I am becoming more and more manipulative. And I like it.
Those who follow the nail-biting story of months of inactivity punctured by the brief flurries of excitement that is my quest for kids will know that, on Tuesday, I was promised a manual womb scrape.
This isn't the sort of offer a girl like me likes to turn down. Who needs a facial micro dermal abrasion when something like this is on offer?
The problem is I wasn't given an exact date. Just the vague promise of early January. And this from the same doctor who, in March, confidently predicted I'd have IVF in late Spring - not realising the next available appointment was in June, quite apart from the subsequent medical problems that was never going to happen.
So what to do? Back in the day, I would have waited patiently for a letter informing me of the appointment.
More recently I would have tried ringing and left numerous messages, on a machine that I strongly suspect doesn't have any tape in it, to try and secure the appointment.
Just last week I might have sent an email asking when my appointment would be.
Today I decided to try another tack. I emailed the nurse who is due to book me in, but, and here is the fiendishly clever bit:
The explicit purpose of the email wasn't to ask when my appointment would be.
I simply asked how many days she thought I'd need to take off work to recover from the general anaesthetic. And then I added, just as a casual side note, that it'd be good to get the date for the appointment soon, just so I could clear it with work.
See the difference? What I did was ask a question that would appeal to her caring, nurturing, professional-opinion side I even added, in brackets, that I had never had a general anaesthetic before. Thus displaying a heart-tugging amount of vulnerability. (That wasn't a lie, I haven't, the closest I have been to one was when the wombmate had her adenoids out aged 5. I remember her saying she woke up with sick on the pillow and I gave her a Mr Men book as a get well present, ever since the idea of a general has both repelled and appealed to me in equal measure.*)
So there you go, more manipulative than someone who posts on twitter "I am really upset" and sits back awaiting the direct messages.
How long do you reckon before I get a response?
*Obviously by recalling this 29 year old anecdote I am in no way suggesting that when I do have a general anaesthetic the womb mate should repay the debt by getting me a present.
Not at all.
I would never be so manipulative.
Wombmate, Don't even let it cross your mind.
You put that purse away.
I mean, if you did want to get me maybe a ... I dunno ... DVD to watch from the sofa whilst recovering I obviously couldn't stop you.
(I'll send you my wish list from Amazon, shall I?).