1) I am not pregnant. I don’t know quite why I’m so surprised about this, but I am. I was convinced yesterday that I was. Utterly convinced. I don’t know why I was so convinced, as my uterus is certainly not in good shape at the moment, but there we go. This morning, I peed on a stick, got a negative result and then my period started 3 seconds later. Although I can’t really call it a period, it’s so pathetic. Even so, uterus trying to push out admittedly small amount of blood through semi-scarred cervix? Ouchie Ouchie!
2) The gynae man who is nearby, who has been recommended to me (this woman had a uterus that was 60% scarred shut, no periods, he did one procedure and gave her hormones and she conceived the month after. So it must happen to everyone, right? Right?) is happy to see me, either on the NHS or privately. I emailed his secretary to check this would be the case. So now all I have to do is convince my GP that a) Asherman’s exists, b) I have it, and c) I need a second opinion, and more treatment for it. A mere trifle then. I’m considering not seeing Stupid GP who tried not to refer me last time, and seeing a male GP, in the hope that my “women’s problems” will scare and flummox him so much he’ll say “Yes! Whatever you want! Would you like to dictate the referral letter? I’ll do anything to get you to stop talking about this!” What do you guys think? Good idea?
3) I am a decorating whiz. Today, I have painted the hall, landing and stairs, and stripped wallpaper off the ceiling in our bedroom. Who puts wallpaper on a ceiling anyway? The people who used to live in our house, that’s who. Anyway, bits of it were peeling from when the roof leaked (before we got the roof redone) so it had to come off. Naively, I thought that it would come off easily. Most of it seemed to have been glued on with some sort of super, superglue. It’s probably a good thing that it’s now removed, as the amount of mould that was under it was quite scary. All gone now though. (Anyone want to buy our house? What do you mean you’re not tempted?) I have now collapsed with my hot water bottle (see point 1 for uterus/cervix reasoning).
4) I am freakishly strong. Either that, or I bought shit decorating tools. Whilst filling a crack in said ceiling, and a large dent from the inadequate plastering, I broke the filling knife. It snapped, right in half. On balance, I think it was probably shit, but I like to think I have some muscles, somewhere.
5) Brownies are better when they’re bigger. And on that note, maybe it’s time for another one… And maybe some analgesia. And some wine.
Out of the Ashes 
We are on identical schedules, currently. I will see you a hot water bottle & raise you an Ouchie Ouchie! See you in the Painkiller section of the chemist!
And I didn’t think we lived close enough for that sort of thing! I have to be grateful that I only have one, I guess. Opiates down the hatch!
1) The best way to start a period. Pee on a pregnancy test. FACT. (And sorry).
2) Take notes and use lots of medical terminology that will convince the Doctor you know exactly what you are talking about and they’ll capitulate.
3) The French. They wallpaper the shit out of everything. I once stayed in a hotel in France where the ceiling and walls were papered with a particularly over-patterned design but to go one step better, they had managed to find the same patterned fabric for the curtains and bedspread. Luckily I don’t suffer from claustrophobia.
4) “It is a bad workman that blames his tools.” Apparently.
5) Yup.
I know. I was forcibly reminded of your Christmas board game as I sat there, actually thinking “I bet my period’s going to start now.”
That hotel sounds… really quite scary. That’s very special.
My uterus will be joining in… ooh… tomorrow, I think.
Given that specialists have diagnosed you, I think you can sweep past Stupid GP with a look of condescending pity and chose another doctor to refer you. Take a printout of the email from the recommended gynae man. That kind of thing impresses GPs. Ask me how I know.
I hope your brownie was big enough to comfort you for the mouldy ceiling-paper, the broken tools (mighty woman!) and the sore innards.
What is it with all these synchronised uteri?
Ooh I like the idea of taking the email, and taking notes (thanks WFI). Maybe I should even take the Scary Operation Photos too, saying “Want to see my uterus? Look at my uterus! I said LOOK!” I am intrigued as to how you know though..
The brownie wasn’t big enough, but then I ate another one, and it was better.