Fail
I failed a test this morning.
Or maybe I passed it. Or it failed me. Or I failed me. Or IUD. Fuck.
I failed a test this morning.
But after days of waking up with nausea in my throat and anxiety in my head, I bit the bullet. Bought the baby barometer and waited wantonly for morning, I’ve heard it’s more accurate when the sun first comes up. The chances were slim to none, having woken from a surgical nap back in the fall that left me diagnosed and treated for reproductive ruination, but things happen. Plastic peregrinates and infants emerge into the world with the most ironic sword in their clutch. So I took a test this morning.
I failed a test this morning.
I got the right answer. This is not a test I should be taking. This is not a test I am prepared to pass. But the bittersweet acknowledgement of nothing hurts every single time. Toss in the bin. Brush my teeth. Carry on.
I failed a test this morning.
A fresh reminder that my medicine is also the massacre of my imagined motherhood. That my ability to procreate may be past, possibly present, far-fetched in the future. The title I’ve yearned for for years, forever just out of reach for one reason or another.
I failed a test this morning.
And I should’ve known, because all week has felt like I’ve been riding a tornado through the day. Turbulent tremors of emotion hit me, wreck me, and move along as if I were nothing more than collateral damage in my own existence. When afternoon arrives and I see the first crimson clot since Christmas, I know. The celebrated symptoms were the eviction of the possibility of parenthood, the unfilled vacancy being ransacked by delinquents. So I cry quietly in my stall as the person next to me flushes and flees.
I failed a test this morning.
And it takes a piece of me every time I do.
feature image by Susan Wilkinson via Unsplash
About the Author
Ariel Neitch is a writer from Buffalo, NY, where she lives with her partner and their spoiled dog, Remy. She has always had a passion for telling stories and creating art. She suffers from endometriosis and expresses her emotions surrounding that diagnosis in her poetry. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys reading, making collages, and taking day trips to unique locales. She’s working on a memoir.
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