I took my last blue pill this morning. The blue pills are the Theralogix "Reproductive Support" supplements that I've been on for the last 2+ years - basically a men's pre-natal vitamin. My wife ordered the first bottle back on March 6, 2012; I've placed 7 more orders since then. Twice a day, morning and night, every day for the last 25 months. 1440 pills. This morning was the last one. I "celebrated" this morning with a cup of coffee from Taco Bell - the fully leaded variety - and I have to confess that, yes, it will be nice to not have to take those pills any longer. But it's not a conventional cause for celebration, and I don't really feel like celebrating. All those pills were taken in an effort to convince my body to work the way that nature intended. To try and bring a brand new life into the world. But I won't take another pill tonight, not because I'll forget or because the next order hasn't arrived yet. I won't take another pill tonight because another order hasn't been, and will never be, placed.
I've done more semen analyses than I can honestly remember now. I've been through varicocele surgery - invasive, embarrassing, and extraordinarily painful - to try and correct my "issues." 2+ years of twice-daily vitamins. Changed my coffee intake from regular, to half-caff, to decaf, and given up sodas entirely. I've been on Clomid pills, then hormone injections, when Clomid didn't help. I've shoved ice packs down my pants, focused desk fans on my crotch, because our office heater has a tendency to run wild on cold days, and I was scared to death that just going to work was going to compromise our chances for a kid. I've had my semen cryogenically stored, "just in case," and then we went through IVF. I put my wife through the invasiveness, humiliation, and physical/emotional pain of IVF, and all that goes with it. All to try and bring a child with my DNA into the world. A "little piece of me." But today it finally stops.
It means that I'll be able to go back to regular coffee again - the one thing I used to look forward to getting up for on work mornings. It means that I'll be able to go to our family doctor and ask to start treatments for my "low T"; I should be too young to have this issue, but I do, and addressing it will have numerous benefits for my health in general. It means that I won't have to be paranoid about the temperature of my office anymore, and I won't have to pay for and take any more blue pills. Those are all good things, and I'm glad for them. But I don't feel like celebrating. Because it also means the start of the end of a dream.
There will be no "little me" in this world. Ever. The one cycle of IVF that we did resulted in two precious embryos with my genes and my wife's, but neither of them made it. That loss nearly killed us both. We could try again, but the doctor was honest, and the odds are very stacked against us. It took a miracle for us to get as far as we did with that one cycle, so the seeming almost certainty of doing another cycle is that it would only result in more loss, more pain, and still no baby in our arms. The tiny chance of success is not worth the overwhelming risk of failure. "But you could always have a miracle on your own! There's always that chance!" - no, really there's not. Most of the treatments we've tried on me have made my numbers worse, not better, and I've been teetering dangerously close to the edge of azoospermia already (two sperm counts of single digits). Once I start testosterone treatment, I know that will take my sperm count from "low" to "no," but it's a treatment that I want and need to do for my general well-being. So it's time to give up on my genes.
And that sucks. Boy, does it. It really sucks for me, and it sucks for my wife too, because she wanted that "little piece of me" just as much as I did. It's not fair to either one of us for this to be happening, but this disease is not fair to anybody. In recent weeks I've felt my old familiar, the black dog of depression, scratching at my door again. Oftentimes he's made it inside. Music is therapy for me, so I've made a playlist of sad songs on my iPod, most of which have nothing to do with our situation specifically. But music conveys feelings that words never can, so I'll play those songs and sing along as I'm driving to or from work, because expressing those emotions helps me to deal.
One week from right now, we'll be sitting in the doctor's office at our fertility clinic again. After our loss last July, and our post-IVF follow-up in August, we took the next several months off to focus on our physical and emotional health. I'm glad that we did, because I feel like it's helped us reconnect with each other, and grow even closer. But it's time to go back now. Neither of us is ready yet to quit and live childfree for the rest of our days. So it's time for us to go and talk to our doctor about using donor sperm.
There was a time when I didn't think that donor sperm would ever be an acceptable possibility for me. When I was first diagnosed infertile back in October of 2011, my knee-jerk reaction to the idea of donor sperm was one of revulsion. I was later offended when my wife told me that her mother had asked/suggested if we had considered using donor sperm. (I still kind of am.) I was hurt a couple of months ago when my wife brought up the topic of donor sperm again, as in my mind, that door had been shut for good. She later regretted bringing it up again, and she apologized to me multiple times, but she had brought it up for good reasons. And I'm honestly glad now that she did.
The door to donor sperm was shut in my mind, so the only door I still saw open was another cycle of IVF. On the bad days, my wife had told me several times since last summer that she didn't want to do IVF again, because we knew the odds, and we knew how much it hurt the first time, and deep down I agreed with her. I didn't want to do it again either, was scared to try it again, felt terrible for having asked her to go through all of that in the first place. I wasn't willing to admit how I felt, though, because I thought that by saying so, we'd be closing the final door on ever having any children at all. We had talked about calling the clinic to schedule another appointment, but the thought of that conversation only ever filled me with dread. I had felt hopeful going into our first cycle. Knowing how it turned out... not so much anymore.
But once I got past my initial negative feelings about donor sperm, I realized that calling for that kind of appointment didn't carry half the anxiety associated with IVF. Suddenly the focus wouldn't be on my "brokenness" anymore, or on forcing my wife through IVF to try and overcome my body's issues. Our odds with IVF were poor at best, but given our particular medical situation, IUI with donor sperm should have a better than good chance at success. Nothing guaranteed, of course, but life comes with no guarantees anyway. The physical and financial obstacles to doing donor insemination seem to be much more surmountable than those with any other option left to us, and even failure doesn't carry the fear of more lost embryos. It was only the emotional obstacles that I was still dealing with.
Because using donor sperm is inherently unfair - to both partners, but especially to the man. If it works, the wife will forever, 100%, in every sense of the word, be a "mother." But deciding on donor sperm means that the man is forced to give up on being a "father" - biologically, anyway. It means giving up the fight to beat his physical inferility; the disease wins. Yes, he'll still raise the kid, yes, he'll still love them, but the only part he'll play in bringing that life into being is writing the damn check. (Unless his wife pays for it, and then he won't even do that.) And that bothers me. A "daddy by donor" is only ever a step-father, or an adoptive father... and I've had three step-dads thanks to my mom. None of them good. It feels wrong to place another man's sperm inside your wife's body, it's unfair then to be forced to watch her belly grow for 9 months with a child he didn't put there, and even the announcements that were so longed for for so long would carry with them mixed feelings. "Congratulations, you're pregnant!" "Finally! But... oh." How do you tell the kid? How will he or she take it? What will friends and family think, when the kid inevitably lets it slip? And - this scares me most of all - what happens when the kid inevitably gets angry at you, and hurls the javelin, "You're not my real father!" Right through the heart. This path will open wounds that I know I'll carry for the rest of my life.
But. But. One thing that happened in the wake of our failed IVF was that I finally found myself open to the idea of adoption. My wife did too. Then we discovered that more of our friends were adopted than we ever realized, and every one of them only had glowing things to say about their adoptive parents. If I was willing to be a dad by adoption, if I knew that I could love and raise that child as my own, then why couldn't I do the same with donor sperm? Of course, if adoption is more palatable, then why not do adoption now? Or at least adopt a donor embryo? But reality is that adoption can cost as much or more - possibly much, MUCH more - than IVF, and we exhausted the only big source of funds we could get when we took the IVF step. Donor embryo still carries with it the fear of losing those embryos should you fail. And honestly, if I'm willing to adopt and love a child that's not biologically mine, then why not adopt a child that's at least half a "little piece" of the woman that I love more than my own life?
