This morning started off well.
I put my inability to sleep prior to Doctor's appointments to good use, and went for a pre-work swim.
Refreshed and reinvigorated I dressed scantily and went to work for an hour and then slipped out for a 'meeting' thus ensuring my young protege had no inkling of the seismic changes going on in my life.
As I walked to the hospital certain omens of doom started to present themselves. A cab was cut up by another driver and the cabbie in a voice that spoke of a heritage of cockney market traders shouted:
Out of his window. I was the only pedestrian. It felt pointed.
Then it started to rain. When I had left work it had been sunny and it is no exaggeration to say that the dark clouds were converging directly over the hospital. In a film I would dismiss it as too much, in real life I shuddered.
Then yet another battle with the receptionist:
"Your name isn't down. Do you have a letter about the appointment?"
"No, I booked it over the phone, with Eunice"
Even the magic name elicited no response from the receptionist who continued to stare at her computer screen as though my name would magically appear and she could allow me across the threshold.
I maintained a calm exterior whilst on the inside my brain was imploding.
Mr S., the doctor I had the appointment, with strolled by. I grabbed him. He told the receptionist that, and I quote:
"It was probably one of those appointments I made in my head and didn't bother to write down."
Holy fucking shit!
But luckily he remembered rearranging the appointment and whisked me off.
Moments later he was elbows deep in my tunnel of love. The husband’s eyes glistened as he looked on. Whether it was with pride, or his eyes watering at my … um … capacity is debatable.
And he was quick on the draw, he whipped the coil out faster that I can remove a tampon. He held it aloft for a moment and, considering it had been bedded down in my uterus for six months (and one day), it looked pretty clean. This, he declared, was a good sign.
Allow me to stray from the narrative for a point of interest, the coil is not coil shaped. Instead it is Y shaped, or to use a not coincidental medical term, uterus shaped.
Where was I?
Ahh, yes, once again I got to make love to the camera and he checked whether it had done the job. And this is where the news is frustratingly inconclusive.
My womb lining needs to be 4mm, it is 4.1mm which he says is good enough.
But, he said it just looked a bit 'bright' on the screen. I guess from years of scanning women he knows the exact shade the lining will show up at and this was a bit different. So once again I get a biopsy marked as: Urgent.
He said I should get the results by the end of this week (which is NHS speak for next week) and then we can go on to the next stage.
The next stage was discussed in a meeting with Eunice afterwards. She talked us through everything, answered our questions, and took her time.
I won't go into it all now, but essentially assuming the biopsy comes back with the all clear there will be no faffing. I'll start clomid, which will bring on super-ovulation and ten days later they start scanning to see when to shove some of the husband's finest in my womb and we can, hopefully, start making babies.
I didn't ask what would happen if the biopsy results weren't good, that is on a need to know basis only. And I hope I never need to know.
As we left Eunice the husband turned, and said possibly the understatement of the year: "She's good, isn't she?"