Pregnancy tests hate me. And I hate them. And the fact that I am still so obsessed with peeing on them makes for an even more fucked up relationship between me and those little shitsticks of anxiety. In the 14 months that we’ve been trying to conceive, I must’ve peed on at least 96 of them. And only one, ONE test gave me a positive result. AND I’VE BEEN PREGNANT TWICE! That ONE positive test came a good FOUR days and TEN TESTS after I missed my period the first time. And as luck would cruelly have it, that positive test came the morning before I started bleeding.

The second time I was pregnant, I got all negative results up until four days after I missed my period. Finally, my doctor, who thought I was crazy, ordered a blood test. My HCG level came back at 300 (considered very normal for 4-5 weeks pregnant) yet I still couldn’t get even the faintest of faint pink lines on a home pregnancy test. But, of course, it really didn’t matter then either when my blood HCG fell and I again started bleeding.

I’ve consulted OB’s, REs, nurses, doctor Google and my dog about why in the heck my pregnant pee won’t turn a test strip pink. I’ve dehydrated myself, held my bladder for hours longer than what is healthy, and memorized every word and every pictogram of the little First Response instruction insert. First Response, my ass. And still I’ve gotten nowhere. One nurse had the theory that my body was already destroying the pregnancy, and so that’s why it wouldn’t show up. It sounded like a reasonable explanation. But then why would I still have had such a sturdy blood HCG level?

My pee stick anxiety peaked this week because after my first heavily medicated, heavily monitored, things-all-falling-into-place cycle with Dr. Kwak-Kim, I am under strict instructions to take a home pregnancy test 10 days post ovulation. That’s today. I am told that if the test is positive, I need to double up on many of my medications and injections. But if it’s negative, I need to stop my prometrium, prednisone and lovenox and wait for the next cycle. Simple instructions, if you are a normal person who pregnancy tests don’t lie to. Not so simple if you are me.

What if yet another false negative pregnancy test causes me to stop taking the very drugs that could keep my undetected pregnancy going? Then again, what if my refusal to accept the reality of a negative pregnancy test keeps me holding onto a hope that just shouldn’t be there? What if it’s just delaying the inevitable pain and disappointment I’ve gotten so used to feeling, month after month.

You don’t have to be a genius to guess that this morning’s test was negative. You also don’t have to be a genius to guess that it didn’t stop me peeing on about five of them. I then sent an anxiety-ridden email to Dr. Kwak-Kim’s nurse practitioner requesting orders for a blood test.

I’ve begun to accept the fact that, reproductively, I’m never going to be normal. I’m never going to be able to just have sex and get pregnant. But come on, universe, can’t I at least be a person who turns a pregnancy test positive when in fact, I am pregnant? Why must you make things even more difficult?

Then again, maybe this time, it’s just the universe’s (and science’s) way of telling me “Seriously, you aren’t pregnant. Get over it.”

I guess I’ll know when the phone rings.