So, after a bunch of mornings with really low temperatures, I decided to get off my ass and get a proper physical -- apparently, those readings plus very cold hands and feet, and a few other things, CAN indicate hypothyroidism, and that in turn can affect my chances at conceiving. Or just affect my charts. I don't know. But it's important either way. And when I went in to roll that test and a cholesterol test into one exam, my doctor decided to run a quick pregnancy check even though I was certain it would come up negative. (Don't get excited; it did.)
There is something really awkward about getting a pregnancy test at the doctor's office if you don't already know the result. I mean, I KNEW, in that weird intuitive way where you're absolutely certain, but at the same time I guess we didn't, which is why she ran the test in the first place. I left my sample in the little hatch in the bathroom, and my doctor told me not to leave without checking the result. But the other lab techs taking my blood didn't seem to know about it, so when they finished with me, I said, "Oh, and I'm supposed to check on the pregnancy results." Both their heads jerked up, and I could tell they were trying to figure out how they were supposed to react -- was this a GOOD thing, a BAD thing, a SCARY thing? It was sort of sweet. They clearly wanted to react appropriately to the news that I was getting a pregnancy test and I could almost hear their brains deciding that saying NOTHING was better than saying the wrong thing. Which in their line of work, seeing the number of people they do each day, is probably the safer course of action almost all the time.
They sent me out to find my nurse, and the exact same thing repeated itself. She took a bit of a pause and I knew she was thinking, "Oh, God, I don't know which result is going to make her happy." I almost felt bad for her; when she swung back around the corner and whispered, "It's negative," her eyes were very wary, as if she was bracing herself equally for me to crumble with disappointment or start whooping gratefully. "Okay, cool," I said. "That's exactly what I thought it would be." She smiled, I think a little relieved.
I was, too, I guess -- it wasn't a surprise, but it's always good to have things confirmed, and now I can look ahead. Of course, it plays into my suspicion that I am not currently ovulating, but I think I'll give myself another cycle before I decide the sky is falling. I don't even have the results of my blood tests yet. One step at a time, right? Problematically, the charting thing is so engrossing, and time moves SO SLOOOOOWLY the second you actually start living for your fertile days, that it's toe-tappingly, nail-bitingly aggravating to have to wait so long for another chance. Factor in the fact that my plumbing might not be in tip-top working order, and the entire exercise is a maddening wait-and-see game. No wonder people usually get pregnant the second they stop trying. All that trying is so damn stressful.