On failure

I feel many different things when I say that our infertility problem - the underlying medical issues - lie 100% with me.

That's the one point in my first post that I meant to elaborate on but didn't, because the post got long and the hour got late. That's the point that's been the chief consumer of my emotional energy ever since we first got the news about our diagnosis last month.

How DO I feel? Well, yeah, this week I've been mostly concerned about the surgery, and I'm sure that will continue right on through until they knock me out. Before the surgery was set, though, and likely again after it's done... I have good days and bad days. Or, more accurately, good moments and bad moments. Sometimes I think about it, and it really doesn't bother me much, as I'm distracted by other things. But other times... well, take your pick.

I feel angry, and I am almost NEVER angry - but why did I win the genetic lottery for a diagnosis like this? I feel broken. I feel defective. I feel inferior. I feel like I've failed my wife, and failed at being a man. My parents split while I was on the way, so I was raised in a house full of women - mom, grandmom, and older sister - without any significant positive male role models until I was 18. So in many ways, I had to figure out on my own what it means to "be a man," and I thought I was doing a pretty okay job of it... but now I feel like Nature (or God) said, "Nope, time's up. Sorry, you failed! Here's your punishment," and yanked the cosmic rug from under me.

I am so HUGELY, INCREDIBLY grateful that all of my wife's tests have come back clean so far. She has one test remaining, scheduled now the afternoon before my surgery, and I pray with every fiber of my being that that test comes back clean too. It's bad enough having to watch her go through all these tests and exams; I never want to have to watch her go through treatment, or surgery, or the emotional strain that goes with it. If we must have a problem, I would MUCH, MUCH rather it be entirely with me - I would take that burden on 100 times out of 100. But... on the other side of that coin... I feel guilty. Because we DO have a problem. And because that problem is entirely caused by MY body. And while I know in the rational part of my brain that I never asked for this, I didn't cause this and couldn't have prevented this... emotions are not rational. And so while my head can say, "It's a medical problem," all day long, my heart says, "It's my fault."

I feel like this whole great heartache is my fault. If it wasn't for my body's issue, we wouldn't be dealing with any of this. So then, I have to live with the knowledge... every doctor's visit we have. Every test that either one of us has to undergo. Every procedure they do, all of the pain it causes. Every night we're up until 3:00am wrestling with "what ifs." Every tear that is shed. Every time we want to have sex but can't, because I have to store up for another semen sample. Every step of every mile along this entire journey, regardless of where we end up and whether we ever succeed or not... it's all because of me. It's all because of my body. And therefore, to my heart... it's all my fault. And sometimes that gets overwhelming.

After I got over the initial blow of the first bad news of that blasted sperm count, the next day I set out to find resources for guys in my situation. Unfortunately, that only ended up making me feel worse - not because of what I found, but because of what I didn't. For female infertility, there's a vast wealth of info and support out there. For couples, there's still quite a bit available, and that's cool. But for guys... there's really not much. Most of what exists regarding male infertility, in books and online, is all clinical info about causes and treatments. And that's great information to have, helpful for talking to doctor's, but I was looking more for a "by men, for men," how-to-deal handbook. It doesn't exist. The few articles and books that pay any significant attention to the psychology of the issue all say pretty much the same thing: "Guys don't take this well, and they need an outlet for it or they'll get self-destructive. Go find a support group." But, you guessed it - support groups for guys don't exist either.

I can imagine why; no one would go. Guys don't talk about their feelings, and guys CERTAINLY don't want to talk about this, so getting together with other guys to talk about something like this would be roughly equivalent to the 7th Circle of Hell. I'm sure that's why no books exist of guys talking about this, too. Regarding next week's surgery, most guys would rather lose an eye, or go deaf, or have career-ending ACL surgery than have anything go wrong with anything even remotely close to the genital region of their bodies. I'm no different than those guys in that regard. So I don't blame the guys that have been here in the past for stepping up to the plate on this. But it is disappointing for guys trying to deal with it now. Like me.

At least in part, I suppose, that's another purpose of this blog. Maybe some other guy dealing with this issue later on will be looking for info like I did, and he'll stumble across these entries. He won't have to talk to anyone, but he'll know that he's not alone. And maybe that will help, in some small way.

It's late again. Another blasted semen analysis in the morning, because the urologist wants a better baseline before the surgery next week. Fine. Then paperwork has to be filled out by the doc to justify the leave from my job. Then my third-to-last workday before the surgery. Time for bed.