So I keep taking my tiny tiny pills every Friday, and telling myself that it’s not long until January, and the pills will work, and my tiny tiny tumour will shrink, and my prolactin levels will fall, and my periods will become regular again and then we’ll have a really good chance of making this baby and I'll finally be like all the other girls.
But I’m not entirely convincing myself.
What if it never works? What if it can’t be cured? What if I never get pregnant?
But I’m not entirely convincing myself.
What if it never works? What if it can’t be cured? What if I never get pregnant?
And oh, the irony, of having spent a whole year desperately trying to defeat my depression the natural way, so I can get pregnant, and the whole time I had a condition that needed a specialist and some pharmaceutical treatment.
My period is late again, and I don’t even bother doing a pregnancy test. At least now I know what’s causing it. My breasts are really tender though, just like they get before my period, but this time they stay that way. I check the side effects of my tiny pills: headaches, dizziness, mild nausea, breast tenderness.
My period still doesn’t show up, and my breasts are still super tender, so tender I want to wrap them in bubble wrap and not let anyone near them, not even me.
Why don’t you do a pregnancy test, Jim suggests. Ever the optimist.
I’ve done enough pregnancy tests for this year, I say. I want to wait until January. Stop getting my hopes up.
My period still doesn’t come and my breasts are still so sore and I start thinking…
Could I be?
Could I be?
I can’t be.
But…
I’m going to do a pregnancy test, I say to Jim one morning. He shrugs and goes to check his email, and I pee on the stick and go and make a cup of tea and I forget all about the little plastic stick, and I only go back and check on it ten minutes later:
My period is late again, and I don’t even bother doing a pregnancy test. At least now I know what’s causing it. My breasts are really tender though, just like they get before my period, but this time they stay that way. I check the side effects of my tiny pills: headaches, dizziness, mild nausea, breast tenderness.
My period still doesn’t show up, and my breasts are still super tender, so tender I want to wrap them in bubble wrap and not let anyone near them, not even me.
Why don’t you do a pregnancy test, Jim suggests. Ever the optimist.
I’ve done enough pregnancy tests for this year, I say. I want to wait until January. Stop getting my hopes up.
My period still doesn’t come and my breasts are still so sore and I start thinking…
Could I be?
Could I be?
I can’t be.
But…
I’m going to do a pregnancy test, I say to Jim one morning. He shrugs and goes to check his email, and I pee on the stick and go and make a cup of tea and I forget all about the little plastic stick, and I only go back and check on it ten minutes later:
Is that…? Does that say…? Does that mean…?
“Jim…” My feet seem to be leading me into the study. I’m clenching my little piece of plastic in one hand. “Look at this.”
Next time: further adventures with wee.
“Jim…” My feet seem to be leading me into the study. I’m clenching my little piece of plastic in one hand. “Look at this.”
Next time: further adventures with wee.