Yesterday I went from calm, in control and enjoying my relaxing Saturday to full blown crazy. The insanity set in so swiftly I couldn’t seem to stop it, or even slow it down. One minute I was my normal self and next thing I was Psycho Sadie. I don’t even know how it happened, but now the crazy is turned on I can’t seem to switch it off again.
It started not long after I woke up. I was standing at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth when suddenly I was overcome with an overwhelming urge to vomit. I gagged and spat out the toothpaste.
“What’s wrong with you?” Doug asked, listening to me choke. “That cold still lingering?”
“Yeah it must be.” I replied sadly. “Just my luck!”
I’d come down with a cold earlier in the week and had two days off work to recover. I’d assumed I was over it and was looking forward to enjoying an illness free weekend. It was my first weekend in a long time that didn’t involve hormone injections or the stress of timing sex (or dodgy syringe inseminations) with ovulation. Of course my stupid body had other ideas. The cold was clearly back, except I only had this one weird symptom.
After a quick shower I ran the gauntlet of the freezing hallway and entered the warmth of our bedroom (we can’t afford to heat the whole house – we’re paying for IVF you know!) and started dressing myself. Pulling my bra across my chest and hooking it closed behind my back I winced in pain.
“You ok?” Doug asked, watching me with interest.
“Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes at the fact he was still watching me like a hawk. “My boobs are so bloody sore today.”
“Still cramping?” he asked oh so casually.
“Yeah I am but don’t get excited Doug. It’s just the progesterone.” I warned him.
My sweet husband had been jumping on my symptoms all week. I’ve never seen a man so eager. Every time I mentioned I had a cramp or felt off he had cried out “Implantation!” and I had to calmly set him straight. It was starting to do my head in.
You see, I know almost certainly that I’m not pregnant. For the past forty-eight hours I’ve had bucket loads of clear, watery cervical mucus. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. When I first noticed it I thought I had peed my pants. Given my propensity to research everything and my newness to ovulation, I immediately turned to Doctor Google for support and learned that this is one of the first signs that your body is preparing for your period to begin. Ideally, if pregnancy was occurring, my mucus would be creamy rather than watery. I’d explained that to Doug and he looked like someone had just told him his kitten was dead.
After the bedroom incident, Doug went off to meet his mates. They were going out to lunch then spending the afternoon and evening at the football. As he was leaving, he kissed me goodbye and asked me if I had any creamy cervical mucus. That’s not normal, right? I mean honestly I was just glad to have him out of my hair for a few hours. I didn’t need his forlorn stares when I was trying to enjoy my weekend and I certainly wasn’t planning to provide rolling updates on my vaginal discharge.
With no one at home I decided to meet up with my mother and go shopping. Doug and I are selling our house and I have been jazzing up the rooms and doing a bit of decorating before the real estate agent comes to take the official photos. I wanted to buy two new rugs and some candles. I also needed some supplies to scrub stains off the tiles in our outdoor area and some pot plants.
After spending a few hours at a department store and going a little bit silly with my credit card, we decided to stop in at the hardware store on the way home to pick up cleaning supplies and pot plants. As soon as I walked in the door, I was overcome with the smell of paint and grabbed my mother’s arm.
“I’m going to be sick.” I gasped.
“What’s that?” she asked absently, perusing a range of garden gnomes near the front of the store.
“I said I’m going to be sick!” I hissed urgently at her.
When she finally turned to look at me I must have been pale as a ghost because she reached out to grab my shoulders, then dragged me through the store to the customer bathroom in the back. In the end I didn’t vomit, just dry retched for a few minutes. But I still felt queasy and had no idea what was wrong with me.
“Have you taken a pregnancy test?” Mum asked when I exited the restroom.
“No Mum!” I replied. “I’m only seven days past ovulation! And I’m not pregnant!”
“How do you know?” she pressed. “You seem pregnant.”
“Because I’m not.” I said firmly.
“Do you have any pregnancy tests at home?” she continued. “Maybe we should buy one?”
“No I don’t have one, and no I don’t want one.” I said, shooting her a warning glare. “Drop it. Now.”
Thankfully she did as I’d asked and didn’t bring it up again for the rest of our shopping expedition.
But it was too late. The seeds of hope had been sown in my mind. That night, as I sat alone on my couch eating Chinese takeaway and waiting for Doug to get home, the cogs in my brain slowly started turning.
Was there a reason Doug and my mother had been looking at me so curiously all day? Was it because I did have nausea, and I did have sore breasts and I had been experiencing dull, pressure cramps for days? Was it because I was pregnant? With that, my rational self completely lost control of the situation and my crazy self came out to play.
You see, I’d lied to my mother at the hardware store. I did have a pregnancy test at home. In fact, I had eleven of them. Like most women going through fertility treatment, I tend to keep stashes of them hidden for emergency purposes. And this was definitely an emergency…right?
Dropping my food, I raced upstairs and pulled the tests out of their hidey place in the back of my wardrobe. I dropped all but one of them onto the bed, and held the packet aloft triumphantly before hurrying into the bathroom. My little dog Arnold followed me excitedly, watching my every move with great interest. His eyes, they were judging me…pulling me back to reality.
“What are you doing Sadie?” I asked myself out loud. “Put the test down. Put it down. Put it down.”
Ignoring my own warning, I ripped open the test packaging and let the contexts slip easily into my hand.
“You’re seven days past ovulation.” I berated myself angrily. “And you’re about to waste a test with evening urine. STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING.”
Did I stop? No.
Did I take the test? Yes.
Was it negative? Yes.
Was I devastated? Stupidly, yes.
I threw the ghastly test in the bin then covered it with paper towel so that Doug wouldn’t see it. The last thing I needed was for him to think there was a possibility and start hounding me about my cervical mucus again.
Suddenly feeling tired and depressed, I decided the best thing would be to get a good night’s sleep and try to forget the whole thing had even happened. I knew I could brush it off as a moment of weakness, move on from it and stay strong until mid-week when I originally planned to test. The crazy had momentarily emerged, but I knew I could shove Psycho Sadie back down inside me. No one needed to know about my little slip up.
Then I woke up this morning, locked myself in the bathroom and did another pregnancy test.
I LOCKED MYSELF IN THE BATHROOM AND DID ANOTHER PREGNANCY TEST.
I have full blown lost it, people. Full blown lost it….
An infertile and her pregnancy tests are easily parted I suppose. So I guess I’ll be testing every day from now until I either get a positive result or my period because I don’t see any other way to end this madness. Either way, I hope something puts Psycho Sadie out of her misery soon because it looks like she’s here to stay for the next little while at least.
Weakest. Resolve. Ever.