leggo my prego

Sometimes I hate myself for not being on top of my shit. It happens way too often.   Today was going to be one of those days. Today was going to be one of those days where I texted my Love and said “Welcome to the second worst day of my life. I say second worst because tomorrow can only be worse.” Sometimes the fear of the unknown keeps me from trying to learn the truth – how does that make any sense? How is it that a one hundred percent time sensitive situation would scare me enough to keep me from putting on my Pull-Ups and saying to myself Alright, missy, time to get your shit together so you’re not pissing yourself in a minute.  

Now, I imagine I speak for the vast majority of my female peers when I mention that menstruation is at the back of my head most of the time. I am not saying it is looming, necessarily, or that I think about it all the time. I am just saying it is always there, because 1) it is not going away in the foreseeable future, and 2) it is a pain in the ass (and the back and the ovaries and the acne).   

Today marks week eleven in Tennessee for me. Last time I had my period? Oh, fuck if I know, but I definitely have not had one since I left Colorado.

I started typing this story just now and I started with “I got home last night,” then I had to stop myself. I’m homeless. Ha. Anyway, I was sitting in my car last night, listening to NPR, alternating between marveling over stories about Mexican piggy cookies and the Brazilian education system, and considering this rather uncomfortably long and undoubtedly questionable bout of female draught.

I’m just going to say this as simply as possible. There is no way I am pregnant.  I mean. Sure, it might somehow be possible. But there is no way. If you know me or my boo at all, you know that a baby just… isn’t on the checklist for the near future, and I am careful to take the necessary precautions to make sure that my cat is my only dependent. So needless to say if, somehow, I am pregnant, I will be nothing short of fucking pissed. This is why it took me so long to officially freak out – there is just no way. Still, that’s a very, very long time to skip menstruation. And so I drummed on my steering wheel, contemplated my options and gave myself a pep talk in order to purchase my first-ever pregnancy test during lunchtime at the CVS near my office today.  During my morning block at work, I endlessly chugged black coffee and water, hopelessly tried to distract myself with mundane spreadsheets and customer calls. But really, all I could think about was Ohgodohgodohgodohgod what if I’m pregnant ohgodohgodohgod. Then it was noon and I got the fuck outta here, which by the way is not unique to this situation - I tend to leap out as quickly as possible whenever I have the opportunity. Works sucks. We all know.

There is a Walgreens walking distance from the office. I know everyone who works there and could not muster up the courage to take myself through the checkout line and hand the younger-than-me cashier a prego-stick-in-a-box. So I drove to the CVS across the highway, to which I had never been. Turns out it is way nicer than the Walgreen’s, just so you know. I closed my eyes and picked a blue box. The man at the counter was friendly. So was I.

Do you ever have times when you are so nervous and anxious that you just do not even consider putting on the ol’ thinking cap?  Yeah, this was one of those times.  I drove back toward work, knowing that all I needed  was a bathroom. Scratch that, I needed an empty bathroom so that I could scream FUCK! and bawl my brains out appropriately when the blue plus sign turned up on the pee-stick.  I chose a grocery store nearby knowing I could not wait until after work, and I am homeless anyway so there was no way I was going to be in a comfortable or familiar place for this. I parked the car, frantically opened the box (pretty much all of the boxes come with two tests, fun fact), and threw one of the packages in my bag without bothering to even locate, let alone read, the instructions. I sprint-walked into the Food Lion and as I passed the beer reminded myself how much I would be drinking tonight regardless of the result – after all, I had already been drinking this whole time, anyway.

I opened the package and removed the pee-stick. Fuck, I’ve never used one of these before, never held one, never seen one in real life or up close, and fuck, after all of the liquids I nervously consumed all morning, I actually had to pee really fucking badly. This is what I knew from the quick glance I took at the box:

Step 1: pee on one side of the stick for five seconds,

Step 2: look at the little white oval in the middle.

Step 3: blue cross = you’re fucked  OR blue line = you’re free. this time.

And here is where I reveal to you that I am a complete idiot. I picked a side. Literally, in my hasty ignorance, I just picked a side of the stick and peed on it. Then a faint blue line began to appear, which, friendly reminder, means not pregnant. Now, my urine was pretty clear as well, so I figured the faintness of the blue line directly related to the faintness of my piss. I waited for what seemed like three-ish minutes (that was as much as I got off the back of the box…), tossed that beautiful un-blue-crossed, urine-soaked stick in the trash and skipped out of the grocery store texting my wife, trying to reserve my excitement for the fact that I could go hiking tomorrow rather than sit in an over-air-conditioned room at Planned Parenthood waiting for a stranger to poke around my lady-bits.

It is worth it to mention that amidst my utter and complete relief for not having a li’l fetus cake baking inside of me, I still find myself facing the problem that I haven’t bled in four months. And I can’t help but feel like if I would just fucking go into period-mode, I’d lose a good five pounds just in uterine mucous. I hope there are men reading this and I hope that makes them shudder.

So I drove back to my office. I knew I still had one more test in the box, and I knew I would do that one during my afternoon break just to be sure, so I threw it in my bag. Then, for shiggles, I opened the instructions and glanced through them. And then I did a little jump and actually read them. And then

Oh. God. DAMMIT.

You mean there’s a CAP?! On the other fucking end, no less, than where I peed before?! And what the FUCK was the blue line I witnessed, then?  

Fuck. Fuckfuck. fuckfuckfuckityfuckdamnshitBALLS.

It didn’t even count. At all. It didn’t fucking count.  I’m definitely pregnant. It was too good to be true. I sat at my desk for another hour chugging water, planning my escape to the women’s bathroom on the far side of the building so that when I began screaming/crying, it would at least be around colleagues I had never met and may never see again.

I could not take it anymore. I ran to the bathroom and shut the stall. Took the fucking cap off this goddamned time, and peed on the fucking applicatorthing, which by the way turns fucking pink when you’re fucking doing it right. And you know what? I don’t care if it’s gross, I put the cap back on the motherfucker so that I could carry the damned thing back and double and triple fucking check it. And I did double check it. And you know what?

Blue line. Not pregnant, hopefully for real this time.

Cool. I’m down with that. 

* * *

I had this sitting in my Blogger drafts overnight, wary of publishing just in case I had experienced false negative or faulty test or something. It is the next day now, and I am finishing this story the best way possible:

I got off of work yesterday evening and went to Starbucks for some Internet (and tea). Then, after some West End wandering I went to another corner drug store to get another brand of pregnancy test; this way I could do one then to be sure, and then one in the morning (when you're supposed to do them...).

I went to a friend's house for a shower, peed on the stick, nervously watched as I 'passed' again. And then, lo and behold! I started my period. RIght then. Seriously, body? Seriously?! 

I squealed with excitement. Then realized I had no tampons. Whatever. 

Now if only this awkward stress/preteen/hormonal acne would clear up, I'd give Life a high five. She is a hilarious bitch. And she knows how to keep me on my toes.