It has been 3 weeks since the ectopic was discovered and the meth shot to treat it. This week I am having tear-free days, instead of tear-free hours. I am starting to feel a wee bit like myself again. I am still bleeding but no pain at all.
Last week, the rage was overwhelming me. I felt that all someone had to do was light the blue touch paper. In Stephen King's book Firestarter, the main character Charlie McGee has pyrokinetic powers and has to discharge the power into water to defuse it. She starts off with a bucket and as her power grows, she needs a lake to cool it off. That was me, last week. I could have sent a lake boiling and roiling with the white-hot rage I felt towards the world. I wanted the world to burn.
I felt cheated and robbed and exhausted at the thought of doing all this again and starting from scratch with treatment. I was also still feeling mild PG symptoms and I have to say that that is the most desperate thing. To feel those symptoms and yet know that the embryo is dying or already dead. No wonder I could not stop sobbing.
Luckily I rarely felt the need to leave the house so no innocent sheep were harmed. I might have aimed a death glare out of the window at a rabbit chomping on my alchemilla mollis but there is lots to go round so I decided to live and let live.
Sunday brought a turning point in that I did something normal. I cooked.
My new hob and oven had been installed at that point for over a month and I had never touched them. Mr P had been heating up stuff for all this time and if it was not something that could be heated in the oven or zapped in the microwave, then it just was not happening.
Now that is not to say that I am cooking everything from scratch every day now. I am not quite there yet but it was a step, a small one. I know I will get back to normal some time. I know it takes time but that is all I have got.