A Wash Out

I’m furious. I could kill the person who invented hormones and if Treliske hadn’t just been rated the worst hospital in the country, I would be demanding a hysterectomy on Monday.

We’ve had to cancel a) the meal and b) the visit to the writing café as I am bent double with violent cramps. Not conducive to talking, let alone gregarious behaviour.

Himself came back yesterday evening, took one look at me and said, ‘What’s the matter?’

When I told him he swore, kicked a few things (he feels very helpless in the face of hormonal pain, as do I) and said, ‘right we’re cancelling the meal. No point in having it if you’re feeling like this.’

I had thought that I might feel better with a bit of company, but having talked to a friend on the phone last night for ten minutes, I was exhausted. So a quiet weekend with a hot water bottle is in store.

Of course we now have a fridge groaning with food and no one to eat it. I’m shoving as much as I can in the freezer but it seems to be full of other stuff which I don’t want to throw away. One of the other friends coming also has a laden fridge as her visitors for the weekend have just cancelled - and we can't even feed each other as we both got lamb...

Luckily I am seeing Dr Grey on Wednesday. I shall tell her about this and am tempted to give her our huge Asda bill. I also want a refund on Wasted Days.

Thank you, I feel better now.

We did take James out for coffee but I wasn't very good company. Himself took James back up to his room afterwards and James said, 'I hope she feels better soon. And tell her - I'm a great admirer.'

Oh God, I'm going to cry. Bloody hormones.