Shortly after I broke up with my first boyfriend I started getting sick. I was tired all the time, my tummy hurt and I felt like I was going to throw up all day and I’d missed two periods. Oh and my tits hurt like a mother truckers. Seriously, I could barely touch them without wanting to scream in pain. My nipples were worse and I went bra-less everywhere I went and was topless at every opportunity. Now I figured I was just sick because I was living in dorms that summer while I took summer courses and my room was easily 25-30 degrees (Celsius, because I’m Canadian) in the afternoon. Who wouldn’t be sick when you were living in that heat and not eating properly because you had an upset tummy and puked at least once a day?
Now, missing my period wasn’t a big deal to me. In high school I often would miss periods during volleyball, basketball and rugby seasons because I worked out a lot and was constantly stressed because I’m a spazz. So I figured that I was missing periods because I was stressed. I mean I’d just broken up with my boyfriend, was stressed from school and all sorts of other things were going on in my life that left me frazzled. Plus, like I said, I’m a spazz.
I went on like this until I rolled up on the week before missing my third period. I was talking to one of my friends from back home (This friend is now also my dental hygienist) on MSN Messenger and mentioned how I was feeling. Right away she read how I was feeling as something else. Soon another two friends were added to the conversation. Both were friends from back home. One was a new mommy and the other was a good friend from high school. Boy, did I feel like an idiot. I’d reasoned all pregnancy symptoms to other things when chances were, I was knocked up.
Now this was back in 2007 when I’d just turned 20 and hadn’t quite figured out a plan for if I ever wound up preggers. I’d spent the last year in a committed monogamous relationship where we planned on getting married and having a life together. I knew that a pregnancy would eventually happen – either not using condoms (I’ve been on birth control since I was 16) was going to catch up to me or we were probably going to deliberately try to make a baby. But what the frick was I going to do if I wound up knocked up outside of a relationship? Would I turn it into a dumpster baby? Would I have it, keep it, name it and attempt to raise it into functional member of society? Would I have it and let someone adopt my bastard child? The frick would I do if a sea monkey decided to take root in my uterus?
After talking to my friends they had me convinced to take a pregnancy test. The Hygienist insisted that I go and get a test right then and there. She told our other friend to take one and she turned out pregnant. But that other friend is an amazing month. Me on the other hand…I was kind of thinking ignoring the fact that I might be pregnant in the hopes that I might just…pop the thing out in a toilet and I could flush it away. It’s awful I know, but I wasn’t ready to be a parent and attempt to rise a womb monkey and hope that it would be a good person.
In the end though, I bowed to peer pressure and wound up busing to the nearest drug store and picking up three different pregnancy tests. I got home, pulled my friends back into our MSN group chat and sat there reading the instructions for First Response which was going to be the first stick that marked up with my urine. Well, that was the plan until I read that I had to pee on the thing for thirty seconds. Now I had to pee, but hold the phone! I didn’t have to pee that much. I mean my longest ever pee lasted a solid 45 seconds and that was after several litres of water and not being able to pee for thirty minuets. Not only was I potentially knocked up, which was stressful enough, but now I had to try and pee on a stick for a set period of time?
I wasn’t a guy! I didn’t have any practice aiming my pee at anything at any time.
Well my friend solved that by saying that it helped if you peed into a cup and dipped it into there for the amount of time you had to.
That led to my next problem: I didn’t have a cup to pee in. Thus began my search for a cup to pee in. I refused to use any of my cups that I drank from for obvious reasons. After that there were a few slurpee cups laying around from 7/11 but those were kind of sticky and I didn’t feel like washing anything. Maybe I could use my soap container? Eew no. Shampoo bottle that I emptied? Again, I didn’t feel like washing anything. Then my eyes fell on a cup of gum that was in my gym bag. It was Dentyne Fire and I figured that I could empty out the gum, give it a quick rinse and then use it as my pee cup.
This entire time my friends were doing a great job of keeping me relatively calm as I found my pee cup, dumped the gum out of my cup, tossed a couple pieces into my mouth and ran off to my dorm bathroom to pee into my Dentyne pee cup.
Thanks to my friends, I’d gone through the stress of peeing in the cup and then letting the stick season it for the directed amount of time and waited the amount of time it took my urine to tell the stick whether I was knocked up or not. Keep in mind these were also the girls that I peed with behind bushes in high school, strung up tarps horribly while camping in the rain and skipped school with for the bulk of my senior year because KFC fries and gravy were too good to turn down. After that day I also added survived my very first pregnancy scare with despite the fact that I was 400 km away from them.
Naturally I wasn’t pregnant, but frick the idea of knocked up was a frightening one. As it turns out I was suffering from a mild case of heat stroke. Though I still have no idea why my boobs were as sore as they were. That eventually went away too though.