As I opened yet another EPT box, I considered how many times I had done this little test. 10 or so, I thought? Was this going to be just another disappointment? My hands almost shook as I unwrapped the tester and took the cap off it. I kind of wanted to chuckle as I tried not to drop it in the toilet.
See, most people don’t consider the heartbreak of what’s it’s like to desperately want a baby at 38 and to be told repeatedly, “You’re too old.” or worse, “Why do you want to tie yourself down at this age?” They offer “helpful” suggestions and observations like “You could always adopt!” or –my favorite– “At least you’re don’t have to find a sitter on Saturday nights!” In my less grouchy moments I could sometimes find the intended comfort of these misdirected comments. But after the age of 40, the sting grew stronger. Didn’t anybody understand?
My sister had had her kids at 26, 29 and 31. All “sensible” ages. And there I was just seriously thinking about motherhood as I turned 38. Two years on, if I had really had any idea about the challenge of conceiving after 40 I might have given it a pass. I mean, c’mon. The money spent could have sent us on cruises around the world; the time invested could have gotten me my Ph. D.; and then there are the repeated discouragements and the stress it caused between my husband, Ray, and me. Several times during these last couple of years I would have killed him if I hadn’t needed his contribution to the whole baby-making process. (Joke)
I put the tester down flat (because that’s what the instructions tell you — I knew them by heart) by the bathroom sink and another interminable 2 minutes of waiting began. I swore that this would be the absolute last time I ever put myself through this kind of anguish. It just wasn’t worth it. Then again, how many times had I said that in the past 4 years? So here I was one more time hiding in the bathroom. Ray slept (the big jerk).
I blamed him for sleeping. I was so keyed up; he should be, too, dammit! How could he just lie there? I bit my knuckle and paced the cold tile.
Your eyes play tricks on you when you’re wanting to see something that isn’t there. Was the display area on the tester beginning to change? to shift? to become something else? Was I making it up?
Then there are the tricks of the mind that go with trying to get pregnant after 40. What if there’s a false positive? Could I handle having my hopes dashed on the rocks of bogus technology? Maybe I should have bought several competing brands of tester.
On a cloudy day when all you see is mist, sometimes it’s hard to tell if the clouds are truly parting. Then suddenly you realize that you’re staring at blue where it was white before. So it was with the little window in the EPT gizmo. The white had given way to blue and the little “plus” sign emerged before my teary eyes.
I yelped with delight. Ray didn’t sleep after that. 