Unlike adoption, it means I still get to do all the "dad" things that I looked forward to if we'd been able to get my own sperm to work. My wife will get a "you're pregnant!" announcement, and I'll get to hold her as we inevitably laugh, smile, and cry, all at the same time. I'll get to see the sonograms, get to hear that first heartbeat. I'll get to make 2:00am taco runs when my wife craves Taco Bell, I'll get to be the nervous dad rushing her to the hospital for every false alarm. I'll get to be the nervous wreck of a dad waiting in the waiting room, or (hopefully) by her side in delivery, and I'll get to hold that newborn child in my arms. It won't be biologically mine, but I'll still get to be there every single step of the way, just as if it was. And it may not have come from my sperm, but it's still a life that would not exist if my wife and I hadn't wanted SO MUCH to bring it into this world. There will be no mistake, no "oops" baby. That child will be utterly, infinitely, and forever loved, and wanted.
No, I don't like the "other man's sperm" idea, but I can accept it by knowing that I'll still be the only lover my wife will ever have again. I was finally able to bring myself to begin looking at donor profiles last night, and I was actually getting excited. Not put off by the process, as I'd thought I'd be. The two biggest things that I wanted to pass down to my own children were my red hair and my intelligence, and a quick search for red-haired Caucasian donors turned up several promising results. No, if they have red hair, they won't have gotten it from me, but it will still be a point of connection for me and the child both - "I have red hair like daddy." I'll still raise them exactly as if they were mine. I'll still love them exactly as if they were mine. Because they will be mine.
I want to be open with the child about where they came from, as early as they want to know. It will be their information to share, and if questions come up from friends and family, then we'll deal with those as they come. No shameful secrets. If that child ever asks me, "Daddy? Do you wish you were my bio dad?" I'll tell them - truthfully - "Yes. But I'm still your dad in every possible other way. And I wouldn't change anything about you, because then you wouldn't be who you are. I love who you are." My parents were married, but they got divorced while I was on the way, so my dad was functionally a sperm donor too. I've never known him at all. So I know what that's like. So, too, if our child ever decides that they want to find out more about their bio dad, or about that side of the family - I'll be the first in line to help them find out.
My desire in having kids was to be for them and do for them all the things that I never got, growing up without a dad. It's a cruel twist, then, that any kids I'll get the chance to be a dad to will carry with them the same wound of not knowing their biological dad. That's absolutely exactly what I never wanted to do to my own children. But because I do know what that's like, maybe I'm better equipped to handle it than most? And they will still have 1000% more than I ever did from my own dad, because they will have a father who is there, and who loves them, and who will always be there and always love them, every step of the way.
I never wanted to be here, forced to make this decision. I never thought I'd get here, willing to accept it. But here I am. I celebrated that last pill this morning anyway.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Mad Season
Of course. Of course NOW is when work decides to implement a policy requiring all employees to be here from 8:00am sharp to at least 5:00pm sharp, under threat of penalty if you don't comply, further cutting into my already minimal sleep schedule and forcing my morning commute into the busiest (and riskiest) possible window. Of course they'll add this on top of asking me to work one full-time position while spending at least 25% of my time training another full-time employee. On top of implementing a new work tracking system that EVERYONE, EVERYONE, EVERYONE who is not a manager HATES. I already documented all of my crap; it's not my fault that no one else did! Now the "documenting" many times takes longer than the work itself, and what used to be a 5-15 minute job now regularly takes at least a week and a half, and oh, by the way, you'll be asked to work evenings or weekends almost every week too so that you can complete that 5-minute task when no one is using the system, BUT NO ONE WOULD CARE AND NOTHING WOULD BREAK IF YOU DID IT DURING YOUR 8:00-5:00 IMPRISONMENT ANYWAY. My users loved me because of my quick turnaround time on resolving issues, but now you're making me and the rest of the department look WORSE because you have to wait a week and a half to get a FUCKING FIVE MINUTE TASK DONE.
Of course work would dump all of that crap on my head NOW, when I'm only trying to deal with having just come as close as we've ever come to FINALLY becoming parents, and we even actually had two eggs fertilized, so technically we already are parents. But neither of our tiny babies survived. We were forced to say goodbye before we ever got the chance to say hello, and so we're mourning the hardest loss of our lives. And not only that, we're faced with the very real fear that we've already come as close to being parents as we'll ever get, so not only do we mourn the loss of our babies, we mourn the lifelong dream of parenthood that's at strong risk of dying soon too. Of course this would happen right when two other friends are announcing their happy first pregnancies, and right when the whole world decides to go insane over a #RoyalBaby that NO ONE FUCKING CARES ABOUT. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP.
God, I feel betrayed. I feel that You led us on, only to betray us. Like we're the victims of some cruel cosmic joke, and You don't care how much it hurts. I'm not turning my back on You, but I'm having an awfully hard time trusting You now, and I sure as hell don't understand the point and purpose of all of this crap. Why the FUCK, God? Why the FUCK, God? Why the FUCK, God, did our babies have to die? And how the FUCK is it better, and good, and right, that You should slam the door in our faces when we prayed for our baby's life, so that now we're crushed under this emotional weight that "heartbreak" doesn't even begin to cover. I'm not turning my back on You, but I sure as hell hate You every time my wife breaks down in tears again. You gave her to me, and I've done EVERYTHING I could, EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY to try and take care of her the best that I could, only to have YOU crush her in a way that I can't help with at all, that I can't do ANYTHING to even begin to make better, and it seems that every time I try, I only end up making things worse still. You have brought to reality all of my worst fears, every single FUCKING thing that I prayed to avoid, and all for what? For what? So that You could take our babies away from us? How is that better than this? How is that good for us? How is that right? Why the hell did You answer one prayer to keep our baby alive, only to make it hurt that much more when You took them away 10 days later?
I don't understand, God, and I'm struggling with this harder than anything else I ever have. And I've got a hell of a family history including divorce, adultery, neglect, abuse, attempted rape/murder, and death, so that's saying one hell of a lot. This is the hardest thing that I've ever done, and it's even harder on my wife, and I just wish I knew what to do. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where we're going. The one thing I'm sure of is that I love my wife with every whit of my being, and nothing will ever, EVER change that. But that doesn't fix anything. That doesn't even make any of it easier. I miss our babies, and I FUCKING HATE THIS FUCKING DISEASE, and I always vowed to defend my wife from anyone that would even try to hurt her. I never expected it to be You, God.
I'm exhausted. I'm mourning. I'm terrified of the finality of trying and failing again, but the alternative is to give up and resign ourselves to staying in this place. So we can either stay here, or we can try to escape and end up back here again anyway. It's a hell of a choice, but any chance is better than no chance at all. I'm just terrified that it won't work, and that we will end up stuck in this place again. God, that's the one thing that keeps me clinging to You right now. I know that it's all still ultimately in Your hands. You can still get us out of this, and I hope that You do. I'm just terrified that You won't.
I wish I knew why we're here... though really, even knowing why wouldn't change where we are, so I'm not sure that knowing would do much good anyway. I really wish I knew where to go from here. But all that I can do is keep walking and pray that our faith is not in vain. That Your promises ARE real, and true. That You do have something better in store for us, but I sure as hell can't see it now. Just keep doing what I've always done with my wife, and that is to love her with every whit of my being, every day, in every way that I can.
