I've been visiting with my family this last week. I was supposed to test the day I left home but I knew that wasn't going to happen. Because if I did, I'd spend the entire 9 hour plane ride crying and thinking horrible thoughts. Though it is more common than ever before, I still hate crying in public.
I actually came down with a nasty bug on the last day of my trip: fever, drippy nose like you wouldn't believe, totally stuffed up- the fully monty. It was horrible. My mom tried everything in her arsenal to try to get me to take a HPT because she wanted to be able to give me some meds to help make me feel better for the flight home. I knew she was just trying to help me and I know my reasoning wasn't rational, but I wouldn't do it.
I'd rather endure a plane ride with a horrible cold than to see yet another BFN.
The next day my RE's office kept calling me to find out the result of my test. And I kept not answering. But by the time dinner rolled around, I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. I finally mustered up all my courage and peed on that damn stick. I already knew that elusive 2nd line wasn't going to show. But it still really hurt.
It was that pain that I was trying to avoid.