The Little Uterus That Could

I’m infertile. Well, not totally. If I had to guess, I would say only about 80 percent of my uterus is full of cobwebs and sulfuric acid. It’s that 20 percent of my uterus that I assume I have left, that I have been trying to sweet talk for the past two years. My husband and I did get pregnant once, but it quickly evacuated the premises due to what I can only imagine were unsatisfactory living conditions. The fact that I was pregnant once,sustains what I would call my mild optimism.
They say humor can heal you, and that laughter is the best medicine, so I thought I would try it regarding this situation since I’ve become open to all sorts of new treatments lately. I also know that if I can make someone else laugh about the insanity and darkness involved in this matter, I will be mildly pleased.
Here are the things that have really irritated me about the whole mess of fertility.

1. I should have started a savings account for the amount of money I have spent on pregnancy and ovulation tests. Oh, sure…it started out innocently enough, most things with me do. I would wait to test till my missed period, then I started testing just a few days earlier than that. Then the companies came out with the “Gold” tests that would tell you a week before your missed period, and that’s when things went dark. I am guilty of testing 2 days after intercourse, taking multiple tests in one day, testing even after my period started ("it could be implantation spotting Carl!") and hiding unused tests from my husband in various places, for repetitive, covert testing later. I wouldn’t have to hide them, if my husband hadn’t approached me with a pregnancy test intervention. I can quit anytime I want, and he shouldn’t be going through my underwear drawer anyway.
2. Faint postive vs. evaporation lines-some of you know what I mean. I know that disassembling a pregnancy test and examining the strip with a magnifying glass and an exposed lightbulb is neither reasonable nor sanitary. But let’s be honest, nothing about making babies is reasonable or sanitary to begin with.
3. Teenagers will get pregnant. Teenagers will get pregnant after having sex for the first time. Teenagers will get pregnant, on prom night, in the back of a rented limo. Teenagers will get pregnant and for 9 months will think they are just getting fat, and then have a baby one day, as easy as if they went to the grocery store and decided to pick up a few things,tampons,some cream of chicken soup, and a baby. I’m so over teenagers and their shiny eggs and sparkly uteruses.
4. For the infertile, sex has become a science. Now before anyone gets riled up and says…”You have to make it fun…it’s the act of love….enjoy it..” or my favorite “What a fun thing to have to do” here’s what I have to say. You imagine having to have sex for 7-10 days straight each month, regardless of illness, house guests, or employment, in the same position, and at the end for the next 20 minutes you're not allowed to move, go to the bathroom,sit up, or have a sandwich, and tell me that’s not a chore. “You have to keep it exciting.” Really? Do we? Let me tell you, there’s only so much role playing and inappropriate verbal exchanges you can engage in before things get weird. Trust me.
5. “Just relax…when you stop thinking about it, it will happen” I realize this is said in kindness and probably because nobody knows what else to say. “Sorry you're having trouble performing a basic element of the human experience,” isn’t really an option to say for most people. Not thinking about the inability to procreate isn’t quite like trying not think about the approach of tax season. I’m sure that for some people who have been trying for several months and haven’t conceived, taking a time out makes sense. But we’re on our 25th month of this insanity…I don’t have time to take a vacation from my hostile uterus. My clock isn’t ticking, it’s a ticking timebomb, and I need to McGuyver a baby out of there before it explodes.
6. My most irritating realization?(Disclaimer: Sorry to any appalled or embarrassed family members) I could have started having sex a LONG time ago. On my own volition, I couldn’t even think about, draw, say, or much less look at a penis until I was married. I grew up with such a well planned, realistic, information overloaded campaign about sex and the repercussions (my mother is a counselor/teacher for pregnant teens) that I fiercely prevented pregnancy and virulent strains of STDs by avoiding co-ed swimming pools, dry humping, and men until somewhere around my 25th birthday.

With all of this, I have resolved not to be bitter. Because bitter is just another word for sad. If I were to become bitter, I would have to avoid certain situations and places where I saw certain kinds of parents with their young children. I would be reminded of what a travesty it was that they were allowed to procreate, and I can’t. And if I avoided those places, I would miss out on so many of the things I have come to cherish. I would have to say goodbye to 3 a.m. trips to Walmart on a school night, Rock concerts, R-rated movies, the Mall in the middle of a school day afternoon, the small and concealable weapons section of the Army Navy Surplus store, the firing range, and the large reptile section at Petsmart, and I’m just not ready to give those up.