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.