At latest count, I have eight medical dramas happening simultaneously – everything from chest pain to displaced organs (none life-threatening, which is the main thing). In the next three weeks I’ll be seeing two specialists, a physio or three, various chemists, and a dentist. In a month I hope to be down to three ongoing medical conditions. Maybe four. The good news is that I can confidently name all but two of the original eight (the other two have been suggested by doctors but not yet confirmed), and I have some kind of plan for all eight. So things should get better – rapidly in some cases, and very gradually in others. I’m a little pissed off that back when I said, “I don’t think my body is how it’s meant to be” several months after Louisette was born, no-one sat down and talked to me to find out what was wrong. Even my pregnant looks (as opposed to JUST fat, which is of course also happening) are likely to be partly due to medical conditions. (Another person congratulated me on the upcoming birth of my second child this week. For every person saying it out loud, there are twenty people thinking it.)
In the meantime, I’m toning down my enthusiasm for casual shifts at the childcare centre. Because I’m tired and achy, and somewhat medically busy for the next little while.
Here’s Louisette with one of her great-grandmothers (because AWWW):