Of course work would dump all of that crap on my head NOW, when I'm only trying to deal with having just come as close as we've ever come to FINALLY becoming parents, and we even actually had two eggs fertilized, so technically we already are parents. But neither of our tiny babies survived. We were forced to say goodbye before we ever got the chance to say hello, and so we're mourning the hardest loss of our lives. And not only that, we're faced with the very real fear that we've already come as close to being parents as we'll ever get, so not only do we mourn the loss of our babies, we mourn the lifelong dream of parenthood that's at strong risk of dying soon too. Of course this would happen right when two other friends are announcing their happy first pregnancies, and right when the whole world decides to go insane over a #RoyalBaby that NO ONE FUCKING CARES ABOUT. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP.
God, I feel betrayed. I feel that You led us on, only to betray us. Like we're the victims of some cruel cosmic joke, and You don't care how much it hurts. I'm not turning my back on You, but I'm having an awfully hard time trusting You now, and I sure as hell don't understand the point and purpose of all of this crap. Why the FUCK, God? Why the FUCK, God? Why the FUCK, God, did our babies have to die? And how the FUCK is it better, and good, and right, that You should slam the door in our faces when we prayed for our baby's life, so that now we're crushed under this emotional weight that "heartbreak" doesn't even begin to cover. I'm not turning my back on You, but I sure as hell hate You every time my wife breaks down in tears again. You gave her to me, and I've done EVERYTHING I could, EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY to try and take care of her the best that I could, only to have YOU crush her in a way that I can't help with at all, that I can't do ANYTHING to even begin to make better, and it seems that every time I try, I only end up making things worse still. You have brought to reality all of my worst fears, every single FUCKING thing that I prayed to avoid, and all for what? For what? So that You could take our babies away from us? How is that better than this? How is that good for us? How is that right? Why the hell did You answer one prayer to keep our baby alive, only to make it hurt that much more when You took them away 10 days later?
I don't understand, God, and I'm struggling with this harder than anything else I ever have. And I've got a hell of a family history including divorce, adultery, neglect, abuse, attempted rape/murder, and death, so that's saying one hell of a lot. This is the hardest thing that I've ever done, and it's even harder on my wife, and I just wish I knew what to do. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where we're going. The one thing I'm sure of is that I love my wife with every whit of my being, and nothing will ever, EVER change that. But that doesn't fix anything. That doesn't even make any of it easier. I miss our babies, and I FUCKING HATE THIS FUCKING DISEASE, and I always vowed to defend my wife from anyone that would even try to hurt her. I never expected it to be You, God.
I'm exhausted. I'm mourning. I'm terrified of the finality of trying and failing again, but the alternative is to give up and resign ourselves to staying in this place. So we can either stay here, or we can try to escape and end up back here again anyway. It's a hell of a choice, but any chance is better than no chance at all. I'm just terrified that it won't work, and that we will end up stuck in this place again. God, that's the one thing that keeps me clinging to You right now. I know that it's all still ultimately in Your hands. You can still get us out of this, and I hope that You do. I'm just terrified that You won't.
I wish I knew why we're here... though really, even knowing why wouldn't change where we are, so I'm not sure that knowing would do much good anyway. I really wish I knew where to go from here. But all that I can do is keep walking and pray that our faith is not in vain. That Your promises ARE real, and true. That You do have something better in store for us, but I sure as hell can't see it now. Just keep doing what I've always done with my wife, and that is to love her with every whit of my being, every day, in every way that I can.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Dear Baby Adam
Dear Baby Adam,
I love you. I want that to be the first thing that you know, the one thing that you always know, even if one day it feels like all the world is crashing down around you - your Daddy loves you, with all of his heart. Your Mommy loves you, too - and we don't even know you yet! But we do love you. We can't wait to meet you. We've already been waiting for so long, it seems... but for someone as special as you, I know you'll be worth the wait.
It's been a hard road leading here, for your Mommy and I... obstacles popping up at every turn. Even now the obstacles seem determined to keep us away from you. But I'm determined not to let them. You are loved, little man, and don't you ever doubt it. Your Mommy and I will face the fires of Hell, if that's what it takes, for us to one day hold you in our arms. Never once doubt that you are wanted, and you are loved; even when it seems that everyone is against you, you are only ever loved here, no matter what.
It's easy to get lost in the struggles we've been facing, ever since we decided we were ready for you, and understandably so - all of this would cut the legs from under any person. But I realize now that it's not about us - your Mommy and I - and it's not about what we want. All of this is about you. We want to give you a chance; we want to show you the world. It's a big, scary world out there, but there is plenty of good, too, and this world needs more good people in it. And you know what? You're going to make this world a better place for you having lived in it. I'm proud of you, son. I have confidence in you. I know you're going to be a great man, and you're going to do great things, and I'm going to be standing right behind you, cheering you on every step of the way.
There was a long time when I didn't think that I would ever be a daddy; I doubted that I was lovable myself, and I didn't think that anyone would ever give me a chance. But I think that I've been getting ready for you all along. I sang the lullabies in high school that my grandmom had sung for me when I was little, and I imagined one day singing them for my own child. I wrote a poem for you in college (though it wasn't very good), and I sang for you more then. I've never met my father, and it wasn't until after college that I truly knew what that meant, but you will never, ever have to walk through this life alone. You will never doubt that you are loved, because I'm your Daddy, and I love you right now before I've ever even seen your face.
I hope you like music; I already know I'm going to be singing for you all the time. I promise I'll try to keep up with the current bands as you grow older, so that I can be one of those "cool" dads who "gets it" - even though I know you'll end up embarrassed by me eventually anyway. I hope you like baseball, so that I can take you to games as my mom did with me. I'll teach you about the stupid infield fly rule, and buy you hot dogs and nachos, and even if you don't like the Astros (my team) or the Braves (your mom's), I'll support your team of choice and cheer them to victory every day so I can see you happy. Or I hope you like animals, or Disney movies, or any of 1000 other things that I like, so that we can share those joys together. But you know what? Even if you don't, that's all okay too. I'll teach you to like some things, but you'll teach me to like others, and we'll have fun anyway.
I can't wait for you to meet your Mommy - she is still the most incredible woman that I have ever met. She makes me a better man, and I know that she'll raise incredible kids; I really am the luckiest man in the world to have her as my wife, and you'll be the luckiest kid to get to have her as your mom. She can teach you all about art and creating things - stuff that every kid loves to do. She's a great storyteller, and she'll take you to fantastical worlds on incredible journeys that will make your imagination soar. Just as I will, she will always make sure that you know how loved you are, and she'll teach you a passion for life that makes me smile and fall deeper in love with her every day that I get to spend by her side. It's because of her that I can't wait to meet you, because I know you'll be a little piece of her.
I love your Mommy with all of my heart, but there's room enough in my heart to love you with all of it too. That's why we want to meet you so badly - we've got all of this love to give. But this is about you, and we're doing this for you. Your Mommy's story and mine are intertwined; we're written together in a beautiful symphony, and we want to add your part. One day you will grow up, and you will move away, and your Mommy and I will go on together; our symphony will be that much more beautiful for having had you in it. But I can't wait for you to unleash your own symphony on the world. I know that it's going to be great.
Of course, you may be born Baby Anna (or whatever we decide to name you) instead of Baby Adam, but that's fine too. If you want me to dress up in the pointy purple princess hat with the silver star-spangled lace, then bring it on, baby girl - I'm man enough for fairy tales and unicorns. We'll still have daddy/daughter days, and no little girl will ever have been loved more. I've already tried to set that standard with your Mommy; of course that love will overflow to you, too.
