I keep meaning to offer an update but once I am done shovelling in my own body weight in food at dinner time, I just can’t seem to keep my eyes open past 9pzzzzzzzzzz.
So, yes, where were we? TSH, right. I miraculously managed to get an appointment last week, bearing in mind the narrow window of opportunity what with Good Friday, Easter Monday, Royal Wedding Friday* and May Day Monday. I duly trotted myself in and presented a vein. The doctor told me the test results would be available in about a week. My main concern though was to figure out what dosage of thyroxine I should be taking right now- and remembering quite clearly that former GP Dr Best Friend bumped it to 150mcg pretty sharpish at about 7 weeks into my first pregnancy.
I explained all this to the doctor and he got that look in his eye again- this time, the one that says “Danger!Danger! Patient dangerously well informed about an area of medicine that I am not!”. He pulled my records up on the computer to see all my endocrine history and found nothing on the file.
“How far back does that go?” I asked, nodding at the screen.
“2008,” he said.
“Well, this would have been in late 2006, early 2007.”
Whereupon he trotted out the paper file and proceeded to completely confuse himself wading through all the IVF related drek.
“It’s after that,” I told him a tad impatiently. “The IVF didn’t work.”
Finally he found the letter from Dr Best Friend setting out quite clearly that I was prescribed the 150 mcg due to pregnancy and without further ado, he concurred, writing me a supplemental scrip right then. For which I say thank you yet again, Dr Best Friend, you really were first class.
The test results yesterday were “normal” and when I probed the actual numbers for TSH and so forth, it all sounded fine. So I feel relaxed that the thyroid stuff is under control.
Everything smells a thousand times more potent than before and I am perma-queasy. Onwards.
* Botany was somewhat less enchanted with the Royal Wedding than I thought she would be. She liked the idea of it just fine- but in reality the pacing of it was perhaps a little slow for a three year’s old liking (“is she STILL walking up the aisle?” “Yes”.) Also the soundtrack included rather less dancing candlesticks and tap-dancing alligators than she is accustomed to. The main problem though was that the cast was awfully confusing. And so the bombardment of questions was endless.
“Who is that? Is that the bride?”
“No, that’s the bride’s mummy.”
“Oh. Is that Kate?”
“No, Kate is the bride. We will see her in a bit.”
“Oh.”
Pointing to Camilla:
“Is she the bride?”
“No. Definitely not. She is the stepmummy.”
“Oh, the bride’s stepmummy?”
“No, the prince’s. Just watch”.
Then as the Queen arrived- “Is she the mummy?”
“Not the bride’s mummy. We saw her earlier. She is the prince’s grandmother.”
“Is she a mummy too?”
“Yes. The older prince’s mummy.”
“But is she a proper mummy?”
“Um. Define proper.”
“Is she the Queen?”
“Yes.”
“And a proper mummy?”
“Botany, just watch”.
Princess Beatrice’s hat caused some consternation, and eventually lacey Catherine unfolded herself at the cathedral.
“Why is she sticking her tongue out?”
“She’s licking her lips. She is probably nervous. There are a LOT of people watching this.”
“Whhyyyyyy?”
And so it went. Finally, Botany gave up and wandered off to her room to devise her own veil out of blankets while I tried to enjoy the ceremony before being interrupted by the arrival of weekend visitors. I gave up at that point. But it was very nice indeed, as far as royal weddings go, and the dress was perfection.
