Rule number one for people in the world dealing with infertiles is: Thou shall not keep the infertile from her pee-stick. It is as if the Gods came down and presented this oracle to the masses of women to answer thine most important question: Am I pregnant?
The answer might be an inevitable "no" but low and behold that does not keep us drooling, crazed, testing zealots away from our purgatory...the white throne where we shall dance our dance and reach our denoument of drama.
Where shall I begin with my week of adventures in the collection and use of thy stick?
Monday, three weeks into my birth control pills, I decided to test. Quit laughing. I had all the symptoms: sore breasts, nausea, headaches, bloat, and uummmm desire. Yes, I know I do google and I am educated. Yes, I do in fact know that those are symptoms of the pill indeed but it would be my luck to get knocked up on birth control because that would be ironic. So I tested.
I hunted down a latent test that was stored away in a maxi pad box away from my patrolling husband..he would have no reason to look there. He may have sent me back to the clinic if he knew I had possession of the illegal stick. I digress. So I locked the door and climbed upon the throne and whipped out the weapon to catch it's liquid master. Of course the damn thing was a dud. Can I just say the horror of the dud pee stick? It is where the desired pink color does not move across the peep-show window. My pee-stick was infertile.
Fuck I shouted in my quiet rage because who was I going to bitch about this one to. My husband has spies out for me and keeps tabs on my pee stick activity. In my anger I pried open the plastic cartridge of Fact Plus...ladies hear that FACT PLUS....and vowed to not let it get away with it's sinister plans of collaboration with my husband not to work. I essentially hijacked and pillaged the cartridge with my nails. I then squeezed urine over the strip to force it to do what it was supposed to do.
I left the little fucker torn up, exposed and nude in the bathroom stall and stormed out to go yell at whoever I saw first. I actually forgot to check it.
Fast forward to shower time. I noticed the stick out of the corner of my eye and thought oh what the hell lets inspect it. Two lines. What? Two lines. What? I said two lines.
I stared dumbfounded at the abused stick. I called my sponsor er um my husband in to look. He looked at it to verify that I had seen what I thought I had seen because you know why would I trust my eyes. He saw it. With a calm and strong facade he said he would not believe that until I took another one. I thought it was a mistake from the abuse that I had created. I quickly dug out another one from the hidden stash.
The non-abused one was du du du dun......
To make sure the testing was done correctly and we had a proper control group I retested before writing the conclusions on this blog. Negative again.
Moral of the story: Push those little sticks around enough and those bitches will give you what you want.
In order to replenish my stock in peesticks for my bomb shelter I made a dash to the pharmacy section of my presumed innocent grocery store trip. Undercover as a grocery buyer I knew no one would be the wiser. I searched far and wide for those elusive and colorful boxes filled with my drug. Getting nervous that I would not fulfill my much needed fix I conjured horrible stories like the grocery store does not carry the peestick. Another story was that they hid them to mess with us infertiles. And the crazyest one was only thought up because I was fiending so much...I had a psychotic notion that there never was such a thing as the peestick. It was all made up in my head. I shook myself silly in the cotton ball aisle, slapped myself a few times in the hosiery aisle while admittingly picturing myself hanging suicide wise with said hosiery, and finally in the shampoo aisle I knocked some sense into myself and made a plan.
I was going to ask the two ladies at the pharmacy counter.
Yes, I would brave them knowing and finding out about my habit. I would venture forth a turn a new leaf. I was out baby! I was taking this by the nose and saying..."Hi my name is Alex and I would like to buy a pregnancy test".
I marched up to the counter with sweaty palms and confidently on the outside, despite shaking insides, stepped forward in the line and asked if where were the pregnancy tests. Oh ladies if you could have seen me....you would be so proud. I asked like a fertile who had the right to take one. I asked like I was about to bring forth 2.4 kids and a dog. I asked like I was the shit.
The nice and unsuspecting pharmacy lady said "oh they are actually behind the counter here because people steal them."
I replied in an all knowing way "It must be those crazed infertiles who take them".
She laughed and said "Do you want to come around the corner and look through the window at them?"
With pure joy only an infertile pee stick whore could muster I skipped to look at my bounty. I almost gave myself away when I too quickly said "I'll take the cheapest two in the box ya got."
She began to read off the choices and I cut her off knowing my preferred drug of choice. She began to hand me the box and I again too quickly said in almost a nervous loud voice "NO, I will have two boxes."
Confused by her role in some unknown drama she tried explaining that there were two in each box. Almost cutting her off again my fake confidence was eroding and way too quick I said I know.
Oh My was her reply. Shit the cat was out of the bag.
Guilt took over and I started explaining and tripping over my usual eloquent words. "I take alot of tests..one can never take too many when they are infertile....I know it is crazy but some people go skiing for fun or play hockey but this is what I like to do for fun....is that so wrong? I am an addict OK?"
There I had said the truth. As I walked out of the pharmacy I looked back at the scene of the crime....those two ladies were laughing.
In my glory of being the proud new mother of four whole tests I skipped home to take one.
The third story involves an unlikely character in my pee stick adventures. Gary the next door neighbor.
In hearing at the Shabbos dinner table of my problems with peesticks he made the most joyous offer....his line of work which is medical testing has boxes and boxes of tests and he volunteered to give me a whole box. I screamed and laughed and jumped around in my seat clapping my hands like a little girl getting a puppy for christmas. After the squealing commenced I told Gary he was my hero. I started flirting and twirling my hair at Gary. Trust me, I would never usually commit this act but gee willikers this was a whole BOX of tests.
Later on after the party left David asked me "So now how do you feel about Gary?"
I said he was my hero and started singing I need a hero...duh dunn du dunn du duuuu He's got be strong....ya know the rest.
Moral of this story: Allies in a war join the fight when you least expect it they consist of people one would least expect to fight side by side.
My battle cry: FUCK INFERTILITY!!!