My Relief

I suppose now that my mother knows about everything, I can tell the Internet. Maybe it would be easier for the rest of my family to find out that way.

Today, The Boyfriend, my mother, and I, went to the Planned Parenthood in the middle of the valley. At most, it was sort of surreal. There were a lot of people there. And a lot of teenagers, almost like there was a scenester party at the Planned Parenthood. Most of them were texting or receiving calls wherein their ringtones started screeching out of their pockets, which I thought was funny, since there was a very pink sign stating, "PLEASE DO NOT USE CELLULAR DEVICES IN THIS MEDICAL FACILITY." Way to kick ass, Planned Parenthood. Shout that shit.

As it turns out, I really am not pregnant, and I don't know yet whether I have a myriad menagerie of sexually transmitted diseases, but I do have two packs of Lo-Estrin that I'm supposed to start using whenever I wake to find blood in my panties.

The problem is that that day has not yet come. And it was supposed to have come about six days ago. Is it stress? It has to be. 

It is indescribably frustrating, though, to be consistently told that nothing is wrong with you, when all your brain can process is all the signs that they are wrong, and it is right. To be waiting on edge every minute of every day for that drop of blood to hit your thigh. And then to be told that you have to just stop worrying and it'll come. If my uterus wants me to stop stressing out, it should offer a little bit of help. How hard is it to shed a layer of wasted, dead cells? I do it every hour.

What I really want, I suppose, is to just feel right again. I want the testing of my pee to stop, because it doesn't seem accurate enough. I want them to take my blood or look inside. Anything that would seem more medical, and less like something I can buy for ten dollars at the drugstore. But I don't want to worry anyone any more. There's been enough worrying because of this.

So I decided that even though the Plan B pill somehow wasn't given to me, like they'd promised, I'm not going to let slip that fact to those who have been worried by all this. The Boyfriend doesn't need to know. And neither does my mother, but that's another story entirely.

The poor dear wasn't even aware I was sexually up-in-that.