The Back Story

Not long after writing the whiny blog/post about waiting, I found myself right in the thick of another month of you guessed it- waiting.  My “thrifty” side had won out over my need for some semblance of control that month and I did not buy an OPK.  I had done them two or three previous months and had gotten that freakin’ smiley face that should incite happiness but only ever heightens my anxiety.  I decided to just count the days and try to make sense of basal body temperature and pray for the best.  Then the week that I thought I should be using a predictor came and I decided to use some leftover sticks, sans reader, and see if I was, in fact, ovulating.  I peed on those darn things for 8 days and never got a line that was “as dark or darker” than the control line.  I ran out of sticks before I got positive results.  I stuck to my guns (well, sort of) and did not buy another kit.  I harassed Skip a few more nights and then convinced myself that something had to be wrong with me. 

The previous month and this month I had had some mid-month spotting.  Once the OPK sticks failed me, I consulted the good doctors on Google and self diagnosed: I had a cyst on or in my ovary.  That had to be what was causing the mid-cycle spotting and preventing me from ovulating and by default, getting pregnant.  I would have to schedule surgery (over Spring Break?), probably give my body a month or so to heal and the earliest opportunity I would have to get pregnant again would be fall of the year, a whole year after losing Levi. 

I called my doctor feeling all sorry for myself and tried to explain why I had only been trying to get pregnant (this time) for 5 month but felt the need to see a doctor.  The appointment girl called it an infertility appointment and I almost had a breakdown. I assured her that wasn’t what it was.  She forwarded my call to the nurse line (only because the psych ward requires a direct dial).  I left a detailed messaged and WAITED for a call back.  Long story short less long, they made my appointment for March 20, over two weeks away from the initial phone call.

Then a funny thing happened.  I didn’t start my period around the time I normally would.  I counted the days on the calendar over and over and knew I should be starting soon.  A few more days went by but I just couldn’t bring myself to test.  Finally, around day 33 on the way home from school, I asked Megan to tell me what to do.  She said, “if it were me, I’d take a test.”  So, ignoring all the warnings I’ve ever heard or read about on pregnancy tests, I chugged a bottle of water, drove to Dollar General (my preferred pregnancy test retailer) and bought a two pack (for $6.77 in case you’re wondering. Aldi does not sell tests or I would get mine there ;) ).  I waited less than an hour and took the test.  BNF.  I was not pregnant.  I hadn’t felt pregnant, didn’t think I was, so it was not a shock and no more a disappointment than anything else had been that month.

So, five days passed and I went to Joyce Meyer with the girls and was distracted from thinking about not being pregnant and what could be wrong with me.  Skipping a period AND not ovulating AND spotting mid-month was beginning to confound (the Google doctors and) me, so the distraction was nice.   When I got home and told Skip I was still waiting to start, he suggested I test again.  The following morning was a Tuesday and as luck would have it, we had a three-hour delay.  This gave me time to decide to test again, and what-da-ya-know, it was positive.  I was pregnant.  My heart nearly beat out of my chest.  I’ve never been so petrified and ecstatic in the same moment.  I decided to keep the “what’s wrong with me” appointment as a “confirmation appointment” and went to the doctor two days later.  I got to see Dr. Bower, my favorite, and she rejoiced with me that we were starting this long journey once again.