As a result of this, J and I basically stopped using birth control. This is fine with me, anyway, since methods other than condoms impose all sorts of chaos on my body that I can't cope with, and even condoms sometimes seem to trigger some latex allergies, and non-laytex condoms are expensive and well, J is well enough hung that the Trojan XXL condoms actually fit him about right which makes anything else interesting in terms of an acceptable fit.
So this, then, leads to my point (yes, there is one!). Basically I am a paranoid wreck of a human being on the inside. I was either nurtured into having or inherited my mother's paranoia. I understand this, and that allows me to keep my inner panic track mostly in check and under some semblance of external control at least about most things, most of the time.
My body has been going through strange hormonal weirdness lately, probably related to the cysts, causing me to have some amount of hot flashes, dizziness, nausea, sore breats, etc. All of these things are potential signals of pregnancy. All of them are probably nothing at all every time I experience them. (Though I am starting to wonder why going into Wal-Mart seems to be a consistent trigger...is this some sort of subliminal trailor trash breading encouragement, or what?)
Anyway, I start getting nervous and antsy on the subject and start worrying that I might be pregnant and that I should know so that I don't take the variety of meds that can fuck with that, relatively regularly. This leads to some sort of silly panic attack that my rational mind recognizes as nothing more, really, than just another fit of paranoia which is extremely unlikely to have any founding in reality, just on a topic I haven't yet developed coping mechanisms about.
So periodically I just can't resist any more and I go buy a pregnancy test or four so that I can still the panic in some direction. This is all fine and good if a little costly and silly on my part (which I haven't figured out what to do about).
The problem comes in when our other spouse who is effectively infertile at this point because of hormones and gender issues, feels left out, envies the ability to carry a baby at all, and wants to feel close to me on a subject that I am embarassed about my behavior on and uncomfortable with my reactions to.
If I actually were pregnant, there is no quesiton that they would both know instantly upon that little plus sign forming because I could not bear to keep it to myself for even five minutes. But realistically I have a good chance of requiring fertility treatments to concieve at all, J would probably have to give up his tighty-whities for something that allows his gonads to function the way God or mother nature made them, I would have to give up some of the meds I'm on, etc.
I buy pregnancy tests and use them not because I really believe there is a good chance that I am pregnant, but because I'm a completely irrational being on the subject who will drive herself insane with the quesiton if I do not, from time to time give into this urge to KNOW. It is the same as my panic attacks at wanting to know if any problem with my body might be the scariest possibility. It is the same reason my mother obsessively collects antibiotics and constantly treats herself for imaginary ailments. Whatever the drive, I seem to have inherrited it or learned it from her, and I'm embarassed about it. I'm baffled at how to unwire it. I'm uncomfortable with the fact that it exists at all because I think my mother is a stark raving lunatic on the subject. I'm uncomfortable with wasting money on tests because I cannot make it three-five weeks until the blood fairy comes to town as a first pass evaluation on the subject.
I am painfully uncomfortable about the subject, embarassed about buying them at all, embarassed about using them, wishing only to get it over with so I will stop panicking needlessly, knowing full well what the most likely real outcome will be. I feel ridiculous and embarassed and akward. I want no one to share in these moments of supreme stupidity. When they are happening I don't even want them to know they exist in my mind at all, or that I have ever gone so far as to actually act on them.
But, see, every time I buy one, D wants to be part of it, wants to stand and watch with me in excitement, wants to feel included in the breeding phenomenon, wants to giggle with me if it's a positive. I like that she wants this on some abstract level, and if I felt that I used them in a remotely realistic way and not just as a coping mechanism for panic attacks, I think that I would be ecstatic that she needs to be that involved.
But because I think I'm being utterly ridiculous, every time she noticies one in the trash and asks about it, or knows I bought one but didn't seem to use it in her awareness, or when she asks about why I bought them, etc, I just want to curl up and die of embarassment that I'm a fucking nut and keep doing this nonsense.
If I hide and do it at 3am when no one is awake, I feel guilty at leaving her out. If I say I don't want to talk about it in some way, she's clearly crushed that I don't want her involved, and needs that connection. But letting anyone in on it makes me just embarassed to be around them for a few days because I know they were there during one of my fits of insanity, and I know what I used to think of them in my mother. It doesn't matter that I don't believe Deb would feel those things about me. It's not a rational reaction.
So for lack of an actual solution to the problem I've decided to just embarass myself further by telling the entire goddamned world in the hope that maybe it will help me get over the silly panic pattern that starts it in the first place.