My period’s a week late and I’m 20 and I can’t stop refreshing Google
I’m sitting on my couch right now, cold coffee from this morning’s 8am lecture sweating through the coaster on my coffee table, and my roommate’s tabby cat is chewing on the drawstring of my sweatpants like it’s his personal toy. I’ve been here for an hour and I haven’t moved except to refresh Google for the fourth time this afternoon. It says stress can delay your period. It says weight fluctuations, changing birth control, even too much exercise can throw your cycle off. I know all that. I’ve read it 17 times. It doesn’t help.
I’ve always bitched about my period, honestly. It comes like clockwork, cramping so bad I have to skip yoga once a month, I bled through two pairs of underwear my freshman year, and I’ve always complained “god, why can’t it just skip a month when I’m busy with midterms?” Stupid. So stupid. Now that it’s actually gone missing, I’d give 50 bucks to have it show up right now—even with the worst cramps, even if I have to run to the store for extra-heavy pads at 10pm in the rain. I’d take it.
I couldn’t bring myself to buy a test until yesterday. The only drugstore within walking distance is the one on the corner by campus, and the cashier is that guy from my bio 101 lecture. He sits three rows ahead of me, once he lent me a pencil when I forgot mine before the midterm. I couldn’t imagine walking up to his counter with just a pregnancy test, could I? I’d die of embarrassment right there on the linoleum. So I wandered around the store for 15 minutes, throwing random crap in my basket to hide it: a bottle of peach shampoo I don’t need, a pack of sour watermelon candy, a pack of mint gum that costs three dollars for absolutely no reason. I dumped all of it on the counter first, slid the test under the shampoo at the last second. He didn’t even glance at it, just rang everything up, said “have a good one.” I walked home so fast my sides hurt, like if I ran slow enough the test would somehow turn into something else on the way.
I tried to call my sister last night, just to talk, but I couldn’t get the words out. She’s three years older, lives in Portland, I know she’d be nice about it, no matter what. But every time I tried to say “my period’s late” my throat just closed up. I remember when I was 12, my mom sat me down and told me if I ever missed a period, no matter what, I had to tell her right away. Back then I was so embarrassed I wanted to hide under the dining room table. Now I have her number pulled up on my phone, and I can’t press call. I don’t even know what I’d say. I’m 20, I pay half my tuition, I have my own off-campus apartment, I’m an adult, right? But right now I just feel like that 12 year old who got her first period in the middle of gym class and wanted to run home and cry into her mom’s shoulder.
I locked myself in the bathroom after I got home, peed on the stick, set the timer on my phone for three minutes. Those three minutes were the longest of my life. I leaned against the sink, my bare feet on the cold chipped tile, and I could hear my roommate outside watching Love Island, laughing so loud at something one of the contestants said. The world is just going on, right? Everyone else is fine, everyone else is worrying about midterms or their date this weekend or what to order for dinner, and I’m in the bathroom waiting to find out if my whole life is about to flip upside down. I thought about the internship I got for this summer, the one I applied for three times, the one that’s in Chicago, that I’ve been so excited about for a year. I thought about the road trip me and my friend are planning for spring break, how we booked the coastal campsite back in October. All of that just felt… far away, all of a sudden.
The timer beeped. I flipped the stick over. One line. Negative. I cried a little, I think, just from all the tension leaking out. But it’s been a day and a half, and my period still isn’t here. Google said if you test too early it can come back negative even if you are pregnant. I know that. So now I’m back to refreshing, back to checking the toilet paper every time I go to the bathroom, back to twisting my stomach into knots every time I feel a little twinge that’s not a cramp.
I bailed on my study group this afternoon. I told them I had a stomach bug, which isn’t even a lie, sort of. My stomach’s been twisted tight for a week. I’m eating that sour watermelon candy I bought, it’s so sour my tongue feels numb, and the cat is still chewing on my sweatpants drawstring. I know I should call the campus clinic tomorrow, make an appointment, get a blood test just to be sure. I know everything will probably be fine—midterms have been kicking my ass, I’ve pulled four all-nighters in two weeks, I stopped the combined pill a couple months ago because it made my mood all wonky, that can throw your cycle off for ages, right? All that makes sense. But knowing doesn’t make the fear go away.
No one really talks about this part, do they? Everyone either says “it’ll be fine” or starts listing what you should do next, and I don’t want that right now. I don’t need a pep talk. I just want to sit here on my couch, eat my too-sour candy, and be 20 and scared, for a little while longer. Tomorrow I’ll call the clinic. Tomorrow I’ll deal with whatever it is. Today I just get to be scared.
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