Peeing on sticks

"Waiting to see what the stick says tends to have the reverse effect on me. Maybe I’m just stubborn and rebellious but for some reason, a smiley face = not horny."

by Kristi G. 

June 2017

My husband is 49. I just turned 36. He wanted me pregnant yesterday, last month, last year! On the other hand, I have never felt rushed to have children. Did you know female fecundity starts dropping after the age of 28? This is according to my doctor-husband. Yes, but, no, it’s true. Unfortunately, there are no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. I choose to ignore this fact, maybe to spite him, or maybe because I’m stubborn. Or perhaps, deep down, I believe this will help me get pregnant rather than focusing on the odds against us.

Take my IUD out before our wedding day? I don’t think so! Not doing that. Not because I’m religious or because my family is religious. Really, it’s because I want the commitment of the prospective parents to be established before the child comes. Somehow, I concede to removing the IUD once we are engaged and the wedding date is set. I figure it’s close enough and that at least if I do get pregnant before our wedding day, I won’t be showing yet.

Okay, so, time’s a’ticking. Let’s get to it. You mean, have lots of sex? Try to make a baby? But I’m so freaked out that sex, while I might be ovulating, is terrifying. I’ve never had sex without some form of contraception on board. Suddenly, I’m having to reverse the rules of sex that I’ve lived by for the last 20 years. This is a major mental shift that I was not prepared for, and it doesn’t go that smoothly.

In other words, there’s some stress around baby-making, and it’s coming from both of us. So, I approached it like other challenges in life: getting more information, talking to friends and family, and figuring out how to reduce stress levels. My husband’s approach was a little different. With his doctor hat on, he consulted the most reliable medical websites for professional advice on improving our chances of conception. This led to researching the best ovulation predictor kit one could buy, which he promptly bought and brought home. As a result, I start peeing on sticks; that’s what I call it.

But it’s probably not what you’re thinking. This isn’t two lines = you’re pregnant; one line = you aren’t. We use these sticks to tell us when it’s time to try to conceive. I have yet to need the sticks that tell me if I am pregnant. Instead, he would reorder the big ovulation kit online whenever I ran out of sticks to pee on. On the other hand, I liked the idea of not having many sticks, assuming I wouldn’t need them for very long.

From my personal experience, these predictor kits are a classic example of missing the forest through the trees. This saying is cliché and overused, but using these sticks (no pun) really is a good example of the phrase’s meaning. Using the sticks leads to so much focus on what the stick says and not enough effort into boosting oxytocin levels, if you know what I mean. In other words, we start relying on the sticks to tell us when we should be “in the mood” rather than cultivating some sweet love-making when I am most estrus.

In fact, waiting to see what the stick says tends to have the reverse effect on me. Maybe I’m just stubborn and rebellious but for some reason, a smiley face = not horny. My inner voice says, “Uhhhhhhh, shoot, we have to have sex now because the stick says so???? But, ummmm, what if I’m not in the mood? Maybe the stick is lying?”

But really, I’ve gotten so tired of peeing on sticks. And while I see their value from a medical and reproductive standpoint, in practice, they seem pointless because they haven’t helped us achieve anything. For over two years, I’ve peed on sticks almost every month, and no pregnancy. As time passed, I’d propose to him we could take the month off when we were traveling or camping. But it would become a battle. For him, it was pee on the sticks or bust.

Him vs. me. 

I’d always give in, almost as if I had become a robot for the routine, worried I would then be navigating my cycle without a compass, even though I was fully capable of sensing my body’s natural cues of when I was ready.

All said, the sticks didn’t work for us. A flashing smiley face doesn’t mean you will get pregnant, and a solid smiley face certainly doesn’t mean you are. Nope, you actually have to have sex to get pregnant….err, well, actually, you don’t. But I don’t want anything to do with that. Nope, nope, nope!

June 2018

He’s 51. I’m 37. We’ve tried diligently for a year without one positive pregnancy test, which is considered a diagnosis of infertility. It is, indeed, getting less likely for my body to conceive with every month that goes by. But the passing of time is not getting me down. I am not discouraged. I am still confident in my body’s ability to get pregnant. I am still hopeful, and I want this to happen naturally.

My husband comes home one day and mentions The Stork, an at-home insemination kit he saw at the local drugstore, where he was buying more sticks. Seriously, people actually do that?  Married heterosexual couples do that? For real?? Well, more power to them, I guess. Take destiny into your own hands. But, I’m sorry, that’s really not how I want to get pregnant.

The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists’ recommendation for infertility after one year is to be checked by your OB/GYN. No problem. The doctor will run some tests, and we will go from there. Well, everything checked out okay for both of us. The ultrasound, the Clomid Challenge Test, the blood work, the sperm count, and the hysterosalpingogram. Oh man, the hysterosalpingogram was the worst! If childbirth is anything like that, then I am definitely NOT INTERESTED! 

