When Negative is Positive But Not Completely

What you see above is one of the three pregnancy tests I’ve taken in my life.  The first was after I was divorced and seeing a much younger man.  I was 27 and had been on the pill for years, but my period was late.  It was never late.  I was so relieved when it came back negative that I called him sobbing with joy.  He broke up with me, shortly after, because “you almost getting pregnant scared the hell out of me.”  Like I did it by myself.  Like there is such a thing as “almost getting pregnant.”

The second pregnancy test was in January of 2000.  I had just turned 29.  That time it came back positive and ended up being an ectopic pregnancy that nearly killed me.  You can read that story here.

Now, I am 48.  I have serious health issues, and Drew made it clear from the beginning of our relationship that he was done raising children.  He has a biological daughter and a stepson that he is still close to.  Having a child at this point in my life would be a disaster.

It’s also highly unlikely that I would be pregnant.  My ectopic pregnancy destroyed one of my Fallopian tubes, rendering me half as fertile as I’d been previously.  I am approaching menopause, and I’m overweight.  Drew and I are both larger people, and traditional intercourse is hard for us because he’s got a barrel chest, and it presses right on my diaphragm, so I can’t breath.  The point being that we very rarely finish in a way that could produce a child.  But we did, once, relatively recently.

My periods have been irregular.  I usually keep pretty good track, but it’s been so weird since April, that I didn’t have a starting day.  I know that it’s been over a month since I’ve had a period, and I started thinking that I should probably check to be certain.

So there is my result.  NEGATIVO!  I thought I’d be relieved, but I actually feel kind of hollow and sad.  I feel so blessed to have Laura as my “Spirit Daughter,” but I had always wanted to go through a pregnancy, a delivery, and the cuddling and caring for a baby.  When I was pregnant before, I had kept a journal for my baby.  I wrote to her every day, telling her how scared I was, but how excited I was to see her.  I had fantasies of kissing her hair, smelling her, nursing her.  The night before I miscarried, I had a feeling that something was not right.  I wrote in my journal that I felt like something was wrong.  I wrote, “I already love you so much.  Don’t go anywhere, OK?”  It’ll be 20 years ago in February.  My child would be turning 19 in September.

I just need to remember how blessed I am.  Drew has been in Singapore since last Saturday.  He comes back on Sunday.  I miss him.  I haven’t told him that I was worried.  I probably will after we’ve had time to rest and snuggle and relax.

Melancholy.  That’s how I feel.