Your Daddy loves you. Your Mommy loves you. We're going to fight for you, and we want you to fight for us, too. Let us give you a chance at life, and we'll take the world by storm. We'll be waiting here.
Love,
Daddy
I love you. I want that to be the first thing that you know, the one thing that you always know, even if one day it feels like all the world is crashing down around you - your Daddy loves you, with all of his heart. Your Mommy loves you, too - and we don't even know you yet! But we do love you. We can't wait to meet you. We've already been waiting for so long, it seems... but for someone as special as you, I know you'll be worth the wait.
It's been a hard road leading here, for your Mommy and I... obstacles popping up at every turn. Even now the obstacles seem determined to keep us away from you. But I'm determined not to let them. You are loved, little man, and don't you ever doubt it. Your Mommy and I will face the fires of Hell, if that's what it takes, for us to one day hold you in our arms. Never once doubt that you are wanted, and you are loved; even when it seems that everyone is against you, you are only ever loved here, no matter what.
It's easy to get lost in the struggles we've been facing, ever since we decided we were ready for you, and understandably so - all of this would cut the legs from under any person. But I realize now that it's not about us - your Mommy and I - and it's not about what we want. All of this is about you. We want to give you a chance; we want to show you the world. It's a big, scary world out there, but there is plenty of good, too, and this world needs more good people in it. And you know what? You're going to make this world a better place for you having lived in it. I'm proud of you, son. I have confidence in you. I know you're going to be a great man, and you're going to do great things, and I'm going to be standing right behind you, cheering you on every step of the way.
There was a long time when I didn't think that I would ever be a daddy; I doubted that I was lovable myself, and I didn't think that anyone would ever give me a chance. But I think that I've been getting ready for you all along. I sang the lullabies in high school that my grandmom had sung for me when I was little, and I imagined one day singing them for my own child. I wrote a poem for you in college (though it wasn't very good), and I sang for you more then. I've never met my father, and it wasn't until after college that I truly knew what that meant, but you will never, ever have to walk through this life alone. You will never doubt that you are loved, because I'm your Daddy, and I love you right now before I've ever even seen your face.
I hope you like music; I already know I'm going to be singing for you all the time. I promise I'll try to keep up with the current bands as you grow older, so that I can be one of those "cool" dads who "gets it" - even though I know you'll end up embarrassed by me eventually anyway. I hope you like baseball, so that I can take you to games as my mom did with me. I'll teach you about the stupid infield fly rule, and buy you hot dogs and nachos, and even if you don't like the Astros (my team) or the Braves (your mom's), I'll support your team of choice and cheer them to victory every day so I can see you happy. Or I hope you like animals, or Disney movies, or any of 1000 other things that I like, so that we can share those joys together. But you know what? Even if you don't, that's all okay too. I'll teach you to like some things, but you'll teach me to like others, and we'll have fun anyway.
I can't wait for you to meet your Mommy - she is still the most incredible woman that I have ever met. She makes me a better man, and I know that she'll raise incredible kids; I really am the luckiest man in the world to have her as my wife, and you'll be the luckiest kid to get to have her as your mom. She can teach you all about art and creating things - stuff that every kid loves to do. She's a great storyteller, and she'll take you to fantastical worlds on incredible journeys that will make your imagination soar. Just as I will, she will always make sure that you know how loved you are, and she'll teach you a passion for life that makes me smile and fall deeper in love with her every day that I get to spend by her side. It's because of her that I can't wait to meet you, because I know you'll be a little piece of her.
I love your Mommy with all of my heart, but there's room enough in my heart to love you with all of it too. That's why we want to meet you so badly - we've got all of this love to give. But this is about you, and we're doing this for you. Your Mommy's story and mine are intertwined; we're written together in a beautiful symphony, and we want to add your part. One day you will grow up, and you will move away, and your Mommy and I will go on together; our symphony will be that much more beautiful for having had you in it. But I can't wait for you to unleash your own symphony on the world. I know that it's going to be great.
Of course, you may be born Baby Anna (or whatever we decide to name you) instead of Baby Adam, but that's fine too. If you want me to dress up in the pointy purple princess hat with the silver star-spangled lace, then bring it on, baby girl - I'm man enough for fairy tales and unicorns. We'll still have daddy/daughter days, and no little girl will ever have been loved more. I've already tried to set that standard with your Mommy; of course that love will overflow to you, too.
Your Daddy loves you. Your Mommy loves you. We're going to fight for you, and we want you to fight for us, too. Let us give you a chance at life, and we'll take the world by storm. We'll be waiting here.
Love,
Daddy
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Holding out hope for hope
I. HATE. This fucking disease. I am so SICK of this goddamn fucking disease. Or disorder. Or deficiency, or defect, or whatever you want to call it. SICK of it. NOT giving up the fight - NO - but... damn. Every time you think you've seen the worst that it can throw at you, every time you think you've finally knocked it down to the mat - here it comes again, with another gut punch you didn't think it had left to give you.
Semen analysis #6 last week, to test the results of the HCG injections that I've been on since November. After a 9 million count at SA #4 in June, the Clomid-affected SA #5 dropped to 1.5 million, so we quit the Clomid and started HCG (Pregnyl) in hopes of bouncing back up to 9 million and beyond. Not so. I was afraid to let myself hope that the results would even be as good as 9 million again, though I knew there was a chance they could be significantly better. I was scared of the possibility that the count could be down to nothing at all, though I told myself that was unlikely, that we had no reason to believe that would be the case. I rationalized that neither extreme was very likely, so expect something somewhere in the middle, and then you won't be surprised when that's exactly what happens. Ha. Hahahaha. I guess the results weren't truly at either extreme, so I had that right, but they're damn near close to the bad one.
I am so. FUCKING. Sick. Of my body betraying me at every turn. You think you're getting better? HA, shut the fuck up. Surgery, even if it only helps fertility in 30-50% of cases, should at least eliminate pain 90% of the time. Guess what? You're in the 10% that made it worse. Clomid, most guys respond well to it, many with really dramatically improved results. Guess what? Let's CUT your sperm count by 75%. HCG! You're an ideal candidate, lots of guys in your situation respond well to this even when Clomid doesn't work. Give it a go! Guess what? You've been taking consolation all along this road - however minuscule that consolation may be - that while you're infertile, at least you're not sterile. Well, guess what? HAHAHAHAHA you damn near might as well be now! Take that, you bastard. And stay down this time.
So now we know our next step HAS to be IVF. So now I get a second helping of guilt for putting my wife through all of that physical strain, on top of the emotional strain that she's already been besieged by, all thanks to MY. GODDAMN. FUCKING. BODY. But wait, there's more! On top of your own physical and emotional strain, on top of that guilt upon guilt, on top of the weariness from fighting this battle now for nearing three years - let's add an assload of worry! We'll be seeing our fertility doc again next Friday the 5th, and I'll probably get to do SA #7 while I'm there then. (Joy.) I'm thinking, Hoping, PRAYING that the piss poor results we just got were a fluke, so that even if our doctor doesn't want another SA for his purposes, I want another one now with better results for my own peace of mind. I want to PROVE that it was a fluke. Because, if it wasn't, what if then we do proceed with IVF, we get to the day when fertilization is supposed to happen, and my body decides, oh, hey, let's just not make any sperm today, okay guys? Yeah, fuck me.
