More fodder for the screenplay…

Part of the reason I started this blog was to record all the blackly comedic moments that this whole process involves. I mean given that I wasn’t telling most people I knew about what I was doing, I rather wanted to share the lolz with someone, even if just with random strangers on the internet. Otherwise all my Easter Egg jokes would’ve been wasted. Perhaps for the best.

Anyway, the emotional rollercoaster rumbles on and I’m — seemingly — out of the lurching pit of misery I’ve been in for the last few weeks and ignoring stats and just plunging on with a new IVF cycle (on which more later.) And despite everything I am really glad that in the midst of all this mentalness I can still see that it’s sometimes proper laugh out loud funny. In my first post I wrote that I felt that all this “has the potential to be a darkly comic screenplay or book at some point when it’s less recent” but as time’s gone one I felt that was less and less likely  — not least because a) I think I’d have to sacrifice my anonymity and b) everyone knows you need a happy ending and who knows if that’s ever going to happen. But waiting for a scan the other day, when the clinic was running late (aren’t they always?) I couldn’t NOT write one of those Vignettes Of My Life I Never Thought Would Happen (& If You Wrote Them Nobody Would Believe Them)…

The scene takes place in a two-seater sports car on a Eurotunnel train somewhere under the Channel between Calais and Folkestone.

Our heroine, Alice, is sitting in the passenger seat. She checks her watch, takes from the glove compartment what appears to be a glasses case and removes the objects that she stashed in there 12 hours earlier: two vials of a fertility drug in powder form, one vial of solvent, one syringe, two needles and an antiseptic wipe. Carefully she prepares the injection, lifts her grey sweatshirt, pinches the flesh on her stomach and injects the clear liquid in practised fashion.

Watching the entire process with what he admits is bizarre fascination is the man in the drivers seat who, for the sake of simplicity (although as will become evident, the situation is anything but) we will call her ex.

“How The Fuck Is This My Life?” wonders Alice, not for the first time.

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