Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Notes from Suburbia: AKA Alanis Morrisette you don't know nothin'

I think it is somewhat ironic that my period seems to have chosen this moment in time to straighten up and fly right. (I don't mean that AF was previously gay or has gone Republican on me.)

For a year I have had remarkably regular periods, coming exactly 21 days apart, except of course, when interrupted briefly by, I don't know, a pregnancy. Or three. But in 365 days I have had enough periods to know that, for instance, on every third Saturday between late January and April 10, my wisest choice of clothing accessory was a maxi-pad with wings, skillfully tucked into my briefs so as to painfully entangle the fewest pubic hairs.

Now that I want to have a period, have taken many tests to determine the efficacy of my period and its hormonal posse, not to mention the battery of tests gauging numerous other bodily functions, my period has decided to go into the Witness Protection Program.

I know this because it has been three weeks. Yesterday. Plus, my period suddenly demanded to be called Emily, when she was formerly known as Tina, and wouldn't leave me her phone number, insisting instead that she call me. From Idaho. And I still find my husband to be amusing. Okay, tolerable. Which means there is not a smidgeon of PMS mounting an attack at this time.

You might be tempted (as my mother often is) to cheer me with the bright side to this absence. Of course, it probably means that my luteal phase is lengthening, that my progesterone has awakened to its role as a team player, and that my uterine lining will be the beneficiary of such events. Plump up that lining.

Who cares? I don't think I'm going to get pregnant right out of the box (no pun intended) anyway, so why can't the fertility gods at least humor me with an ultra short cycle (or at the very least, my blackjack cycle), followed by another one, so that I can commence with the procreating! Or, the practicing thereof.

And besides, does anyone really think that I will not be taking progesterone from the earliest possible moment this time? I don't care if my lining looks like a buttercream layer on a wedding cake, I'll be taking the progesterone. Even my RE advised it during a recent talk. No tests, no biopsies, just the damn progesterone already.

So, who needs the regular cycles.

Is it strange that I have also had to discourage a tiny, demented voice in my head that keeps insisting I could be pregnant? If I were, I would have to be one of the women (and their partners) who outwit the statistics on the condom box. You know, the women who experience a 1-2% failure rate when using a condom for birth control. But, sheesh, what are the chances that I would fall into the 1-2% failure rate?

Ironic, isn't it?

2 Comments:

At 7:08 PM, Blogger Kathy McC said...

The demented voice in my head was wondering the same thing...

 
At 1:31 AM, Blogger Hetty Fauxvert said...

Hah. Periods are all b*tches, you should know that already! Sorry yours has gone missing at an inconvenient time.

And yes, of COURSE I would be wondering too, even if there had been a full wetsuit between him and me, let alone a flimsy little thing like a condom. If you're nuts, you have plenty of company.

 

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