I want to know what the HELL is going on with my body. Did I do something wrong? Did I do something before or during the SA to result in such terrible numbers? If I did and it was a fluke, then thank God, but apparently that means that my body is so slow to recover the numbers it needs that I get to schedule ALL of my orgasms from now on to give us the maximum possible chance of having good numbers when we need them. Ain't that fun? And on top of the worry about how this latest twist might affect our chances with IVF, I've got the worry now that something ELSE, something worse than "just" infertility might be wrong. The urologist did warn us when I started on the Clomid that it has the chance of shutting down your sperm production entirely. That was a scary statement, but he said that it was a very small chance, and that even he, as a fellow male, would take that chance were he in my position. So I felt confident (enough) going forward with that decision, and now I wonder - did I win the "this only happens in 2% of cases!" lottery again? I don't honestly think that's it... I would have thought that quitting the Clomid would have stopped any trouble it caused. But I don't know. I don't know how these things work. I have no idea if the HCG injections have the potential to cause similar bad results, either. So... I don't know.
And if it's not the Clomid... if it's not the Clomid, or the HCG, you know what else can cause a drop in sperm count? Hello, Lance Armstrong and yellow wristbands. You know what age group comprises more than 90% of all cases of testicular cancer? 15-45. You know what the highest risk group in that spread is? 25-35. Guess how old I am right now? And you know what race is five times more likely to get this cancer than any other? Guess what race I am. The surgery I had increases that risk, too. And did you know that men with low sperm count before testicular cancer are TWENTY TIMES more likely to develop that cancer than guys with normal numbers? Well, guess what. Lucky me. Maybe this time my uncanny knack for ending up in the vast minority of cases will be a GOOD thing, and that's one bullet we'll dodge no matter how "good" the odds are in my favor.
Heh, irony... so if there's anything in this latest bad news that I can take consolation in, at least there's this: that this was NOT the worst SA result I've had yet. Back at SA #2, the one just before my surgery, they found ONE active sperm. One. At the count prior to that, they found 4.25 million, and I always had somewhere between 1-9 million at every subsequent SA since then, until now. So we've seen a fluke terrible number before, and my body seemed to recover from it just fine. At least this result was six times better than that one (woo)... and if they only found 10 sperm but 6 were moving, then hey, that's 60% motility! Take comfort in the little things, I guess...
So yes, hoping that this bad result was a fluke... and I (very cautiously) believe we have reason to believe that it was. I want answers from our doc next week as to what is going on that could cause this, so that I can end my uninformed speculation, and I want another result of at least 1 million to put my mind at peace that I'm not barren. If I am, there is even then still hope of IVF, but then they'll have to get the sperm by testicular aspiration (TESE), so... guess what? Let's make your ball that doesn't hurt, start hurting! Or, let's make your ball that still hurts, hurt even worse! I'd rather not, thanks. But if that's what it takes... so be it. I've been all in so far. I'm still all in now. I look EAGERLY forward to the day when terms like "semen analysis," "motility," "morphology," "in-vitro," "ovulation" and the rest are no longer anywhere to be found in our regular vocabulary. Still praying. Still fighting. One step at a time.
Semen analysis #6 last week, to test the results of the HCG injections that I've been on since November. After a 9 million count at SA #4 in June, the Clomid-affected SA #5 dropped to 1.5 million, so we quit the Clomid and started HCG (Pregnyl) in hopes of bouncing back up to 9 million and beyond. Not so. I was afraid to let myself hope that the results would even be as good as 9 million again, though I knew there was a chance they could be significantly better. I was scared of the possibility that the count could be down to nothing at all, though I told myself that was unlikely, that we had no reason to believe that would be the case. I rationalized that neither extreme was very likely, so expect something somewhere in the middle, and then you won't be surprised when that's exactly what happens. Ha. Hahahaha. I guess the results weren't truly at either extreme, so I had that right, but they're damn near close to the bad one.
I am so. FUCKING. Sick. Of my body betraying me at every turn. You think you're getting better? HA, shut the fuck up. Surgery, even if it only helps fertility in 30-50% of cases, should at least eliminate pain 90% of the time. Guess what? You're in the 10% that made it worse. Clomid, most guys respond well to it, many with really dramatically improved results. Guess what? Let's CUT your sperm count by 75%. HCG! You're an ideal candidate, lots of guys in your situation respond well to this even when Clomid doesn't work. Give it a go! Guess what? You've been taking consolation all along this road - however minuscule that consolation may be - that while you're infertile, at least you're not sterile. Well, guess what? HAHAHAHAHA you damn near might as well be now! Take that, you bastard. And stay down this time.
So now we know our next step HAS to be IVF. So now I get a second helping of guilt for putting my wife through all of that physical strain, on top of the emotional strain that she's already been besieged by, all thanks to MY. GODDAMN. FUCKING. BODY. But wait, there's more! On top of your own physical and emotional strain, on top of that guilt upon guilt, on top of the weariness from fighting this battle now for nearing three years - let's add an assload of worry! We'll be seeing our fertility doc again next Friday the 5th, and I'll probably get to do SA #7 while I'm there then. (Joy.) I'm thinking, Hoping, PRAYING that the piss poor results we just got were a fluke, so that even if our doctor doesn't want another SA for his purposes, I want another one now with better results for my own peace of mind. I want to PROVE that it was a fluke. Because, if it wasn't, what if then we do proceed with IVF, we get to the day when fertilization is supposed to happen, and my body decides, oh, hey, let's just not make any sperm today, okay guys? Yeah, fuck me.
I want to know what the HELL is going on with my body. Did I do something wrong? Did I do something before or during the SA to result in such terrible numbers? If I did and it was a fluke, then thank God, but apparently that means that my body is so slow to recover the numbers it needs that I get to schedule ALL of my orgasms from now on to give us the maximum possible chance of having good numbers when we need them. Ain't that fun? And on top of the worry about how this latest twist might affect our chances with IVF, I've got the worry now that something ELSE, something worse than "just" infertility might be wrong. The urologist did warn us when I started on the Clomid that it has the chance of shutting down your sperm production entirely. That was a scary statement, but he said that it was a very small chance, and that even he, as a fellow male, would take that chance were he in my position. So I felt confident (enough) going forward with that decision, and now I wonder - did I win the "this only happens in 2% of cases!" lottery again? I don't honestly think that's it... I would have thought that quitting the Clomid would have stopped any trouble it caused. But I don't know. I don't know how these things work. I have no idea if the HCG injections have the potential to cause similar bad results, either. So... I don't know.
And if it's not the Clomid... if it's not the Clomid, or the HCG, you know what else can cause a drop in sperm count? Hello, Lance Armstrong and yellow wristbands. You know what age group comprises more than 90% of all cases of testicular cancer? 15-45. You know what the highest risk group in that spread is? 25-35. Guess how old I am right now? And you know what race is five times more likely to get this cancer than any other? Guess what race I am. The surgery I had increases that risk, too. And did you know that men with low sperm count before testicular cancer are TWENTY TIMES more likely to develop that cancer than guys with normal numbers? Well, guess what. Lucky me. Maybe this time my uncanny knack for ending up in the vast minority of cases will be a GOOD thing, and that's one bullet we'll dodge no matter how "good" the odds are in my favor.
Heh, irony... so if there's anything in this latest bad news that I can take consolation in, at least there's this: that this was NOT the worst SA result I've had yet. Back at SA #2, the one just before my surgery, they found ONE active sperm. One. At the count prior to that, they found 4.25 million, and I always had somewhere between 1-9 million at every subsequent SA since then, until now. So we've seen a fluke terrible number before, and my body seemed to recover from it just fine. At least this result was six times better than that one (woo)... and if they only found 10 sperm but 6 were moving, then hey, that's 60% motility! Take comfort in the little things, I guess...
