Probabilities and percentages
20%. A good estimate of the chance that I am actually pregnant after today’s negative test. (A big fat digital NOT PREGNANT. How I wish I’d never bought those In Yo’ FACE Barren Biyaaatch™ brand digital tests.) My policy is to test on days 26-28 of my (28 day) cycle, because I prefer the gradual letdown to the agony of anticipation. So of course on the first day of testing my mind immediately begins spinning the result… ifconceptionhappenedlateonthe5thitwouldstillbefourdaysbeforemyperiodandthat’sonly50%accuracyandmaybeI’moneofthosepeoplewithlowhCGlevelsatfirstandtheaverageforimplantationisday9andthenit’sonlybeenthreedaysand… SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! My inability to accept reality makes me so angry. But the whole point of the test-early-and-often strategy is to gradually suffocate the hoping part of my brain (there’s no hoping part of the brain, by the way), and that means accepting that it’s going to put up a good fight for another day or two. It can’t help it.
15%. The commonly cited success rate for IUI. At the moment, I’m in a hilarious state where the estimated chance that I’m pregnant despite the negative test is higher than the success rate for the procedure intended to knock me up. HA HA HA. It is so funeeeeeeee. It is not funny. It is fucking depressing.
500,000,000,000%. The percentage of my heart that was broken when I told my husband about the negative test and (after giving me a hug and being sweet) 30 seconds later I heard him whistling a jaunty tune. Me = loneliest and most abandoned creature on earth.
26%. The proportion of blogs I read where the writer has become pregnant since I started writing. Let me emphasize that I wish it were 100%. As we all know, the next best thing to getting pregnant oneself it to have it happen for someone who you know has been hurting like you’ve been hurting. But as we also all know, even those of us who are new to the game, it makes us feel left behind. It makes us feel like our turn will never come. It makes us feel the icy hand of childlessness resting heavily on our shoulders. I cite this number not for the wonderful women who are cherishing the hope of an end to their suffering, who know how lucky they are, who deserve every bit of joy they can manage to feel amid the doubt, but for the women who, like me, are still facing the terror of no end, not ever ever EVER. And especially for those who have been through more than I have, and whose ultimate prospects might seem less sunny. Just an acknowledgment that no one deserves this pain.
2%. The part of me that was amused when my brain generated a positive test dream last night. Fuck you brain. I mean, I get where you’re coming from. But let’s not do that again, ‘k? ‘K.