It's Hammer Time...doo doo derdoo...You Can't Touch This

Finally, I took the last BCP on Monday and I am now waiting for my period to arrive. Looks like it will be bang on time for tomorrow and just in time to inject the depot Lupron shot, otherwise known as the Hammer. This colloquial name comes from the total shutdown effect on my ovaries, in order to prepare for the donor cycle.

I just checked the protocol:

Aug 31st: 3.75mg Ginecrin AKA the Hammer. Commence descent (further) into cronedom.

Bring on the hot sweats, bitchiness, the possible insanity defence when charged with husbandicide.

Sept 11th: Lo! Bring on the miracle drug.

All hail the oral estrogen 1 x 2mg daily for 3 days, then 2 x 2mg daily for 3 days and so on and so forth. Rinse, lather and repeat. All leading up to 4 x 2mg daily until my first appointment in Cape Town on Sept 26th.

However, I may not have survived the flight without lipstick so it may all be in vain.

Moving on. In my quest to pass the time whilst not eating, I have taken to filling my diary with tricks and non-food treats. This is my tried and tested pre-cycle routine. Rather than count the ticks of the clock as they crawl round, I jam my schedule so no time to fret about how much time is left before cycling. Of course, work would fulfil some of that function and it will. But it is not exactly a treat to look forward to, eh?

This past weekend was the last weekend of the Edinburgh Festival, specifically the Fringe. It is the only thing to do in Scotland in August unless you are a skinny Californian with a penchant for heilan coos. Last year I missed it as I was cycling abortively for the last time with my own fucked eggs. I was not in the mood to battle my way up and down the Royal Mile and all around the Pleasance.

This year, I was ready. It was madness and brilliance and mayhem all rolled into one. I also shoe-horned a visit to a book-signing at the Book Festival. There I worshipped at the Irish knee of one of my favourite authors. He signed a copy of his new book for me, we had a little palaver about music and his blog and I tried very hard not to slaver all over him or the shiny new book. I am such a fangirl. I should know better at my age.

I pretty much leave the Fringe picks up to Mr P as he is the comic aficionado and his judgement is usually sound. It amazes me how there is always a Japanese drumming show, complete with Samurai swords. We saw Mr Hicks, back from beyond the grave. He has not aged a bit though the language was as near the knuckle as ever. The day was topped off by Mr Sadowitz who is utterly indescribable but your granny would not like it.

All in all, a melting pot of culture and music and books and swearing. What more could you ask for?

Oh, and in case you are thinking "Darn it, I have missed it for this year and I will never be able to leave Norfolk, Nebraska anyway", you can watch it all on film in the comfort of your own home. Again the language and the sex scenes (including one with a prosthetic member) would mean no viewing with your granny but it is a fairly accurate filmic yet fictional account of the mayhem in any given August.

Pamplemousse's Bazaar

Now that I am no longer suicidal with grief all the time, I fear that I will be going back to work soon but in the meantime, I am enjoying the peace and entertaining myself with these. This week, reading:

Brando Unzipped

Part V: Wolves of the Calla

About Grace

Beach Road

Whilst listening to this:

Ray LaMontagne

All the while smearing myself with this in order not to blind the skinny brown Californian when she arrives in 12 days!!!

Ill Met By Sunlight

Still here, trying to whittle centimetres from my arse. It is a dirty job but someone has to do it. 8.5 lbs down now in total.

The BCPs are making me feel weird and a complete superbitch so don't make me angry. You won't like me when I am angry.

Despite the hormonal ups and downs, I have been doing a sterling impression of normality and I have even been in a whirl of socialising at home (with wine!!!) and decorating and shopping and I keep thinking to myself "I really need a holiday!".

Aye right, where do you think you are going 4 weeks on Monday?? I got an e-mail from one of my favourite bloggers this week telling me she was in NYC on holiday and off I went in a reverie, wishing I was there and mumping to myself that I cannot go. At times I completely forget I am going to Capetown.

You would think the large sums of money would remind me. The final payment to the donor agency was made this week. £1851 in British money or $3500. No going back now. My savings account does not know what has hit it this week. I am also making the final payment today for the kitchen out of it too.

Ach, so what? Look at how much I paid for an ectopic pregnancy last time. Pity the only thing growing round here is my hair, and not a 17 week pregnancy bump. Maybe I can post a picture of my arse.

Pumpkin and Clotted Cream

Oh my, I did not realise it had been a week since I last posted! Bad blogger, me! I have been super-busy which is a real change for me and my mood lately. I am definitely recovering in leaps and bounds these past few weeks. I cannot even remember exactly how many weeks pregnant I should be, without consulting the filofax. Definite improvement. I still have my moments but it is no longer just one step forward, two steps back.

It is CD1 today and this is the first period since the bleeding from the methotrexate shot. I am guessing it might be a doozy but I have counted back and it is probably only about 4-5 weeks since my HCG would have zeroed out. So that is a pretty short cycle for me. Of course, this week I had been entertaining wild fantasies of my body having had a taste of HCG and clicking into gear and you know the whole "fertile after miscarriage" baloney. However, I then remember that would apply to normal bodies only and never mine. Issues, hmmm?

Blow that, no wallowing in what my body cannot do! I am totally focussing on going to Africa. Apart from my lost weekend in Argyll, I have been pretty consistent with the food and the exercise. At Saturday past's weigh-in, I was down 7.1lbs in 3 weeks. I am pretty pleased with that as once past the initial loss, my PCOS-ridden body likes to hang on to every ounce with its fingernails. I have to keep pushing it and staying away from the alcohol and bad carbs.

But...I am totally convinced that time has speeded up. It is now just under 6 weeks until we arrive! And 3 weeks until Amy from Fertilely Challenged arrives!!! Eeeek! Which leads me back to the start of this entry and the reason I have not posted for a week. I am up to my armpits in paint. Remember the kitchen that was fitted at the end of May, but which has languished fitted but unfinished since then? The pumpkin is the colour of the walls and pics will follow soon. The main painting is done and I just have to finish the woodwork. It is looking lovely, if I say so myself.

The new kettle arrived yesterday and I am loving its retro fabulousness.

And the clotted cream? The colour of the paint in the spare room. Soon to be inhabited by a highly-anticipated guest, as above. I am super-excited to see her again, stuff her full of curry and talk our heads off for days. Of course, Mr P will be there too as server of drinks, chauffeur and all round go-to boy hahaha! He is really looking forward to it too, honest.

Elegantly Wasted

Ha! No weigh-in this week as I was in a faraway place, full of hippies and musicians and scrumptious food. What a shame! It was the perfect excuse I needed to get totally wasted and eat scrummy food. Damn those musician types for encouraging me into bad habits I thought I had forgotten!

Mr P's band had been invited to play at an Arts festival last weekend so we packed the car and off we went. The only thing that was freaking me out was that our accommodation had been organised on an ad hoc basis and that now always makes me a tad nervous.

I was OK with that in my younger years and it invariably meant dossing down on someone's living room floor with a sleeping bag. Now my back and my middle-aged pillow obsession will not let that happen so easily. I stowed the duvet and my pillows in the back of the car just in case.

So if you were on a back road in Argyll on Sunday morning on your way to church and passed a middle-aged woman in head-to-toe black, looking bleary-eyed and clutching a large square pillow? Yep, that was me, walking back from a house we stayed in, not even knowing our benefactors' names. Thank you very much for your Highland hospitality.