In the past couple of days I have been pushing my bladder to breaking point because I have been too fearful to see what lurks below. How is it that I have convinced myself that if I don't look, blood won't be there? Intellectually I am well aware that if I am bleeding, I am bleeding. There is no amount of looking-in-the-panties aversion that will make it go away. Every slight twinge or subtle cramp-like feeling is evaluated and ordained as the start of my period.
I was telling The Dude last night that it's the element of surprise that I can't handle. If it was just the matter of a negative or positive test on a certain day, I could deal with the outcome much better. The idea that at any moment this could all come crashing down on me is terrifying. My clinic doesn't want me to have a blood test until Friday, exactly two weeks post transfer. Pfft. I'm a well-travelled infertile people, there ain't no way I'm waiting to test until that point! Surely they are aware of our incessant need to test. Assuming my period does not arrive before Tuesday, I plan on practicing the ancient infertile art of peeing on a stick on that day. I'm crossing my fingers and praying to the god of canaries that there is no bleeding or spotting before that point.
On a much lighter and significantly less sanguine note, I eagerly look forward to hearing how the Midwestern gathering of infertiles knees up went yesterday. I'm hoping my Cheese Wife didn't drink too many mojitos and get her tits out, thus embarrassing herself, my Innard Twin, and a few other notable luminaries.