When Jason and I moved into our apartment, we stole a bottle of Martinelli’s Sparkling Cider from his parent’s house to celebrate our new place. But in the chaos of moving in, a couple of weeks passed, and we still hadn’t opened it. We had been trying for a few months so we decided to just save it for when we got pregnant. Rookie mistake.
A few more months went by, and I realized something was
wrong. I had always been very irregular. And I recalled that when I was 14, a
doctor mentioned that it was likely that I didn’t actually ovulate. I went in
for some tests and was diagnosed with PCOS. This is pretty common, and I was
assured that 1 to 3 months on some fertility drugs would address the issues.
After a handful of cycles on Letrozole and Metformin, we switched to Clomid.
And after a handful of cycles on that, it was obvious to my doctor that the
drugs weren’t working. Nothing could get me to ovulate. He suggested that it
would be best to abandon pills all together and move on to injections. And thus
began my very serious relationship with needles. Needles in the morning.
Needles at night. Needles in my stomach. Needles in my arms. Me and the needles, we became close.
And all the while, every time I opened that refrigerator of
mine I would see that dumb Martinelli’s bottle staring back at me. And so far, I have resisted the urge
to just toss it in the trash. Throwing it away would be to admit defeat. And to
give up hope. And I refuse to be bested by that bottle!
Anyway, the point of all of this rambling is just to pass on
a simple warning. If you are trying to get pregnant, or holding out hope for
anything really, do not save inanimate objects to mark that occasion because it
will basically ensure that whatever you are waiting for will never ever happen.
Or it will simply taunt you until it does. And if you do happen to be as stupid
or masochistic as I am, stay strong and hold your ground. And show that bottle or whateveritisyouarehangingonto who is boss.
One of these days Martinelli’s, you’re going to get what’s