The Verdict

I wrote this in my little notebook on the flight from Chicago to Hong Kong December 29th-30th.

(SPOILER ALERT) I'm Not Pregnant.

I have peed on something every morning for the past seven days (and sometimes again at night just to be sure it wasn't sneaking up on me), including this morning at 5:30am. Nothing. But I hadn't gotten my period either, so I continued to be optimistic. When I changed planes in Chicago, I sat in a sunny spot and rested for about 30 minutes or so. Then a spot next to an outlet opened up, so I left the sunshine to amuse myself with a movie on my computer (Inception - which is ironic because, in retrospect, right now I wish someone would sneak into my subconscious and trick me into thinking that I don't want to have children. It would make my life so much less complicated). My flight was supposed to start boarding at 12:30pm, so around 12pm, I turned off the movie and went off in search of a bathroom and to forage for food in the terminal. The Boston > Chicago flight was only a couple of hours, so no meal service. And it may be a few hours still before meal service on the Chicago > Hong Kong flight. My stomach was rumbling.

So, first step: Bathroom. For a moment, I contemplated peeing on something again. But it hadn't even been twelve hours since the first one this morning. Not that it mattered. When I finished up and wiped, there it was. A few little brownish spots. I had a very brief, well-contained cry. Not more than a few tears really. Not an ugly cry. I pulled myself together and flashed back over some of the charts I'd looked at the day before on FertilityFriend. In a lot, there were one or more EPT-'s before getting a +. And in a few, there was spotting for one or two days before the +. I decided that I didn't want to get on a 15+ hour flight as a weepy basket case, even if it meant giving myself false hope. However hopeful I am at any time, I'm also a pragmatist. I put in a tampon. I wasn't really having cramps, I reasoned to myself. If it was really my period, I'd be nearly doubled over from pain already (for which the pragmatist in me had also packed plenty of ibuprofen). So, I made the decision not to take anything, see how I felt, and remain hopeful.

Well, around 8pm-ish (Central Time. No idea what time it was in whatever time-space the plane was inhabiting), I noticed that people were sort of bedding down, and I should take advantage of my aisle-side neighbor's state of consciousness to take a bathroom trip to check the tampon and see if it was anything more than spotting. I'd stealthily managed to slip a super-sensitive 10miu/ml EPT test strip into my back pocket - just in case.

The anticipation of going to the bathroom almost always makes me have to go even more. I'm that person who's fine all the way home, but has to do a little dance while turning my key in the lock once I've gotten to my front door. It's almost Pavlovian.

So, I decided to pee first and check the tampon second. Luckily, this particular airplane bathroom was well-stocked with little dixie cups just perfect for peeing in for those so inclined as I was just then. So, I did. I dipped the test strip in for five seconds then set it to rest on top of the packet it had come in.

Then I checked the tampon. This was not spotting. This was my period. And the test was not ambiguously negative. It was absolute as it had been the preceding eight times I'd tested. I had another brief on-the-brink moment in another public bathroom. This time, I didn't let any tears fall. I dabbed at whatever collected in the corners of my eyes. I washed my hands, straightened myself up, and left the bathroom. I stood in the emergency exit aisle for a few minutes, stretching. Then I returned to my seat and started writing this in my notebook.

Third try at baby making. First IUI. Last try for God only knows how long. I keep thinking of my sister-friend. I wonder how she could have found the strength to have done this ten times. She's a warrior. I'm out of the game, not entirely by choice, at strike number three, and all I want to do is trash that stupid little bathroom like a rock star. I want to kick down doors and throw things and shout loud enough for whoever's on the ground below to hear me. I did everything I could think to do to stack the odds in my favor. Why didn't it work? There's no answer. Maybe it's the wrong question. All of me cries for my sister-friend (on the inside. on the outside, i'm on an airplane and i'm not gonna freak out. i'm not gonna freak out. i'm not gonna freak out...). All of me cries for her ten times of high hopes and dashed hopes. But part of me is envious, too. She has a job with benefits that will likely fund the majority of her next step. IVF. It's a medical issue, so inconvenient as it may be, she could probably get the time off from work for the numerous appointments. And her insurance probably won't cover the sperm itself, but the procedures, and testing, and everything else should be covered. I mean, so far she's been doing all this out of pocket, like me. But after more than a year of very well-documented "trying to conceive unsuccessfully", surely she qualifies for coverage for whatever comes next. I'm envious and it hurts. And it sucks. And I feel like a jerk because I know she doesn't want to have to go that route. None of us do.

But the way I feel right now...I want to go right from this feeling straight to IVF. Quit fucking around. Let's just put a baby in there already! IUI is so hit or miss. Maybe nothing happened. Maybe something did fertilize and it just didn't stick. Maybe, despite all my temperature tracking, and OPK'ing, and mucous checking, the timing was just all wrong somehow. It's almost impossible to even think it. How could so many things have lined up perfectly for this to happen, and then it just doesn't?

And here I am. At 45,000ft. Scribbling in a notebook and trying not to cry. Listening to Adele. Which helps but doesn't help. Music has always been the purest, most expressive thing to me. I never feel closer to God than when I'm at a really amazing live show. And Adele has one of those voices that's just so true. Even when she throws a note, it's a perfect throw. And her writing is so succinct. I know I've digressed, but it's coming around. I promise.

I hear her words in my ears. In my head. In my heart. "If this ain't love, then what is? I'm willing to take the risk." "I know it ain't easy giving up your heart. Nobody's perfect. Trust me, I've earned it." If I'd ever really been in love in my life, I'd probably also have already been knocked up by now. I love the idea of love, but I don't fall in love easily. I'm too practical for love, I often think. I love big, but I don't fall in love.

This is the biggest I've ever loved. This is the whole and heart and soul of me. This is my one great thing. This is the reason I breathe. What my heart beats for. Everything all those songs are all about. I've finally fallen in love and it's with someone I've completely imagined. Someone made up. Only not quite made up because I haven't made...anything. I've finally fallen in love and all I can chalk it up to is the tired cliché of it just being bad timing. I've found someone to spend my life with and it's someone I've never met because my body won't let me. This is what it feels like to have my heart broken.

And I think I'm sitting on my phone, or it's lost under my sweater or the blanket or something, so I can't turn it off and Adele keeps singing. "Next time I'll be braver. I'll be my own saviour when the thunder calls for me. Next time I'll be braver. I'll be my own saviour. Standing on my own two feet." "I often think about where I went wrong. The more I do, the less I know..." Why is that so right right now? I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what to do next. But something has to come next. Even if my next step is to do nothing. I just need time to calm down and figure it out.