For everyone who’s ever had a pregnancy scare, there’s nothing, well, scarier. As soon as you’re a day  late..it’s over. The panic starts to rush in and you can’t stop thinking about it; in the shower, while you’re getting ready, through class.  As soon as 3pm hits you rush to CVS and buy the first pregnancy test you see.

You get home, pee on the stick, and three magical minutes later, you find the result.

Well, unless you sign up to receive a free at home pregnancy test from onefreepregnancytest.com , then you also receive a nice little (actually really long) letter from your potentially unborn child.

I wish I was kidding.

It seems that one pro-life group has taken to offering free at-home pregnancy tests as a means to spread their pro-life message. Except, until now, no one really knew that’s what was happening. Girls just thought they were saving some money; not that they were about to receive a letter from the unborn child they may or may not be having, pleading with them to let him or her live.

I understand that pro-choice vs. pro-life is a huge debate, and one which people get quite passionate about, but this just seems to take things a bit too far.

Read the letter then tell us what you think.

How could a day of TV lead to pregnancy, you ask?
It can’t. I mean, I guess it could if someone else was under that blanket with me…and we were watching porn, but I was alone.

And I was watching TLC’s, I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.

This show is not new, but it was my first time watching. And unfortunately for me, there were quite a few episodes on back to back. And I was too lazy/scared stiff to change the channel.

The premise of the show is simple (and pretty obvious from the title): real women who did not know they were pregnant have babies. Sometimes in toilets.

While the dramatizations are hilarious (seriously, where do they find these actors?), the actual events are not. Nor is the fact that there are enough women in the world dealing with this to turn it into an actual series. And did I mention that one woman pulled down her leggings to find a baby hanging out in there?

OMG it’s terrifying.

But much like the train wreck that was the 2 hour premier of Jersey Shore, I couldn’t look away. Hours passed and there I was, clutching my stomach, watching women have surprise babies. By the end of the day, I was crying, my stomach was hurting, and I was craving potato chips. Naturally, I convinced myself I was with child.

I barely slept that night, visions of shoving a baby into my teeny dorm room flooding my mind. When I finally gave up on sleep at 7am on Sunday morning, I ran to CVS. I grabbed the 3-pack of tests (one wass not enough seeing as many of these women took a test and it came back negative), a bag of chips (because my pregnant hormones wouldn’t rest without some salt) and a bottle of wine.

“Wait… baby can’t have wine,” I thought to myself. I put the bottle down, grabbed some natural fruit juice instead, ignored the judgey look from the cashier and ran home.

The good news is, assuming I did everything right, there are no buns in this oven. Or hands. Or feet.
The bad news is there is a giant bag of chips in there. And I have to come up with another way to explain the 10 pound weight gain these past 3 months. And I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to have sex again.

Thanks, TLC.

"OMG! I forgot I packed all these empty Bacardi bottles!"

At the end of senior year I shoved all my belongings into boxes and garbage bags without using any kind of rational order or logic. Whatever could fit in my boxes went in — and whatever couldn’t fit got thrown away.

Perfectly good pots and pans ended up in the dumpster (and soon after in a dumpster diver’s kitchen) while perfectly useless items like homemade off the shoulder t-shirts got rolled in bubble wrap and packed away.

This past weekend I moved into my new apartment and began unpacking all my boxes. It was like 8 nights of Hanukkah all rolled into one. I had forgotten I owned half of that stuff so each time I reached into a box and pulled something out it was like winning a raffle. The kind of raffle where you win prizes that are good for a laugh, yet have no purpose…a broken shower radio, a dirty mug, stolen freshman year dorm posters, a lime green shoe bag, 75,000 dryer sheets.

Basically nothing useful or even decorative for my new apartment. But they come from college and even though they should have been thrown out months ago, I can’t bear to part with them now. I held up every item and explained to my mother what each one meant to me. However she was increasingly less entertained as my stories got more personal. She finally cut me off at  “oh here’s the pregnancy test I – I mean my roommate – used one time she thought she was pregnant.”

My inability to throw anything away made me realize that I’m officially one of those old people who won’t ever get over college – or anything related to it. If I can practically sing the praises of a pregnancy test that originally gave me angina, there’s no hope left. I’m a few more trips-down-memory-lane away from tattooing the Syracuse fight song onto my face. Once I do that there’s even a chance I might actually follow the basketball team’s season.

