment she was done we bolted to swimming lessons and arrived late. I hustled the kids into the change rooms to get into their cossies and the youngest took FOREVER. When I peered through the door crack of the toilet cubicle I saw her struggling to put the cossie on UNDER her school tunic and … I may have lost it a bit. Because what’s the bloody point of hiding in a toilet cubicle to get changed and STILL doing the shame shimmy under your clothes?
Then I hoofed up the road to buy the kids sushi for dinner. Then I hoofed home to shower the youngest. Then I cooked the dogs’ dinner. (Pretend I didn’t just type that.) Then I raced over to my ex’s apartment to grab the youngest’s school permission notes because he’d forgotten to fill them all out and the youngest was going to miss out on valuable class points if she didn’t take them today.
Then I felt like having a silent weep on the couch because I was so, so tired.
DD reckons I need an assistant.
Yes. I. Do.
But since I can’t afford one, I’ll just have to book the dreaded appointment with my gyno myself.
Song of the day: Green Day “Basket case”