So yes, hoping that this bad result was a fluke... and I (very cautiously) believe we have reason to believe that it was. I want answers from our doc next week as to what is going on that could cause this, so that I can end my uninformed speculation, and I want another result of at least 1 million to put my mind at peace that I'm not barren. If I am, there is even then still hope of IVF, but then they'll have to get the sperm by testicular aspiration (TESE), so... guess what? Let's make your ball that doesn't hurt, start hurting! Or, let's make your ball that still hurts, hurt even worse! I'd rather not, thanks. But if that's what it takes... so be it. I've been all in so far. I'm still all in now. I look EAGERLY forward to the day when terms like "semen analysis," "motility," "morphology," "in-vitro," "ovulation" and the rest are no longer anywhere to be found in our regular vocabulary. Still praying. Still fighting. One step at a time.
Friday, November 16, 2012
One year past
366 days ago - thank you, Leap Day - and I was lying in a hospital bed awaiting the arrival of my surgeon about now. The following days and weeks would turn out to be much harder than I expected. The following year didn't turn out as we had expected or hoped, either. But in spite of all of the disappointments and the unexpected results, reality is that we ARE in a better place now than we were a year ago. So I don't regret it.
I've still got pain. The surgery that supposedly reduces or eliminates this pain for 89% of guys has still left me in the unlucky 11%. I still can't wear my old boxer briefs, or comfortably walk around naked for very long. I still have to keep my body temperature down, or the pain gets gradually and increasingly worse. If I ever have digestive issues, the pain radiates downward and gets intensely bad. Even wearing my new underwear, if I spend too many hours up and walking around in a day, the throbbing ache returns and builds. And the affected gland is still sore, still feels bruised to the touch pretty much all the time. Fortunately the throbbing/hurting on its own without touch has mostly stopped, though I'm not sure how much of that to attribute to true healing and how much of it is just the transition to cooler weather. The pain has gradually lessened over the past year, though I haven't noticed any further improvement over the last few months, so I expect that the level I have now is the level I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. Do I wish that the pain would go away, that I could somehow change it at least back to where it was before the surgery? Yeah, I do. But I DON'T wish that I hadn't gone through with the surgery. Even in spite of the consequences, I don't regret it.
I would regret if I hadn't tried. I would regret if I had refused the surgery, and we had never known if it would have helped or not. No matter what our ultimate result, I would regret if I spent the rest of my life wondering "what if? ...what if we could have reached the end of this journey sooner, or better, if I had manned up and gone through with it?" Even if it didn't bring the big changes we hoped for, I would regret too if we had missed out on the improvements we HAVE seen - testosterone did rise some on its own post-surgery, and morphology stepped up twice from 0 to 1 to holding at 2. That 2% may not be much, but should it ultimately come to IVF, it's that 2% that gives us a 100-150% shot at having a success within 2-3 cycles at most. THAT is hugely encouraging news, to both myself and my wife, and I would go through the surgery all over again today if that's what it took to give us that chance.
I won't be spending the next month on strict bed rest, but today is significant beyond just the surgery anniversary. Our first shipment of HCG injections - Pregnyl - arrives this afternoon, so we'll be starting those on Monday. Three shots a week, intramuscular, for three months, then it's another visit back to my old frenemy - the Collection Room. I'd be lying if I said I was thrilled about having more shots in the next three months than I've had in my entire life prior. But it's less scary than the surgery was - definitely. The doc says I'm the ideal candidate to respond well to these, and I have to believe that's true - if just the Clomid helped raise my testosterone as much as it did, then how much more could direct hormone injections help? It gives us a chance once more to avoid IVF altogether, which we've been hoping to avoid all along, so that's well worth trying. But even if that doesn't work out, and IVF becomes our next step, this ought to at least give us our best possible shot with IVF, too. And again, at least we're in a position now and armed with the knowledge now that, should it come to that, odds are overwhelmingly in our favor that we'll be looking at success well before next November 16 rolls around.
So how am I doing today? Apprehensive, about these injections. Reflective, on where I was a year ago. Not wanting to be at work, as I'm tired and work has been difficult to find concentration and motivation for over most of the last month. But I'm grateful that it's Friday afternoon. I'm grateful that I'm NOT today where I was a year ago right now. Grateful for the opportunities we've been given, for the hope we've been given, and still amazed and encouraged by the too-odd-to-be-coincidence nature of the entire recent chain of events.
I've still got pain. The surgery that supposedly reduces or eliminates this pain for 89% of guys has still left me in the unlucky 11%. I still can't wear my old boxer briefs, or comfortably walk around naked for very long. I still have to keep my body temperature down, or the pain gets gradually and increasingly worse. If I ever have digestive issues, the pain radiates downward and gets intensely bad. Even wearing my new underwear, if I spend too many hours up and walking around in a day, the throbbing ache returns and builds. And the affected gland is still sore, still feels bruised to the touch pretty much all the time. Fortunately the throbbing/hurting on its own without touch has mostly stopped, though I'm not sure how much of that to attribute to true healing and how much of it is just the transition to cooler weather. The pain has gradually lessened over the past year, though I haven't noticed any further improvement over the last few months, so I expect that the level I have now is the level I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. Do I wish that the pain would go away, that I could somehow change it at least back to where it was before the surgery? Yeah, I do. But I DON'T wish that I hadn't gone through with the surgery. Even in spite of the consequences, I don't regret it.
I would regret if I hadn't tried. I would regret if I had refused the surgery, and we had never known if it would have helped or not. No matter what our ultimate result, I would regret if I spent the rest of my life wondering "what if? ...what if we could have reached the end of this journey sooner, or better, if I had manned up and gone through with it?" Even if it didn't bring the big changes we hoped for, I would regret too if we had missed out on the improvements we HAVE seen - testosterone did rise some on its own post-surgery, and morphology stepped up twice from 0 to 1 to holding at 2. That 2% may not be much, but should it ultimately come to IVF, it's that 2% that gives us a 100-150% shot at having a success within 2-3 cycles at most. THAT is hugely encouraging news, to both myself and my wife, and I would go through the surgery all over again today if that's what it took to give us that chance.
I won't be spending the next month on strict bed rest, but today is significant beyond just the surgery anniversary. Our first shipment of HCG injections - Pregnyl - arrives this afternoon, so we'll be starting those on Monday. Three shots a week, intramuscular, for three months, then it's another visit back to my old frenemy - the Collection Room. I'd be lying if I said I was thrilled about having more shots in the next three months than I've had in my entire life prior. But it's less scary than the surgery was - definitely. The doc says I'm the ideal candidate to respond well to these, and I have to believe that's true - if just the Clomid helped raise my testosterone as much as it did, then how much more could direct hormone injections help? It gives us a chance once more to avoid IVF altogether, which we've been hoping to avoid all along, so that's well worth trying. But even if that doesn't work out, and IVF becomes our next step, this ought to at least give us our best possible shot with IVF, too. And again, at least we're in a position now and armed with the knowledge now that, should it come to that, odds are overwhelmingly in our favor that we'll be looking at success well before next November 16 rolls around.
So how am I doing today? Apprehensive, about these injections. Reflective, on where I was a year ago. Not wanting to be at work, as I'm tired and work has been difficult to find concentration and motivation for over most of the last month. But I'm grateful that it's Friday afternoon. I'm grateful that I'm NOT today where I was a year ago right now. Grateful for the opportunities we've been given, for the hope we've been given, and still amazed and encouraged by the too-odd-to-be-coincidence nature of the entire recent chain of events.
