Briefly, all's well

I had the last appointment of the ultrasound day yesterday - 4pm - as I had a meeting in another city (not the one we live in and not the one the hospital was in) in the morning, and fortunately a nice colleague was getting the train with me back from the meeting and distracted me from worrying, and we were early enough that I could start drinking my large quantities of liquid once I got off the train, and didn't have to walk too far with a full bladder.

They even saw me on time (slightly early, actually) and the radiographer was very pleasant (though she didn't say "oh, I'm sorry" when I told her I didn't know where I was in my cycle because of the miscarriage). But she was able to tell me my uterus looked nice and "juicy" (packing the tampons for the weekend, then), and my ovaries were both the right size (though one was sitting on top of the uterus "like a hat") and then on the condom-covered one (not had that before - the gel wasn't too bad, do they sell it for, er, personal purposes do you think?) she could see that there were lots of little follicles on the right gearing up to argue over whose turn it is, and one big empty one on the left.

All in order, no cysts whatsoever. As everyone goes home about 4.30, the waiting room across the corridor where I normally go was empty but the receptionist suggested I go and see if the nurses (as in, walking down to the nurses' station without an escort) could track down any test results that were ready. The usual nurse was with a patient but I was willing to wait a little while (I'm reading Blood, Sweat and Tea, which is this blog's book), and they were all lovely and polite and left her a message and made sure they came out to the waiting room to reassure me they'd left her a message, and then to tell me she couldn't find any notes so I could ring the consultant's secretary another day. So I will - at my local hospital they aren't allowed to give you results over the phone but can read you the consultant's letter (!) once it's dictated - and the secretary is very nice, so I think I'll try next week for the hormone tests (LH vs FSH - but I doubt it's going to be any big revelation) and in a couple of weeks for the genetic tests. My theory is once I tell them I'm in the RPL clinic they feel sorry for me and let me do things other patients (the heavily pregnant ones that smoke outside the doors next to the sign marked NO SMOKING, or the ones with a newborn ditto) aren't allowed to do.

Now off to a large Landmark Trust property with 6 friends for the weekend; family are joining us for lunch on Sunday, and on Monday I will be Officially Old. No restaurants are open on Monday so we're going to see Casablanca at the local art house cinema and then to a country house restaurant on Tuesday (although I have to be at work early that day as I'm starting running a new study. Syntactic priming, if you're interested. Bad timing), and Mr. Spouse has a not-very-surprising surprise dinner (I had to tell him who to invite) planned locally for the Saturday. Never let it be said I do things by halves.