All's well that ends well...

...but maybe for the moment we could let up on the constant onslaught of endings and beginnings and surprise new endings. Pretty please? I feel a bit like I'm emerging from a tumble dryer, and I'm having trouble keeping my thoughts in order these days.

As a brief postscript to my swearing, venting rant last week, I want to thank you all for your commiserations; your own swearing and incredulity on my behalf, virtual angry fist shaking, copious use of exclamation marks (on an occasion which surely called for them), and general sympathy gave me the raging energy that fuelled the twenty minute living room dance party (to Muse, The White Stripes and The Ramones, in case you're interested in the playlist*) which eventually allowed me to blow off the last of the accumulated steam.

Also, in light of some of your comments (particularly readers in the US), I admit there's a part of me that feels like a gigantically ungrateful, whining moron. You see, with the system of nationalized healthcare available here in the UK, regardless of the quality of care we receive, there are no bills to be paid, no insurance companies with whom we must negotiate. We pay nothing for any of it: not the doctors visits, nor the invasive procedures using medical technology worth thousands, or even, if we end up going that route and stay within our current county, for up to three IVF procedures. There are small standardized fees for prescription medications, and that's it; all the rest comes from the taxes we pay anyway. I know we are truly blessed to live in a country that considers this to be the right of all citizens, and the responsibility of the taxation system to provide. I know that it is an amazing gift that the considerations over IVF, for us, do not include the usual concerns about the financial burden involved. For all the complaining I have done about my care, I am truly grateful to the NHS - warts and all - for providing in this way. Coming myself from a country with high quality universal healthcare, it's an ideology I strongly support. And no, I don't think that this nationalized system in any way explains the errors or incompetence I've experienced. Because sadly, I've read too many of your experiences and know all too well that healthcare providers often demonstrate disinterest, a total lack of empathy, or general incompetence; public health has no monopoly on this. It's all about finding the right people to fight in your corner, and so far I've had some hits and some (ok, a lot of) misses. No-nonsense Nurse Julie's interest in my case, and the swoon-worthy bedside manner of our high risk OB/GYN are proof of that. I suppose in healthcare as in any profession, those who are truly passionate and excel in their work to the benefit of those around them are rare gems. So OK, I'll stop moaning now, for a bit. Perhaps I needed a reminder of just how good I've got it.

Having got that out of the way, let me bring you up to date on the situation. In a bizarre sequel to said careless-human-error-fuelled rant, and having decided that I would not deal with the incompetent schmucks who messed up my bloodwork in the first place, I booked a follow-up on Friday with the lone voice of professionalism in that office, my favourite, gruff, get-the-job-done nurse. So here's the kicker: when I got to the office, she had reviewed my files, chased down the lab staff, and lo and behold, my numbers were actually there. She scratched her head, while I proceeded to lift my jaw from the floor, so that we could get on with business as usual. Although there were obviously some major filing/record-keeping/human tissue disregarding fuck ups involved, no one has any idea why I was told my bloodwork had gone missing on Thursday, save the possibility of a rogue nurse sabotaging patient records. To be honest - aside from not wanting to contemplate the scary levels of ineptitude and any ramifications therein - I didn't stick around for the answers. Small triumph! I have my bloodwork results! I made sure to get hard copies: lesson learned. So I will not, after all, be seeing the specialist empty-handed.  

Though in the interim, it sure helped to be able to blow off steam here and on the livingroom dancefloor. And now I'll stop swearing too.

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In other news, there isn't any.  And this is kinda the source of that tumble dryer feeling, I suspect.

I find myself wanting to blog, but each time I try to form a post in my head I end up at a loss. The fact is, there is not much going on, though there may be much in the works. We have our subfertility appointment on Wednesday; perhaps it will provide some clarity, though I doubt it. There may be movement on the job front for H, which means there may be another transnational move on the horizon.We may be on the cusp of pursuing IVF, but until we know where we'll be and what we'll be doing, there's obviously not much we can concretely plan towards. Although we continue to try, I think that emotionally, a huge part of me has conclusively given up on the idea of another natural conception ever happening, so I don't really feel like I have that to obsess over at the moment.

Maybe, maybe, maybe...I feel like we're in a state of total limbo, which for a restless do-er sort like me is a challenging place to be; I find it drains my energy in a way that being truly busy never does. And even though I'm kinda unemployed right now, I'm continuing to work with several students privately, so my time is still not my own. I can't take any action, plan anything, prepare for a particular eventuality. No real, definitive endings or beginnings in sight. For now, all I can really do is ride it out.

I guess all my playlists are going to be getting extra airtime in the coming days.

* I have an actual playlist entitled Angry Dance Party. Such is life, though it usually does the trick.