Masochist.

I do hope that you’ve all been having what passes in your world for a good time this weekend, and are not in any way refreshing this page hanging on an update about the state of Schrödinger’s transfer.

Excuse me whilst I get those pesky delusions of reference and grandeur under control.

Where was I? Oh, yes. My P4 level.

Since I’ve remarked several times in the past that a picture can tell a thousand words (although not always the correct thousand), let me give you a clue as to where I stand from a ‘borrowed’ page courtesy of an online dictionary. Please pay particular attention to #3 in the pretty red box and try not to speculate about my sex life if you also read #1 or #2:

 

The conversation that prompted abuse of the screen capture key and five whole un-intensive minutes spent on figuring out how to draw a box in Paint? As follows:

Nurse NBC: ‘Hello there, this is Nurse Nice from Big Clinic, how is that cleaning going?’

She was kind enough to recall that I’d waffled on about thrilling matters such as my plans to spend my Sunday vacuuming REALLY THOROUGHLY whilst she took my blood this morning. I have to say I’m rather favourably impressed that anybody would bother to commit to memory such uninteresting minutiae.

Geohde: ‘I’m halfway through the lounge-room, thank you for remembering. You should see what a really thorough job I can do when I’ve got nothing else to distract me from the wait but defenceless Berber pile.’

Nurse NBC: Polite laugh. ‘Well yada-yada small talk, small talk. I’ve got your P4 levels back. How are you doing?’

Geohde: Bracing self, because usually an inquiry as to whether talking down from a ledge is looking helpful BEFORE even getting the number is usually a Bad Thing. ‘Okay, but I’m kind of anxious to know my P4 level.’

Nurse NBC: ‘Well it’s a five point one, so you’ve ovulated and you can have your transfer on Tuesday.’

Gehode: Invoking the third definition of ‘masochist’ above. ‘Um. That number is sure cutting it fine in the ovulation stakes. Feeling a little uncomfortable here at the thought of crossing myself and cheerfully throwing two embryos to the mercy of my recalcitrant womb on such borderline numbers given I bled like stink with a P4 of twenty three last time. Could you indulge a crazy worrier with another P4 before taking the ‘bryos out of the deep freeze?’

Nurse NBC: ‘Well now that you mention that thought, Other Nurse and I had been discussing whether we should do exactly that before your transfer. Would you like another blood at Sparrow’s Fart tomorrow?’

Geohde: ‘Yes please. Call me overcautious but given my history I would feel much better knowing that the numbers are going up before I get my genitals out in public again for the embryologist to peek at over my RE’s shoulder. Besides, if they’re not, then I’ve saved a pointless TWW and can bring all the misery and tears forward to now, which really suits my schedule better anyway.’

Nurse NBC: ‘See you at Sparrow’s Fart O’clock tomorrow.’ 

And here I stand, masochistically. I should have just taken the transfer and run like hell.