The worst day, is test day. The day that I normally avoid by waiting till my period shows, even if it’s “late.” But sometimes it’s hard to avoid. Sometimes, I get a little too excited because everything looks and feels just a little too good. And so I set a test day. And I test. Sometimes I cover the window. I hide it so I won’t peak. Mostly so I can hold off disappointment for another 2 minutes and twenty four twenty three seconds. Other times, I watch the entire time. I watch the flow streak from one end, slowly to the other. I watch as the first line, the control line, shows a bit of pinkish purple. And I watch it get darker, darker, darker. My eyes dart to the rest of the window. I watch as nothing else happens. The control line keeps darkening and I wait, trying to ignore it, staring instead just to the side of it. Staring. Waiting. Waiting for something I know won’t happen. And then the timer goes off. I take one more look. Nothing. The next thing I hear is the sound of plastic hitting tin as I throw it-with more force than necessary in the trashcan. I stare at myself blankly, unblinking, in the mirror. “Why did you do that? Why did you test? That was so stupid. You’re never going to be pregnant. Even if you do get pregnant again, you’ll never have a baby. Why did you test? Why did you test? WHY DID I TEST?” I walk away. No tears fall. I get ready for work.
I’ve been ignoring the nagging emotions at the back of my mind. I work. Furiously. Answering emails, screening calls, getting paperwork in line. I’m running out of things to do, so I straighten my desk. My close friend and colleague walks in and just raises her eyebrows, asking unspoken questions “did you test? Was it positive? Are you pregnant? Did it work?” I furrow my brows and shake my head at the floor. Knowing me, knowing that I need space and not comfort, she walks away closing the door. And I break. I break hard. All the pent-up emotion, all the dashed hope breaks loose. I sob. I can’t control it. Tears flow free and I struggle to get a deep breath. I take a mad dash to the private bathroom. I try to pull myself together. Fail. Decide to actually use the bathroom. And there I see the scarlet bitch. As if the negative this morning wasn’t enough. How does the period always show up at the worst times? I start crying again.
At this point, what am I even crying about? I’m sad because my body can’t get me pregnant. I cry because my husband, whom I love so, so dearly, needs to be a father, but isn’t. I’m crying because I have to start the hormones again, and I struggles so much on them. I cry because I am afraid of doing this another month and failing. I cry because this marks the beginning of my 33rd time trying.
Someone said insanity is doing something more than once and expecting a different result. So why am I trying a 33rd time?