April 2019

I’m almost 38. My husband is still 51, and the reality of having a child “at 52 or 53” is setting in for him. I’m not sure why 52 or 53 is so different from 50 or 51, but for him, it is. I’m convinced it will happen soon because existential reasoning tells me that history repeats itself. My mom was born when her mother was 39. And my mom gave birth to me when she was 39. So, at some point in my 40th year, I will surely bring a child into this world. It is destined to happen.

About two years into trying to get pregnant, we start hearing about a reproductive specialist in town. We decide to make an appointment. Ahhhhhh, what a relief to meet him and his sweet nurse. They put us at ease. She gave me a nice little schedule, and he told me to stop peeing on the sticks. OH YES! Thank GOD! Finally! No more sticks.   

So now, all we have to worry about is the sex part, and they will take care of the rest. It seems so simple, but actually a lot of work is involved. I have to take pills, get shots, go in for many vaginal ultrasounds, and—the worst part of all—I have to push progesterone suppositories up my hoo-ha until I get a negative pregnancy test. Now, if that isn’t counterproductive, then I don’t know what is. In other words, “Oh please god, I hope I’m not pregnant, so I can stop putting these capsules of white goop up my vadge.” 

I’m starting to rethink my interest level in having a child. 

While working with the reproductive specialist and utilizing the “timed intercourse” method seemed helpful at first, after a few months, the whole “trying to get pregnant” thing went back to being just as stressful. In fact, by the fourth month, I think my body just flat-out rejected the regimen. They stimulated me with drugs, and I had one really promising follicle. The day I went in to get the “trigger shot,” also known as human chorionic gonadotropin, the pregnancy hormone which makes women ovulate, the follicle had disappeared. Wow, how interesting. Apparently, that’s not very common. Where did it go? Well…it just, umm, dissolved, I guess. Gone. Gone. Gone. No mo’ follicle, no egg, no ovulation, no intrauterine implantation, no baby.

Yes, that month, we were actually going to try to get me pregnant through one of those other ways besides having sex. How convenient! Penis doesn’t even have to go in Vagina, people! Is this really what it has come to for us? I’m so disappointed. Not because we don’t have a baby, but because we are relying on doctors and drugs and medical procedures to successfully get the deed done.

So, now what? Back to square one? Fuck it! Keep stress levels down, clear body of the drugs and extra hormones, focus on intimacy and having fun, right? Sounds amazing! This new plan might just work…

So, how many months do we try this method? Indefinitely? Until hubby turns 55 and feels really old? Uh oh, maybe we are running out of time. Shoot. I really, really, really don’t want to go to Denver for invitro fertilization.  

October 2019

My husband just turned 52. I am almost 38 and a half. I do not like the idea of “playing God.” I do not want to mess with the natural order of things. I am of the mindset that things happen for a reason, and likewise, I believe that when things don’t happen, it is also for a reason. Yes, Michele Obama went through IVF to get pregnant with both of her children, but going that route just isn’t for me. Okay!?!?!?

Per the recommendation of the local reproductive specialist we’ve been working with, my husband sets up a phone consult with one of the physicians at the Colorado Center for Reproductive Medicine in Denver. It’s in the country’s top 10 best fertility clinics, with the tagline “100,000 babies born and counting.” Their numbers are good, like really good, meaning that IVF success rates are high, like really high.

The intake process with CCRM was long and tedious, and I immediately felt like a number when I called the clinic to ask questions or provide requested information. I didn’t enjoy the first meeting with the reproductive doctor. I was definitely just participating to appease my husband. I just wasn’t interested and tried my best to gently communicate that to him. But he is relentless and determined and threw out another idea: would I be interested in having a casual conversation with one of his classmates from residency who runs a fertility clinic in Texas?

Hmm…this feels safe, I thought sarcastically. I’d met her before in a social setting. She lives far away, and her clinic isn’t nearly as successful as the one in Denver. But, of course, I conceded. We spoke on the phone for about 20 minutes, and, damn, she was good. In that short conversation, she got me to reframe our whole fertility journey and recognize some grief I might be struggling with due to an unexpected outcome thus far. Then she offered IVF as a way to still possibly achieve the desired outcome—if I could let go of the fact that I was not getting pregnant naturally. It was a simple concept I hadn’t considered, and her perspective changed my idea that IVF was like playing God.

The next thing I knew, we were flying to Texas for the first part of the IVF process. Two trips later, it was time to get ready for implantation day. 

As it turned out, we only had one good chance with this first round. She was able to harvest 14 of my eggs. Seven were fertilized, and three embryos made it to genetic testing. Of those three, one was good to go, one was nonviable, and the third was inconclusive. I made a vow I hope I shared with my husband: to only go through the process once. Ten days later, I finally got to pee on a stick, and this time, we got our answer.

May 2020

I am 39, and I am 12 weeks pregnant—with twins!!!!! Never in a million years, never in my wildest dreams, did I ever think I would have twins. And I’m happier being pregnant than I ever could’ve imagined. 

My husband will turn 53, three days before our boys are born. I will still be 39…it…was…destiny!