What comes to mind when you see the word unexplained? A grainy black-and-white picture of a UFO? A blurry wisp of a ghostly figure in the window of an abandoned hospital? The phenomenally normal results of my recent blood labs? (No? I guess that last one’s just me then.)
I am healthy. Absolutely healthy. If my test scores were any more perfect, Doc probably would have called me a cheater and sent me to the principal’s office.
I decided to illustrate my frustrations artistically using my amazing computery Paint skills.
(You’re impressed, I know.)
Cue the X-Files theme, because there’s just no way to explain why I’m not pregnant yet. (God, I am so lame and I really should stay off Hulu for a while… )
Why am I so unbelievably pissed about those results, though? How spoiled am I? There I am, listening to a smiling, cheerful doctor list off my numbers, hearing that everything came back normal, and yet I was…
…disappointed? What the fu-…?
Thyroid? Normal. Glucose? Normal. All those other fancy words I don’t understand? All amazingly normal. People bargain, plead, wish, and pray every single day to hear results like that, but I was hoping for an answer today. I was really, truly hoping that one of those little numbers would be so far out of whack that the Doc could take one look and go, “AHA! THERE IT IS!”
But it’s never that easy, is it? It is literally a mystery why I am having such a hard time popping out a kid. Damn you, little ovaries. Something is wrong with you, why won’t you speak up and tell me what it is?!
We also found out the results of hubby’s SA, and he’s good to go. No problems there. Super fertile. Must be nice! (Does this mean we throw him in with the others and pelt him with passive aggressiveness and old chewing gum wrappers? No? Awwa… )
So of course, the spotlight is turned back on me, and at this point it’s less “spotlight” and more “light bulb inches from my face while I’m strapped to a chair with my interrogator coming out of the shadows with a pair of pliers.” We have ways of making you talk…
What’s next? I’m being referred to a specialist. There’s nothing more my PCM (or my Nutritionist) can do, since my results clearly have them both scratching their heads and questioning everything they think they know about science.
In the meantime, I’m just going to keep my fingers crossed, keep cheering for my fellow hopeful-babymakers, and try really hard not to beat myself up too much for stopping by Starbucks for a much-deserved treat on the way out of the hospital today.
But oh man, as someone who rarely indulges in caffeine, it was soooo worth it.