"And the wonder of it all is I'm still standingAnd the wonder of it all is we're still standingNever planned itAnd I wonder where I'll be next year"
-- Monday Morning, "Wonder of It All (Next Year)"
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
These bruises make for better conversation
So yesterday we returned to the fertility doc for the first time in a year. For an appointment with my wife's name on it, the focus was an awful lot on me, but I guess that makes sense - I'm the one with the medical issue we're fighting against, not her, so unless I was absent or incapacitated, then they don't need to talk to her about me as if I couldn't hear. My wife didn't like feeling overlooked, and I don't at all blame her; I felt exactly the same way when we last saw her OB/GYN last year, at our first appointment after getting the first blasted SA results. But that's not the point of these thoughts.
We're in a much better place today than I thought we'd be going into yesterday. Or at least in a much better place than I was afraid we would be. Or both... both, really, and I'm grateful for that. I expected last night and today would be about exploring funding options and planning to schedule an IVF cycle. I feared that yesterday we would be met with a "you're self-pay" declaration upon trying to leave and demanded to fork over $180 (or more) just to walk back into our lives. But while we are indeed self-pay now, the $75 requested of us yesterday is much more manageable and palatable. And we don't have to pay it again for at least three months. And we're not scrambling to figure out IVF funding ASAP today. And the doc even said, contrary to both of our expectations, that we've got a shot without IVF, pending the results of this newest - and final - three-month wait.
Instead, today I'm waiting for a phone call from a mail order specialty pharmacy, to get my info so they can ship us our first month's supply of Ovidrel injections. HCG, jabbed in above the hip, three times a week for the next three months. Yeah, there will be bruises. But the doc said I actually fit the ideal profile of the kind of patient who will respond well to this drug, and they even have direct experience in their clinic of patients like me who did not respond to Clomid but who did great on HCG, so we're going to give it a shot. (Ha ha.) If it works like we hope, we could be good candidates for IUI at worst, and we could be good candidates to get pregnant on our own at best. If it doesn't work, then at least we're no worse off than we thought we were going into yesterday. We'd have spent $600+ and three months, invested more blood (literally) in the process, and still be looking at IVF. But at least we would know that we had exhausted every other possible avenue before reaching that point. We would have given ourselves the best chance possible (and hopefully even improved our chances with IVF itself by improving my SA parameters over where they are now). And, should we ultimately be faced with IVF, the doc said that our specific medical circumstances give us the BEST possible chance of success of ANY couple who does IVF - we would almost certainly have a baby within 2-3 cycles, at most. So there's a lot of hope there. Even if we end up having to take the steps we don't want to take, at least we know there IS a light at the end of the tunnel, it's NOT an oncoming train, and for the first time since we first started trying to get pregnant two years ago, there will be a visible, POSITIVE endpoint to the journey.
I'm hella grateful for all of that.
How odd that I would be offered, and would receive, a promotion and a major raise at work out of the blue JUST RIGHT NOW. Back in July, we couldn't do HCG because it was cost-prohibitive for us then. But now, suddenly, when we really need it, I have the income to cover it and STILL give us extra money each month. That seems more than a little strange, but then again, it doesn't seem strange at all... because I don't believe that that is all just happy coincidence. It sounds like, it looks like, it feels like a God thing, and like maybe He hasn't forgotten us after all. Maybe His answer to our prayers isn't and hasn't been, "No." It's just been, "Not yet. But wait... I've got something even better in store for you."
Now, being honest - yesterday wasn't all happy news and hope. At least not for me. Of course there's the looming commencement of triweekly hormone injections, which is located nowhere on my list of "How to Have a Good Time." That wasn't what really bothered me, though. I'm not entirely sure why, or why it surprised me, but yesterday re-opened the "I feel broken" wound. Maybe because somewhere in my subconscious, I thought we were done trying to "fix" me, so I wasn't expecting my issues to still be the primary focus of discussion, and I was ready to just get over myself and move on. Maybe because the nurse drew big circles in Sharpie on my sides, which was funny at the time, but which thereafter made me feel like some sort of medical school demonstration dummy; I didn't even want to change shirts so that I wouldn't have to look at them. Maybe just because the test results from last month, and the subsequent chain of events, have forced the whole infertility issue back to the front of our minds, where it had at least sometimes been allowed to fade into the background over the preceding months... so the renewed focus has brought back issues I thought were closer to resolved, but instead they had only been buried. Maybe, and most likely, it was some combination of all of the above. I'm in a better mindset today, but I'd be lying if I said those feelings didn't still linger into now. Thank God that I have an amazing wife who was determined not to let me bury myself last night, and who has given me the strength to walk this road by walking with me, every step of the way.
So that's where we are now. We have three months reprieve from any more doctor visits, from any more test results, from any more bad news. Three months that will hopefully put us in a better position for positive results and GOOD news than we have ever been to this point. Armed with the knowledge that the odds are in our favor, and we can AND WILL BEAT THIS. Yesterday ultimately went a lot better than even my best hopes hoped it might, and I really can't convey how grateful I am for that. God, please continue to guide us and give us Your strength, but thank You for all that You've done. And for all that You're continuing to do. We love You. Amen.
We're in a much better place today than I thought we'd be going into yesterday. Or at least in a much better place than I was afraid we would be. Or both... both, really, and I'm grateful for that. I expected last night and today would be about exploring funding options and planning to schedule an IVF cycle. I feared that yesterday we would be met with a "you're self-pay" declaration upon trying to leave and demanded to fork over $180 (or more) just to walk back into our lives. But while we are indeed self-pay now, the $75 requested of us yesterday is much more manageable and palatable. And we don't have to pay it again for at least three months. And we're not scrambling to figure out IVF funding ASAP today. And the doc even said, contrary to both of our expectations, that we've got a shot without IVF, pending the results of this newest - and final - three-month wait.
Instead, today I'm waiting for a phone call from a mail order specialty pharmacy, to get my info so they can ship us our first month's supply of Ovidrel injections. HCG, jabbed in above the hip, three times a week for the next three months. Yeah, there will be bruises. But the doc said I actually fit the ideal profile of the kind of patient who will respond well to this drug, and they even have direct experience in their clinic of patients like me who did not respond to Clomid but who did great on HCG, so we're going to give it a shot. (Ha ha.) If it works like we hope, we could be good candidates for IUI at worst, and we could be good candidates to get pregnant on our own at best. If it doesn't work, then at least we're no worse off than we thought we were going into yesterday. We'd have spent $600+ and three months, invested more blood (literally) in the process, and still be looking at IVF. But at least we would know that we had exhausted every other possible avenue before reaching that point. We would have given ourselves the best chance possible (and hopefully even improved our chances with IVF itself by improving my SA parameters over where they are now). And, should we ultimately be faced with IVF, the doc said that our specific medical circumstances give us the BEST possible chance of success of ANY couple who does IVF - we would almost certainly have a baby within 2-3 cycles, at most. So there's a lot of hope there. Even if we end up having to take the steps we don't want to take, at least we know there IS a light at the end of the tunnel, it's NOT an oncoming train, and for the first time since we first started trying to get pregnant two years ago, there will be a visible, POSITIVE endpoint to the journey.
I'm hella grateful for all of that.
How odd that I would be offered, and would receive, a promotion and a major raise at work out of the blue JUST RIGHT NOW. Back in July, we couldn't do HCG because it was cost-prohibitive for us then. But now, suddenly, when we really need it, I have the income to cover it and STILL give us extra money each month. That seems more than a little strange, but then again, it doesn't seem strange at all... because I don't believe that that is all just happy coincidence. It sounds like, it looks like, it feels like a God thing, and like maybe He hasn't forgotten us after all. Maybe His answer to our prayers isn't and hasn't been, "No." It's just been, "Not yet. But wait... I've got something even better in store for you."
