I think it may be time for me to just accept that I am living inside of a ridiculous situation comedy that is being filmed by cameras I never see and has no commercial breaks. The universe keeps creating the most uncomfortable scenarios that I end up stuck in the middle of, and I just have to bullshit my way through them. The other thing that makes them seem so sitcom-like is that if they happened on a TV show, I wouldn't believe that they could happen to anyone. This week was interesting, and by interesting, I mean it was awkward and stressful and I am amazed I am not completely falling apart, but I am already laughing about it.
In the usual way that I discover things, I looked at the calendar this past Monday and realized I haven't gotten my period in two months. This might seem like an enormous oversight on my part, but the truth is, the only predictable thing about my menstrual cycle is its unpredictability. I figured I was late because of the fact that I just started on a different birth control pill. I have skipped whole three-month spans just due to stress, so going this long without it has never been something that I really panic over. Every time I think I might be pregnant and bother to actually take a test, the results are always negative. Something started to feel odd this week, though. I felt like I might get sick a few times, and food just didn't feel right in my stomach. I didn't start to get worried for real until I had a dizzy spell while running on the treadmill. I don't get worried until I feel it is really warranted, but when I do get worried, I go whole-hog with it. I thought about texting Mike and telling him to call me, but I knew he would just continue to ignore me and that waiting for him to reply would stress me out more. I told myself that I didn't need to call him yet, anyway, because I didn't really have any information to give him. If I told him anything right now, it would just be my attempt to pass off half of my anxiety to him, to make him take some of it on so that I didn't have to feel all of it by myself.
This need to share my fear is what lead me to tell my sister about it when she texted me that she was having a pregnancy scare of her own. I could not keep my thumbs from typing out the words "Me too."
That, of course, forced me to tell her that everything I had revealed about my level of involvement with Mike was false, that I had gone against her wishes and hooked up with a guy she had wasted a whole bunch of time pining over in the past. I told her I was sorry, and she actually backed down pretty quickly, considering, when I told her that the reason I hid this from her was to protect her. She was going through a major emotional upheaval at that time, and I couldn't imagine a world where she would be able to handle the information while in such a state. I also told her that anything she wanted throw at me would just be more of the same, that she would just be kicking me while I was down and did she really want to do that? It was stupid of me to think that my sister would have anything to offer me but venom after learning just how much I have told her half-truths recently, but she did tell me to take care of myself and to keep her posted. By telling her, I was also trying to relieve myself of some of the other guilt, the guilt that came from withholding all of that information. I didn't get to share how giddy I was over Mike, then how confused, then how saddened. I only get to share with her how upset I am that it has come to this, that having sex with him a handful of times has turned into weeks of constant panic.
I ended up taking two pregnancy tests- one was negative, and one was positive. I will get a definitive answer when I see my doctor in a few days, but until then, I am stuck in limbo. What really makes me feel disappointed with myself is the fact that I am dealing with this at all, at an age where I really should know better. I spent so much time being responsible, always making sure I was protected, never risking it, and now I am the type of girl who will just throw caution to the wind because... see, I don't even have a reason. I told Mike to wear a condom once, but I didn't pay close enough attention to notice when he took it off, and I didn't bring it up again because I knew he wouldn't do what I asked him to. In hindsight, of course, I am astounded that I let him get away with that, and that I ignored a few other things that should have given me more pause. His moral compass is kind of scattered, and he takes some things lightly that should, according to me at least, be taken more seriously. I remember him making a joke, while we were having sex, that the girl he was seeing before me might be pregnant, and that he might as well just get me pregnant while he was at it. I put it out of my mind and tried not to think about what it meant that he would say that at all, let alone while he was, well, inside me. Sometimes, a red flag is so obvious, it doesn't even read as a red flag. It is natural for me to gloss over a comment like that, to make it into something unimportant because otherwise, I would have to admit to myself that I just had sex with someone who has that little respect for my body. It's also hard to admit to myself that disrespect is sometimes just a mirror that is only reflecting back what I think I deserve. I disrespected myself in this, and he was just following suit.
The most unbelievably ridiculous moment of my week came on Friday, when I went out for the Zombie Pub Crawl. I dressed up not just as any zombie, but as a zombie who had been wearing a Little Red Riding Hood costume when she got infected. I chose this because I am, as I have said before, an enormous nerd, and I always have to be more clever than everyone in my immediate area or I start to feel irrelevant. Because the universe loves to mess with me lately, and because I have such stupendous luck, I ran into Mike, of course, while I had a pound of grey makeup and fake blood on my face and I was wearing a red cape and a fucking dirndl. Seeing him made all of my convictions about keeping my potential situation to myself dissolve. I leaned over and told him, "We need to talk soon. We may have a problem."
The look on his face should be framed in a museum under the title of Man Who Has No Idea What You Are Getting At. "We may have a problem?"
I nodded and leaned in again, trying to keep his friends who sat nearby from hearing anything, "I really need to talk to you about something. It's really important."
He still just looked at me, not really getting it, asking in a voice that thoroughly mocked the gravity of the situation, "What, are you pregnant?"
I took a few seconds to fully absorb how difficult it is to get someone to take you seriously when you are wearing a Halloween costume. It was hard enough to get Mike to take me seriously when I was wearing normal clothes, and now I was trying it while wearing this stupid thing. I might save this approach for later, actually. If I ever need to give someone terrible news, I'll throw on a Little Red Riding Hood costume just to distract them from the seriousness of it and see how that works. Anyway, I reiterated to Mike that he needed to call me, or at least answer when I called him. I didn't say no to his question, but I didn't say yes, either, because I don't know yet. Until I see my doctor on Thursday, I won't know anything and I'll still just have Mike's inability to answer a text keeping me company. I know that sharing the worry doesn't solve anything, but the fact that it would make me feel better is inescapable. That is almost as good as a solution.
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