High BP...Who Me?

Yesterday Darling Husband and I made our way to the clinic so the doctor could give me an exam. You know...the kind that involves a speculum. Like other women, I dread it. It could be because I have had quite a few crappy docs that couldn't figure 'me' out because I have a retroverted uterus and have used the wrong size instrument. Ouch...it hurts just remembering.

Need I mention that I was anxious going into the examination room and had to run to the restroom. Anyway, I completely forgot that the nurse had to take the usual vitals: weight, pulse, blood pressure. Not happy with my weight situation as I've been working out for six weeks and I have not dropped any pounds -- apparently muscle weighs more than fat, so I guess it's equalizing at the moment...That's my weird logic. Pulse was fine, but then there was the blood pressure. Apparently my blood pressure was quite high. I reasoned that it was my 'white coat' anxiety.

High blood pressure runs in my family, although it's not something that I really wanted to inherit. Guess I really do take after my Mother and her side of the family. The doctor took my blood pressure before I left and it had come down, but not low enough...So, now I must find a GP (another fun thing about relocating) and see if I can get this BP lower.

Learning to Bite My Tongue

Just a few days ago I finally dragged myself to a hair stylist to have my roots taken care of. One of the annoying aspects of relocating is searching for a new stylist that is talented and somewhat close to where we live. Well, I've found someone close to where we live, but as for the talent...did I mention she is close to where we live?

The new stylist was great with the color, but the cut was scary as her English is not the best so communication was tricky. Luckily I had brought a photo from a magazine to give her an idea, so it was somewhat similar to what I wanted.

Hair styling aside, I got the usual question, "Do you have children?" Hmmm...yes, it's not my favourite question, in fact I hate it, but at least I don't breakdown when asked now. I kept my chin up and said no, but that my Darling Husband and I were trying. Then I was asked how long. I replied six years. Surprise, surprise I received 'advice' that I don't really believe works. You know the one, I know someone who was trying for 13 years and 'just got pregnant'. Yeah, right.... Then to top it all off, I received the infamous, most annoying advice ever given to any woman suffering from infertility, "Just relax!" Argghhhh!! "You're going to Hawaii in a couple of weeks, you never know what may happen while you're away! hahahah" I just smiled politely and nodded. Honestly, I just don't have the time or patience to deal with people who have no understanding of the medical reasons behind infertility. Now I need to find myself a gay male hair stylist...