a pathetic little blog
You might be wondering whose positive pregnancy test this might belong to and the answer is ME!
Yes, it is quite miraculous! I witnessed my husband’s vasectomy with my own two eyes in 2001. It was very interesting and looked simple enough. I’m sure it’s not one of the more difficult surgeries performed by urologists. Anytime you can chat casually to the patient while they are fully awake watching you cut their balls open to yank out their treasure has to be pretty routine.
After nearly a year of continued use of contraceptives following the surgery I insisted he provide me a sample since he refused to take time for the follow-up, you know, so I could evaluate his goods under a microscope. After my midwife and I saw swimmers everywhere on the slide we sent in the rest of the sample to the lab and the evaluation was that his sample was consistent with a male who had never had a vasectomy. He was quite proud of himself being in possession of an Olympic vas deferens that the Gods themselves must’ve created. I got another shot of Lunelle and made another appointment for a vasectomy.
Again I witnessed his vasectomy procedure. The urologist pulled out of his scrotum this massive ball of… tissue. Each end of the vas — which had previously been cut, cauterized, looped and sutured to itself had found a way to reattach the open ends, revasculate, and once again deliver sperm. This time I watched the doctor cut the large ball of yuck out and do all of the same again, this time pulling on each ends to be sure there was no way they would come together.
That was five years ago.
Since my husband moved to the Land of Milk and Honey in December we have only seen each other twice. Let’s just say we make every minute of his visits count when he comes (oh shut up). I remarked during one encounter that maybe waiting so long in between wasn’t such a good idea… maybe he was encouraging some supernatural activity. So when my April period was weird, which at 38 isn’t the most unusual thing, I raised an eyebrow like I am known to do. But put that with the fact my boobs and low back have been killing me for about a month and recently I wake at night to pee, I had to wonder. Had his vas figured it out again?
I grabbed a urine pregnancy test (yes I have them, I’m a midwife remember?) and peed on the stick. In seconds both lines were lit up for a Christmas ’07 baby and I was shopping for Maya Wraps, cloth diaper covers, a new Peg Perego stroller, and a crib from IKEA. And this time his name would be Rush (or maybe Caleb) or her name would be Ava (or maybe Esme). I mentally dropped out of school and dropped the pressure to do more difficult math and physics. I planned on a baby/family-friendly midwifery practice where my chubette would sit on the floor playing during office hours. And I stopped remodeling because who knows what teratogens I am exposing my developing fetus to? How funny that my son just asked for a new baby… and how weird this is happening when I am moving back to where my midwife is. I will finally have that unassisted — not unattended — birth at home.
Let’s just say my husband was none too pleased to hear this news and demanded I take another test. I suggested that maybe HE is the one who needs to take a test since clearly he is the one with issues if I am getting pregnant by a vasectomized penis. And no, I have not had relations with anyone else. Who has time? Besides if he managed to get me pregnant, clearly the world needs this child.
So I arranged for a qualitative hCG blood test (simply “yes or no?” test; blood more accurate than urine) and dropped it off at the lab and waited for the results.
Later my husband was apologetic and conceded it wasn’t my fault (duh!). And begged me to call him first thing. He also told me to consider a career change and become a full-time writer. I encouraged him to buy a lot of film because this is going to be one hell of a documentary and podcast on home birth and midwifery!
Well, I’m not pregnant. Since I am not on any medications, not taking fertility drugs, clearly I had a false positive. Or a defective test. Or whatever.
Anyway, it was a LOT of fun to fantasize about all the possibilities. I am slightly disappointed but that is outweighed by the relief I can continue life as it is without starting all over with a baby at age 38. I catch babies for women older than me but they have usually completed their education, have fantastic jobs, and now it’s time to start a family. I still have all my goals to meet. Meanwhile, my husband peeled himself off the ceiling this morning after hearing the news and changed his underwear. He can face the future again with a positive eye knowing it will not involve buying me a hip maternity wardrobe worthy of pregnancy in the Land of Milk and Honey, not sleeping at night because the baby is between us, driving a more gigantic car than ever to fit all of us, and never having any money or “us” time.
I am going to paint now and savor every chemical whiff I take in knowing I am only doing damage to myself. I am also going to thank God. My oldest just came in the room blathering on about Super Target with her hands on her hips, “CAN WE GO ALREADY? GEEZ. I’M SO BORED. I WANT TO LOOK AROUND. ALL YOU DO IS WORK ON THE HOUSE. I’M HUNGRY. WE NEVER DO ANYTHING! EVER! GOD! HUFF-PUFF-SIGH-EYE-ROLL”
…and Ps: If this particular test were really positive it would have a + in the first window. Joke’s on all of us!
Update 4/30/11: If you found me via Google because you panicked and thought you were pregnant and instead of reading your test box or directions you decided to trust a stranger who obviously did the same thing… WHY DID YOU DO THAT? Instead of leaving me a comment telling me how HORRIBLE I am, HOW STUPID MY BLOG IS, HOW YOUR (sic) SO MEAN, tell me why you didn’t just go to the manufacturer’s website and look up the RIGHT WAY TO READ your test results? Obviously this entire entry is a satire on EXACTLY that. It’s about how I decided to freak out and trust the internet instead of just going to the manufacturer’s website and determine in one easy step I WASN’T pregnant.
So spare me the sob story about how misleading this is… tell me why you thought a BLOG is more trustworthy than Proctor and Gamble or Johnson & Johnson. Sheesh.
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