Will I ever be OK with real life? Will I ever start stories with something other than, “This one time in college….”? Will I ever understand the concept of “Just one drink”?

Who knows, but in the meantime I’m trying to find space in my jail cell of a room to fit all my Syracuse memorabilia. NYC apartment bedrooms are roughly equivalent to a fourth of the space of dorm bedrooms. I have my bed on risers on top of my dresser on risers on top of my underbed storage box. So it’s an understatement saying it’s going to be hard to fit everything from my old life along with everything from my new life. Especially with the giant box of costumes I unearthed this morning.

“I can’t get rid if it, mom! You never know when you’ll need orange rubber wading pants in NYC.”

We thought we’d help and every Thursday our friend Dr. Lissa Rankin will be answering your questions. The ones you couldn’t ask your doctor in person and didn’t really trust the Yahoo community to answer for you. Just leave your questions in the comments, or send em over to us. (We’ll keep it all anonymous for you.) Dr. Lissa will answer anything – really, anything – about sex and other lady things. Don’t be shy; she’s waiting for ya!

Q: My period is irregular every month. Sometimes it comes 6 weeks apart and other times it can be up to 9.  I am not on birth control (can’t handle the side effects) and practice safe sex with my boyfriend. The problem is that I get freaked out every month that I’m pregnant. How soon can I take the test? Are there any signs I can look for that will either tell me I’m absolutely not pregnant or that maybe I am?

A: Sounds like your periods are annoying, unpredictable and scary. Bummer about that.  Chances are, if your periods are that irregular, that you’re not ovulating regularly, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to worry about pregnancy. Your ovaries can still spit out an egg from time to time. When you’re not ovulating regularly, your uterus doesn’t know when to bleed, and your hormones can be all over the place.  Why might you be skipping periods or not ovulating?

Common Reasons for Irregular, Infrequent Periods:

- You exercise vigorously (think marathon runners and competitive gymnasts)
- You have an eating disorder.
- You’re overweight.
- You’re young and your body just hasn’t matured yet.
- You’re under a lot of stress.
- Your thyroid hormones are out of whack.
- You have polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS).

What can you do about irregular, infrequent periods?

See your gynecologist. A thorough physical exam and laboratory evaluation are in order. If you can’t take birth control pills, progesterone therapy may help balance out your hormones, assuming there isn’t some other underlying cause.

In the mean time, what can you do about the pregnancy scares? That’s tricky. There’s no reliable sign to signal to you whether you’re definitely pregnant. Some people experience nausea, breast-tenderness, and fatigue in early pregnancy, but many women do not. Technically, a pregnancy test should be positive within two weeks of ovulation, but since you have no clue when or if you’re ovulating, that makes it tough to time taking pregnancy tests. You can try taking a pregnancy test four weeks after the first day of your last period, when you would expect your period to come if it was regular. If that’s negative, repeat it every two weeks after that until your next period comes.

But that’s just a band-aid. You’re better off getting to the root of the problem and seeing a doctor.  Good luck, honey. I hope you get it sorted out.

So you bring home a (somewhat) nice guy one night and decide to get your freak on. Two horny willing participants? Check. Place to do the deed? Check. Condom? Check. Congratulations, you’ve done the responsible thing.

Things get heated up, and you’re too busy blissing out to notice anything, until your man-of-the-night pulls out and says “Um, I don’t know where the condom is…” (actual quote from a friend of mine). Yep, that thin latex bugger slipped off, exposing you to both his swimmers and any potential diseases he might have. Now what?

1) Breathe. Don’t panic. Accidents happen.

2) Find the damn thing. Check the bed, the sheets, the wall? If those locations turn up nothing, take a trip to the bathroom and check out yourself. Yes, there. Sounds gross, but chances are, that’s where it’s ended up.

3) Make sure you’re on the pill. While, of course, it’s not going to protect you 100% from getting knocked-up, it will help ease your nerves. Still freaking out? Continue to step 4…

4) Take a trip to your local pharmacy and pick up some handy-dandy Plan-B. It’s available over the counter in most places, so you should be able to pick it up at any Walgreens or CVS. Follow the directions (or ask a pharmacist) and you will be on your way to ensuring your belly stays baby free.

