Long

... As in 'not long to go now?'
Or 'Hasn't this been a long week?'

The week started off pretty poorly.  I had to go to my GP surgery on Monday for yet another blood test.  I am not keen on needles but I suppose I've been jabbed so much this year it's all routine.  At least I know where my good veins are if I ever decide to give up on life and become a junkie.  Can't remember much else.. oh, yes, I went to see Suzy B and probably bored the tits off her with more of my outer musings on life and shizzle.  I think all that stuff I wrote in the last post was still on my mind.  She makes good food which I never knew before because we always eat takeaway when I see her.  I want her to go on 'Masterchef'!  I love Suzy, she's an amazing comedian and should be doing TV panel shows and live DVDs instead of people like Sarah 'unfunny' Millican or Jack 'only fit for the student union' Whitehall.  It pains me to see talent idled by fear because I do exactly the same thing.  A little bit more belief in myself and I'd be signing my books in Waterstone's on Oxford Street.  On the other hand I admire her because she's bloody good at what she does and she does put herself out there sometimes, if not always for the right reasons.... ahem!

Tuesday I was at work minding my business and the phone rings at 8:50.  It's the surgery.  My results are back already (already?) and the Doctor wants to see me on Thursday morning.  Oh.  Right.  Erm, the Doctor's surgery NEVER calls me.  I have to call them or make appointments just to chat.  Now recently I've taken a more laissez-faire attitude to my feelings and the actions surrounding this pregnancy, if only to stop me fretting and getting on Stu and everyone else's nerves (but mainly my own!), and because I don't know what's going to happen so it's better to loosen my ideal of having control over everything.  But this threw me.  Something must have happened, right?  I already know what having low levels of platelets in my blood meant for me and giving birth.  Maybe they were dangerously low?  Maybe I would have to start a course of treatment?  All this thinking left me very unsure, tired and apprehensive.  Despite some very reassuring words from people on Facebook, I don't think I was happy to let the idea of doom go just yet.

That evening as I commuted home from work, I got off the tube at Piccadilly Circus to be met by a large group of tourists on the platform amongst the usual rush hour commuter throng.  I had my headphones on and wearily made my way through the crowd.  In London you either get aggressive and push your way through or you just flow and stop and kind of accept you're a bit of flotsam in a stream of humanity at that moment.  I was too tired to be pushy so I stumbled through.  Apparently this wasn't good enough for a lady in the group who decided her need to get on the train was greater than my need to just mind my business and walk.  She put both her hands on my back and pushed me quite hard to move me out of the way.  I stumbled a bit but didn't fall over.  Now, this is London, folks.  You either have an argument with a person which results in somebody telling someone else to go fuck themselves, or you walk off but throw dirty looks over your shoulder and then spend the next half an hour either telling your companion what you think of that person's mother or furiously jabbing your thoughts into a text/Facebook Status/Tweet.  For some reason my brain immediately said "No, wait!  Hold the fuck on!  I'm 8 months pregnant!  Who is this bitch?  She's not getting away with that!"  (Yes that was a lot of thinking for an 'immediate' thought, bear with me...)  I turned around to see my assailant in between 2 other women who were still pushing to get on the train.  Instinctively, my right hand raised up to shoulder level and I punched her.  She turned slightly so what was going to be a full on chest hit ended up hitting her shoulder, but it was pretty bang on.  She and the other 2 women she was gassing with all stopped what they were doing and looked at me with open mouthed shock.  I glared for a split second then turned back and walked away, furiously flexing my fingers.  I never thought about anyone else seeing me or challenging me, or even being followed.  Nobody did.  I was angry with myself for a minute for being violent, but then I realised I was quite happy.  People, especially those who cross your path for a short period of time in life, think they can do what they like to you because they'll never see you again.  I had let things like this (not always physical, more verbal abuse) slide in the past and had become docile and fearful of strangers because of it.  Yes, this all sounds a bit silly, but it's true.  I don't trust people I don't know, because I'm always waiting for the insult or ignorant silence.  Waiting to feel like I'm not worthy of being around them.  The physical act was wrong, but the clarity of my judgement made sense to me, in a weird way.  I am a woman of my own making, and when I say I'm not to be messed with, I mean it!  I do not give permission to other people to make me feel bad, worthless or any lesser of a human being.

Wednesday I went to work, was there for maybe 2 and half hours, but felt so drained and tired.  I could barely keep my eyes open and my chest was hurting, not in a heartburn way either.  I wanted to cry.  I called my Team Leader and told him I was going home to sleep.  So, that was Wednesday.  Sleeping.

Thursday I was a bit more rested but still very tired.  Stu had Thursday off so he accompanied me to the surgery to find out what was happening.  Finally, I thought, I know what's going to happen and what I can do next.  Except that nothing actually happened and I still didn't know what to do next.  The doctor told us what we already knew; that my platelet levels were low (they had crept up slightly but it was still no where near the minimum) and I'll have to have another blood test in 3 weeks.  There's no treatment for me to take, no diet or exercise I can do.  I just have to sit and wait.  If the levels still haven't risen by then, we go into Operation Free Francesca.  Oh, and I should watch out for any bumps, bruises and unusual swelling.  That's it.  I was disappointed because I'd read enough to know there are treatments I can be given and this problem could be an indicator of a far greater issue (but I'm not going to think about that because it is just a pregnancy-related problem as my records show I've never had low levels of platelets before) and I was expecting a bit more than just 'Here's what you already know.  You can't do anything about it.'  Stu and I talked a lot  on the way home and over our BLT baguettes.  We drew up a Pros and Cons list and decided it would be best if I went on Maternity Leave sooner than I had planned. Little old me had thought I'd be all well and happy and make it through to 37-38 weeks without a hitch.., Yeah, of course.  Nothing's ever that simple in my life, is it?  Best laid plans...

I think work have been concerned about me still being in the building for a while now (not in a bad way) and I have felt a bit like there was a view that I shouldn't be staying on so long especially after the other 3 pregnant ladies left over a month ago.  I wanted to be strong and I thought we would need the extra money.  But I can't take commuting anymore, I'm obviously not going to be able to take a huge knock or a bump easily in case another snotty cow decides to get over-friendly with her hands, I hate being hot and dealing with other people's stupidity, and, most importantly... I am tired.  So tired.

Friday was my day off.  I slept uncomfortably during the night, it was too hot.  I need to buy a fan.  Then in between breakfast and lunch I slept more.  Woke up, pottered around, picked up Stu so we could go to Sainsbury's and do our big shop, came back, ate, gave Stu a pedicure and now he's snoozing while I type this and think about crawling back to my favourite place.

Oh, and I won a small amount of money on the Euromillions again.  Also found £20.  I keep winning and finding bits of money.  Do you think the Universe could find its way to giving me the destiny of winning £1 million?  Please?  Thanks.