I never could get the hang of Thursdays

Thursday

I started planning this journal entry on Thursday, as a summary of my day - Thursday, that is - but I got distracted by Thursday happening to me in a prolonged and relentless fashion.

Thursday's actual entry covered the afternoon and evening. but the day started far earlier than that. First, there waa a bright light, and someone hit me - Linnea's skull rammed into my nose, I know not whence, and we all woke up. Then I had a PMS-fuelled morning-kindled row with Rob and an appointment with the GP I complained about having to see before - the new one, not the one I asked to see,and not my own GP who is on maternity leave. Thanks to the row with Rob and the PMS, I had mild hysterics in her office, and repeated myself a lot.

I remembered to say that I didn't think my expectations were too high, in a world with sex reassignment surgery, and that I was only 26, only 26, and my husband is only 30, and we can't have sex dammit, and we want more babies, and I can't go swimming because I can't use a tampon but no-one thinks that that's important, but we can't have sex, and that's not normal, and if he thinks my expectations are too high he's just wrong, and that's all there is to it, so please write to the gynaecologist now please thank you please.

She had to get them to give her my notes, since she didn't already have them when I arrived (What?! is that normal?! my real doctor always had them!) but she is going to write to the gynaecologist. She seemed quite anxious that I might not go to the colo-rectal specialist and I was careful to point out, while sweating and sniffing and trying not to cry too much, that I was doing everything I was told to do and I was just trying to also make sure I did everything I thought I ought to do in addition as well. With underlining.

Further bulletins as events warrant. (Place that quote).

Later, Linnea decided that my day was dull, drab, and wretched (she was right) and needed brightening up (she was wrong). She chose yellow and orange as a surprise nappy brightener. However, in other Linnea news, last week I cut every single one of Linnea's nails, meaning that they have all been cut no more than 28 days since their last cut. Those of you intimately acquainted with Linnea will understand why this is a major parental achievement, and those of you who aren't can just take my word for it the same as you always do.

Tuesday

Pre-op went ok I suppose. I chickened out of asking them if I could have Linnea with me for feeding her but they estimate that I will be there about six hours so it should be ok. They were quite nice this time about my warning them that if my PTSD kicks in I might do all sorts of unpredictable things. They also warned me that I will be in pain after the procedure and should be sure to have paracetemol at home. I will have my nice prescription codeine, I think. I cannot imagine being in a fit mental state to deal with rectal pain due to external interference. I really can't. So I'm not going to.

Rob's parents are coming on Sunday and staying over to care for Linnea while we're in hospital. I'm hoping they will bring her to hospital with us in the morning so that I can feed her just before I go into the ward at 07:30, and then Rob can call them when I'm coming up and I can feed her again. I'll have to grill the anaesthetist on breastfeeding after the drugs, of course. It's highly likely to be fine once I'm able to stand and walk etc though.

Now all I need to worry about is not dying in theatre. Rob swears up and down he'll tell Linnea how much I love her. But who will tell Rob?