5) As most STIs don’t show symptoms for weeks, your only real option here is to wait it out. Of course, having the awkward “So.. have you been checked?” talk wouldn’t hurt. Best course of action is to go get yourself checked out, symptoms or not. It’s the best way to get some peace of mind.

6) Celebrate. Then pray that little guys stays put the next time around.

 For the past few weeks I have been freaking out about the fact that I might be pregnant. My period has always been irregular and I go months without it quite often, but for some reason I couldn’t shake the idea that I might soon be sharing my apartment with a 6th roommate….and binkies and bottles.

I knew deep down that there was no possible way there was a baby in by belly (I use multiple forms of birth control), but whenever I would feel a pain in my stomach, or have the urge to dip things in frosting, I let my paranoia get the best of me. I would go to CVS to buy a pregnancy test, but every time I walked into the store I would freak out at the prospect of a little blue plus sign showing up and walk out empty handed.

It just seemed easier not to know for sure and let the irrational thoughts pass.

Until I had yet another odd stomachache. Sure, it could have been caused by the large amount of candy I ate for dinner, but I finally mustered up the courage to find out the truth.

I waited until 10pm – I thought the store would be less crowded…and I wanted to watch my shows – and talked to myself the entire way there. “You can do this. You will be fine. You are not preggers. You just ate too much candy corn.” Nothing helped.

I picked up a Diet Coke and chugged it as I scoured the aisles for the pregnancy tests. The artificial sweetness calmed my frazzled nerves, and the 20 ounces of liquid prepared my bladder for the big task. I finally found them… right next to the “Female Cleansers.” I prayed not to run into anyone I knew; I didn’t want people to think I needed to buy douche!

But that was the least of my problems – pregnancy tests are expensive! I was left with a decision: buy the name brand for $15, or the CVS brand for $8. Was this the right time to be bargain hunting? At the same time, though, I’m a poor college student! I spent 15 minutes comparing the boxes, which is a long time when you have 20 ounces of Diet Coke in your bladder and a potential bun in the oven.

I ultimately went the cheap route (what can I say? I’m frugal), and took my purchase to the front counter. And this is when things got really awkward. There was quite a long line for 10:30 pm at CVS. Luckily, I didn’t see anyone I knew, but I did notice the strange look the CVS employee gave me as he rang me up. Well, attempted to ring me up. Turns out the box I chose was damaged and he had to call for a price check. Yes, a price check. On the loud speaker. So everyone in line could hear.

“Price check on the CVS home pregnancy test!” Everyone stared at me. A stock boy came quickly with a new, undamaged box, but it was too late; everyone already knew that I was damaged goods with a damaged box.

Hands shaking, I whipped a $20 out of my bag, threw it on the counter, and ran out of the store before I could even get my change. So much for the bargain. I saw a few friends walking in as I ran by and thanked god they hadn’t been there 1 minute earlier. When I finally made it home, I didn’t have the opportunity to second guess the test; I almost peed my pants. I opened the box, unwrapped the little stick and got a nice fat minus sign.

Clearly, it was a giant relief, although I am still plagued with the task of finding a new CVS to shop at…

Their findings, highlighted on BettyConfidential.com, are surprising and hilarious. Here’s what you, college ladies, had to say:

Did you know that vegetarians enjoy giving oral sex 2.5 times more than carnivores do? (Dramatic pause as you snap a carrot from the crudites platter.)

Redheads are eight percent more likely to participate in a menage a trois than college students with other hair hues. Also, 24 percent of redheads have taken naked photos or posted sexy videos of themselves online. (Lucille Ball would be so proud.)

Lest you think carrotheads are the only kinky kids out there, nearly 60 percent of college students have participated in a one-night stand. And 41 percent have had sex while someone else is in the room. Sounds more risqué than it is, when you calculate the inevitable roommate factor. Ah, dormmates, the mother of exhibitionism.

Next time a friend or offspring announces her longing for a tattoo, throw some tat stats in her face. According to the study, students with tattoos are twice as likely to have STDs and take pregnancy tests than their tat-free counterparts. They may also be destined to a lifetime of boring sex, as tattooed folks prefer the missionary 2-to-1 to the cowgirl position.

Do you agree with these findings? And don’t you think it’s weird that people who don’t eat meat like to…well, you know.

