Inevitably, I approach test day as D-day. This despite numerous remonstrations from Sweetie not to do so. The thought of the Phone Call is a major anxiety inducer because the Ghosts of Phone Calls Past always come back – the low timbre to the voice on the other end, the straightness of the point, the wrapping up of a month of effort and money in four little words, “The result was …. ” Those little words hold the key to overwhelming joy or overwhelming sadness.
I always try to think of new ways to lower my anxiety about the whole ordeal. I’ve tried having her leave voice mails with the information, which worked very well the first time since I was actually pregnant, but really sucked the last two times when it was negative. I’ve tried re-playing the “negative” answer in my head to get reacclimated to the feeling. I’ve twiddled with the idea of taking a test before hand, but since I use an HCG trigger, the last thing I wanted was a false positive from the trigger. I’ve tried to think of all of the wonderful things that I can do if I’m not pregnant starting with boozing and ending with clearing out the dead crap in the garden. None of it makes a damn bit of difference when that call comes and once again, I’m not pregnant.
I must be an eternal optimist or really stupid, because this time I’m again trying a different tact. I use it often with my raging OCD – I simply ask “what’s the worst that could happen?” Here, the worst that could happen is that I’m not pregnant and we move on to IVF. I’m not going to die, I’m not going to lose my house, my kitties will be fine, my husband will still love me and nothing will have changed about who I am or my worth. By far, I get the most comfort out of this line of thinking than any of the others.
Update: the call came in at 2:40 and the answer was a disppointing “no”. There were a few tears, but we also laid the groundwork for IVF. For the first time in almost three years, I will be back on birth control pills as a means of getting pregnant. The irony just keeps on coming.