I am sitting here with my laptop on my, well lap actually, eating a lovely raspberry scone slathered in a generous amount of Nutella, a HOT heating pad wrapped in my favourite pale pink pashmina securing it to the small of my back, Maggie snoring peacefully beside me, wanting nothing more than for the bloody rain to stop.  And if the pain would stop too, that would be good.  I am out of Advil and really cannot bear the thought of going outside in the rain to go get more (and the person I know would bring me some happens to be sulking in a hotel room in London, having come down with a miserable cold himself.  I cyber-kissed him on the forehead, advised him to tuck in with a hot whiskey and a good film and to call me in the morning – just call me Dr. Finn!)

 I have had one hell of a week, the highlight of which was most definitely NOT the so-called specialist who told me, after a very invasive examination, that “getting myself knocked up” was an almost sure-fire way to ease my pain.  Yet another reason I hate male doctors when it comes to internal stuff.  My guy orthopod?  Fine.  Dentist?  Have always had male teeth care-givers.  But for the internal workings of the female body?  (not to mention the psyche??), I have always gone to women.  The only reason that I  went against the grain this time was that I was referred by my regular doctor and assured that he was “the best”.  Yeah, whatever. 

So instead of going and getting myself knocked up (and let’s be clear, I have nothing against the act as such; in fact, it’s rather fun.  However, I have no interest in procreating now, likely ever, truth be known (and a certain rather integral part to that game happens to be, as mentioned above, sulking in a London hotel room)), I have gone the route of acupuncture.  This is by no means an instant cure, but I have read lots on it and what I have read certainly sounds promising, so why not?   Hopefully becoming a human pin cushion once a week will be worth it. 

In the meantime I think that I will start scone number 2 and see if I can’t find a stray advil or five in the bottom of my kit bag …

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