[Read part one HERE]

Finally, I left the store with no pregnancy test and no lack of huffing and stomping. As I drove to the next grocery store, I started to think about what I would do when the test told me I was pregnant.

I had all but assumed that I was, at that point. I had talked about it with my boyfriend, who was enormously supportive, as we tried to figure out how I could be pregnant. We were almost always safe when we had full on sex, but not quite as safe during foreplay. And there was that time we played the pull out game.

I honestly had never really thought about this situation before, because in the almost three years that we had been having sex and playing that game occasionally, nothing like this had ever happened, not even close.

I stood in line at the next grocery store, sandwiched between two harried looking mothers and their brood, and cursed myself for being so stupid. I should have gotten on the pill even though it was expensive and made me fat, I should have used spermicide even though it grosses me out, I should have made my boyfriend wear a condom at all times, even when I was just thinking about sex.

Eventually, I bought the damn pregnancy test. I read the instructions and, in my haste to be done with the damn thing, made the mistake of not peeing on it long enough. I sat on the toilet, staring in fury at the now useless pregnancy test that had taken so much guts and time and money to acquire and threw it across the room. I was mad at the thing, yes, but mostly, I was so mad at myself, that I wanted to cry.

I’ve always been the responsible friend, the knowledgeable friend, the friend that went with my other friends to hold their hands when they got tested or the morning after pill, or even an abortion. Mostly, I was the friend that had preached about safe sex until I was blue in the face and once I had found the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, and we both got tested, being so strict about it had become less of a priority.

I was too lazy, too wrapped up in everything else going on in my life and too damn sure that nothing so horrible could ever happen to me. To others, yes, but never to me.

I made an appointment with a doctor for a real pregnancy test and another to get a pap and a prescription for the pill if I wasn’t pregnant. And almost immediately afterwards, as if I was in some sort of movie, I felt a twinge of dull pain start in my lower abdomen.

With a hope like almost nothing I’ve felt before, I rushed to the bathroom and checked. I had started my period. I had never been so happy to see the godd*mn thing in my entire life.

I was relieved when it finally came, but I was still disappointed in myself. I had gotten comfortable in my relationship, too comfortable, and barely escaped having to take real responsibility for my utter and complete stupidity. I can see the lesson, alright, I just really, really, hope that I’ve learned it.

I’m at a certain age and place in my life where I thought the time had come and gone for bad decision making. You do enough stupid things that at some point, you are supposed to cross this imaginary line into something that looks suspiciously like adulthood. Once on the other side of this line, you can look back on all the youthful blunders you and people close to you have made and you learn from it, move forward.

As of last week, I was forced to admit that maybe I hadn’t come quite as far as I thought I had.

I had a pregnancy scare.

My period isn’t like clockwork, but it’s close enough that I know the part of the month in which it will fall. As March drew to a close, I looked at my calendar and realized that I hadn’t had my period when it was supposed to come, around the 12th.

At first, I didn’t think anything of it. Two weeks was a long time, but I had been stressed out from school and I wasn’t eating as well as I should have been. I also sit next to about four girls at work, so I assumed that we were syncing.

Every day that my period didn’t come, I felt the small lump of fear in my chest grow exponentially. I kept finding little things that made me worry, like the fact that my breasts were tender and that despite the fact that I wasn’t eating as much and getting a lot of exercise, I thought that I was gaining weight. I started to feel nauseous, and although part of myself knew that I was feeling this way because I was scared and I was almost looking for these telltale signs, they persisted.

Finally, I broke down and decided to buy a pregnancy test. I went to the grocery store closest to my house and found all the pregnancy tests, along with all of the lube, condoms, yeast infection creams, and douches locked in this cabinet of shame near the pharmacy.

I waited in line for about twenty minutes for someone at the customer service desk to unlock the cabinet of shame and the while I was waiting there, I started to get…furious.

Part of me chalked it up to my pregnant mood swings and part of me felt very justified in my anger. Why the f*ck did they have to put the top ten most difficult things for people to buy in a grocery store in a locked cabinet? Isn’t it bad enough to have to stand in the pregnancy test aisle, compare prices, and then walk your purchase up to the front counter and weather the awkward stare from the barely post pubescent male ringing you up? I realize now that these things are put in the cabinet of shame to deter theft, but at the time, all I could figure was that I was being punished for slutty decisions.

[Stay tuned for Part 2...]