Monday, April 30, 2012
Yesterday, I found myself doing two things I wouldn't normally do...one was grocery shopping at Walmart. It's not generally my favorite place to shop but it was convenient and I kept telling myself cheaper than the local grocery store so just bite the bullet and get the shopping done. So, while I was there I ended up in the tucked away feminine hygiene aisle along with the jellies, birth control products, the absolutely overwhelming variety of napkins and liners and tucked in among the pregnancy tests was a lone box screaming "Fertility test NOT Ovulation test". It was a single test (take it on day 3 of cycle) along with the ever optimistic pregnancy test (works up to 6 days after you miss your cycle). And all I could think was if you take the fertility test and it comes up with a bad result--why would you want the reminder of the pregnancy test with it's empty promises of positiveness (one assumes if it comes WITH the fertility test than people are praying it says "yes" you are pregnant vs. the 15 year old teenager with the regular box of 2 pregnancy tests praying they both come out saying "no" not pregnant-next time use better birth control.) So, what did I do--at the ripe old age of 42 with 4 failed IUIs, 2 failed IVFs resulting in miscarriages and a suspicion that over the years I've had plenty of unofficial miscarriages, a husband who rarely has relations with me anymore, no money for continued IVF attempts and a doctor who probably wouldn't try for it anyway? Yup, I reached for that box and paid the almost $30 so that if I can actually figure out when my period will start (since it's not really regular) I can try to self diagnose my FSH with an over the counter fertility test rather than believe the REs who tell me I have PCOS and eggs that don't want to mature. It's as simple as that, I'm stupid and want to believe in miracles, because I can't really figure out how to accept that I don't have kids yet, I can't convince my husband to adopt, and barring a miracle I will probably die a bitter old maid who regrets never having children of my own (biologically or adoptively). And yet, that's why advertising companies make millions on the hopes and dreams of women like me.