Is that a mood swing in your pocket..?

So there I was, sometime Sunday evening, after a very long, very busy, very work-all-weekend kind of a weekend, attempting to wind down by watching Helen Mirren in The Queen on the portable tablet device of choice.

When all of a sudden, I burst into tears.

No, truly. And it wasn’t even at that bit with the dead stag or anything, it was right near the beginning, before it got all tense and stressed and repressed-emotions. Now, it is a very excellent film and Helen Mirren is seriously amazing in it, but it’s still not a flick I would consider requiring of a box of tissues . And I think those of you that have seen it would probably agree. It’s hardly a weepie.

Hmmm.

Anyway, not long later, The Partner asked for my opinion on some footage he’d been editing over the last few hours. So I watched his work, nodded, told him what I liked about it and offered a couple of suggestions as to where, in my opinion, he might look at working further, to which he nodded, and then…

…I burst into tears again.

You know, in case I’d undermined his entire artistic vision, or something. Or not been supportive and left him emotionally wounded or hurt or less confident, because I’d made some drafting suggestions. Or something. The gods only know what it was I thought worth crying over, because it sure wasn’t caused by anything rational. The Partner – who was completely fine and had no problems with my editing suggestions, because he’s a normal human being not being pumped through with hormones – was simply left staring in wonder at this weird, bizarro turn of events which saw his girlfriend turn into a fountain.

Right. Something’s obviously up. I’m not the kind of girl to just start leaking from the tear-ducts for no apparent reason. Fragile just ain’t my colour, baby.

So it seems I’ve hit the first of the mood swings. Woohoooooo…

We’re on the roller-coaster now, boys and girls. And sure, so far it’s not been a particularly wild roller-coaster; a little bit of an up, followed by a brief, minor down, which (once he worked out what was going on) served as high amusement for The Partner. It’s kind of like the kiddie version of the roller-coaster, where the babies and the later-developers go, the kids who aren’t quite tall enough yet to get on the big sucker next door with their earlier-developing mates, and who get stuck on the non-scary ride with the littlies instead.

Mood swinging isn’t the only side-effect I’m experiencing either, I’ll have you know. Indeed, the nasal spray has a long list of bonus fun, up to and including headaches, dizziness, bleeding and abdominal cramps. And I seem to have copped the lot.

Well, at least I know it’s working.

I’m currently nasal spraying twice a day, to stop me from ovulating, and I’m injecting once a day, to make my body produce lots of well developed egg follicles. So it’s either the increased hormone levels in the injections – they upped the amount of hormones being boosted into me for this round – or it’s the nasal spray, now that I’ve come off the pill. Or both.

Probably both.

Anyway, it’s the cause of much mirth around our way, this emerging habit of mine of finding things to cry over in the most unlikely of places – toilet paper ads, anyone? – and the physical stuff is a plain nuisance, but aside from that it’s life pretty much as normal really.

Well, if normal life involves snorting hormones up alternate nostrils twice daily and shooting more directly into your abdomen every night. Because such routines are my life these days.

Roll on next Monday’s ultrasound. I’m really ready to move onto the next bit.

Kind regards,

The Patient.