Now, being honest - yesterday wasn't all happy news and hope. At least not for me. Of course there's the looming commencement of triweekly hormone injections, which is located nowhere on my list of "How to Have a Good Time." That wasn't what really bothered me, though. I'm not entirely sure why, or why it surprised me, but yesterday re-opened the "I feel broken" wound. Maybe because somewhere in my subconscious, I thought we were done trying to "fix" me, so I wasn't expecting my issues to still be the primary focus of discussion, and I was ready to just get over myself and move on. Maybe because the nurse drew big circles in Sharpie on my sides, which was funny at the time, but which thereafter made me feel like some sort of medical school demonstration dummy; I didn't even want to change shirts so that I wouldn't have to look at them. Maybe just because the test results from last month, and the subsequent chain of events, have forced the whole infertility issue back to the front of our minds, where it had at least sometimes been allowed to fade into the background over the preceding months... so the renewed focus has brought back issues I thought were closer to resolved, but instead they had only been buried. Maybe, and most likely, it was some combination of all of the above. I'm in a better mindset today, but I'd be lying if I said those feelings didn't still linger into now. Thank God that I have an amazing wife who was determined not to let me bury myself last night, and who has given me the strength to walk this road by walking with me, every step of the way.
So that's where we are now. We have three months reprieve from any more doctor visits, from any more test results, from any more bad news. Three months that will hopefully put us in a better position for positive results and GOOD news than we have ever been to this point. Armed with the knowledge that the odds are in our favor, and we can AND WILL BEAT THIS. Yesterday ultimately went a lot better than even my best hopes hoped it might, and I really can't convey how grateful I am for that. God, please continue to guide us and give us Your strength, but thank You for all that You've done. And for all that You're continuing to do. We love You. Amen.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Thoughts four days after getting bad news
So we got the news on Friday that the Clomid, which we had hoped would be the miracle drug that pushed us to the point where we could get pregnant on our own, has not improved our chances. At all. And in fact, we've moved backwards from where we were back in July, at least in terms of total count. I got the phone call around 11:30am on Friday... as soon as she told me the count, I started shaking. My stomach immediately started churning, and I felt like throwing up. The poor nurse girl tried to spin the results as positively as she could, highlighting how my motility has improved into the good-to-excellent range, and how the morphology stayed the same since July, which is still an improvement over where we started a year ago. But she obviously didn't want to deliver the bad news... I guess I'm grateful to her at least for that, as it meant that she recognized how difficult this could be to hear. I wrapped up at work as quickly as I could and bolted for the door - I wasn't going to be any good to anyone else there for the rest of the day, and I needed to be at home with my wife. Both for her sake, and for my own.
I didn't want to call and tell my wife the news... who out there EVER wants to call their spouse and give them news like this? I knew that this would hit her the same way it hit me. But I also didn't want to just show up suddenly at home, five hours before I was supposed to be there, and cause her a heart attack wondering what the hell was going on. So I made the unwanted phone call. And I told her I was in the car already and leaving work immediately. And then I got home as fast as I damn could. Fortunately traffic threw no unexpected surprises at my distracted state of mind. Then as soon as I got home, my wife and I hugged each other tight for several minutes, and the tears began. Then we went to the couch, and we cried in each others' arms for an hour. I don't think I ever cried that long, even when my grandmom died.
We did a lot of talking that day - about how life is unfair and why us and what do we do now and does God hate us and how much this fucking sucks. And boy, does it ever. We cried some more, and talked a lot more, and the next two days, we did more of the same. Then somehow, we came away from it all a lot more at peace with the situation than I thought would be possible for a very long time. That doesn't mean there won't still be bad days, because there will. There will be more tears to come, too. But I am amazed at my incredible wife, and while, yeah, we're scared as hell to be where we are... if I have to go through this, if I have to be here, then there's no one else I'd rather do it with than this amazing woman by my side. I've said it from the start, and believe it now more than ever, that there's nothing we can't face together.
So now it's been four days since we got the news, and I've been back at work for two, and how am I doing? Well... "raw" might be a good way to put it. I still feel like crying at any given moment. I still don't want to be here. I'm still scared for the future, and scared of what my doctor is going to tell us on November 12, and scared of what the fertility specialist is going to tell us on whatever day after that. I have lab work lined up for Thursday afternoon this week, and I'm still taking the Clomid in the meantime. I don't know what my doctor is going to want me to do based on those results, but we won't know until after we talk to him again.
I called his office yesterday to ask for details of the bloodwork I had done back in July... there was one more question in my mind. July was the first and only time that my estradiol (estrogen) level has ever been tested, and I was never told what the actual number was - only that the doc said "it was okay" to begin taking the Clomid. I had done some more reading about anastrozole, another drug, which is supposed to reduce estradiol levels in men and to help increase fertility for men whose levels are high, or normal but out of balance with their T level. It might give us one more shot before having to resort to IUI or IVF. But the nurse called back and said that my number (20.9) was smack in the middle of the normal range for estradiol in men my age. I was surprised to find myself initially disappointed at this news - it meant that anastrozole probably wouldn't help us any more than the Clomid, but I've had so few "normal" test results since all of this began, shouldn't I be thrilled to hear that this is one way at least in which my body is NOT screwed up? But given time to reflect past the knee-jerk reaction, and I'm very grateful now that those results said what they did. One of the hardest thoughts to deal with on Friday was reflecting back on the year we had just spent trying to "fix" my issues and having precious little to show for it... but if my estradiol was not high, then going with Clomid back in July WAS the right choice, even if it turned out not to have helped as we hoped. It means that we don't have to start trying a new drug and then wait ANOTHER three months before we can get on with anything else, which neither my wife or I have ANY desire to do. And it's at least one more factor in our favor, one less thing that we have to fight against, which is one less obstacle in the path that leads to where we want to be.
I kept apologizing to my wife on Friday... "I'm sorry" doesn't even begin to describe how awful I feel that issues with my body have put us where we are now. But she kept telling me, and keeps telling me, that it's not my fault, and I know she's right. There's nothing I could have done to change this, there's nothing that I did to cause this. But I kept telling her "I'm sorry" anyway, because my heart breaks for us both. I'm sorry that I can't shield her from the pain. I'm sorry that I had to call her and give her the bad news. I'm sorry that it's not something I can fix, no matter how hard I try (and I've tried every damn thing I could for a year). I'm sorry that we're in this position now, where neither of us wants to be, and I'm sorry that it's my body that has put us here, even if it is beyond my control. I'm sorry for all of the tears and the pain and the waiting over the last year, and I'm sorry for the rough times that we know are yet to come. But I love you. I will always love you. I am always here for you, and BY GOD WE WILL GET THROUGH THIS TOGETHER. And we will come out stronger, and closer, on the other side.
So... we don't know what is going to happen next. I pray that it's the least invasive, least expensive, least painful, and shortest road possible, because we're both sick as hell of this damn rollercoaster. I don't know how much this is going to cost, or how exactly we're going to afford all of it. But we will find a way. We WILL find a way. I felt broken on Friday... I still feel that way sometimes now. But I'm up off the mat, and I'm ready to fight again. I love my wife more than everyone and everything else both in this world and out of it, and we've always got each other, no matter where this road may lead. I can never thank God enough for that, and that gives me the strength to keep fighting. God, we need Your help... please give us Your help and guidance. But thank You for the blessing of this incredible woman in my life.
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