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.

"And the wonder of it all is I'm still standing

And the wonder of it all is we're still standing

Never planned it

And I wonder where I'll be next year"

-- Monday Morning, "Wonder of It All (Next Year)"

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.

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.

Things I would say if I was a completely selfish douchebag

Fuck you and your "we just had a baby a week ago!" I'm happy for you - I genuinely am. But I can't bring myself to say it, because I feel like by saying it, I'm saying everything is okay and I'm okay. I'm NOT okay, and everything else is NOT okay either. Have you even noticed that I haven't said congratulations, haven't said a word to either of you since your baby was born, haven't even clicked "Like" on any of your Facebook posts since then, whether they had anything to do with babies or not? Probably not, because you're closer to my wife than you are to me, so you know how this is affecting or likely affecting her, but I doubt you ever give much thought to me or how I may feel about this. Whatever. You're both wonderful people and you'll make wonderful parents; we've had many great times together in the past, and I'm sure there will come a day that we'll have great times together again. But until our situation is resolved one way or another, I'm glad that you live several hundred miles away, because I don't want to be anywhere around you. I don't trust myself not to say something that we'll all regret.

Fuck you and your breathtakingly tactless "OMG I'm pregnant!" text. I don't hate you for it, and I don't even fault you for it that much, as it's not your job to remember the extensive medical histories of all of your friends in the heat of what I'm sure is some of the most exciting news of your life. I'd be a lot angrier about it if you HAD remembered and said what you said anyway. I'd be a lot angrier about it if we were closer friends with you, too. But we're not, so you're not worth my time and energy to spend worrying and fussing over - God knows I've got enough ELSE to worry and fuss about. Again, I am genuinely happy for you both, and I don't wish either of you ill. This doesn't even mean that we can't be friends anymore... eventually. But for now, I'm not watching you or your husband anymore on FA. I don't want to see the happy "OMG!" journal posts, I don't want to see the heartwarming pregnancy art that will inevitably start popping up on your page more and more. You've already done art like that in the past; I could abide it when I knew there wasn't anything but wishing behind it. But not now. Fuck yeah, we're not coming to Chicago because of your announcement; I'm glad you're several hundred miles away too, because I don't want to be anywhere near you now either. I'll watch you again and talk to you again when we're in a better place than we are now. But not now.

Fuck you and your "we just had our third baby a year ago, and now we're pregnant againandwe'rehavingourfirstgirlafterthreeboysandwe'resoexcitedwhere'smycongratulations?!" I don't want to listen to you talking to your pregnant wife on the phone about Rhea Lana sales and comparing car seat features. I appreciate your tact when you first told me that you're pregnant again - for whatever reason you were tactful then. But you seem to have forgotten that since then, whether through honest forgetfulness or because my answers to your probing questions led you to believe there was no need to be tactful after all. I ducked your questions because, frankly, it's none of your damn business, and I have enough trouble with the people knowing that already do know what's going on with us. I cannot work 40+ hours a week trapped in the back corner of an office, four feet and an unobtrusive cloth barrier away from someone who knows. You're a good guy, but you can be damn well sure that the MINUTE I hear that a private office is opening up around here, I'm going to our boss and campaigning to be the one that gets it. I have AT LEAST four years of seniority above you and everyone else that doesn't have a private office on our team, and if I never had to listen to your phone calls with your wife again, that would make me only too happy.

Fuck you and your "I'm gonna be a daddy for the first time in August! *expectant pause for praise & adulation*" I'm glad you don't work here anymore. I can't even TELL you how glad I am that you started your new position at the start of August, two weeks before your wife was due, so that I never had to hear the birth announcement and see the newborn photos and meet the new baby when you inevitably bring her by the office. You're a brilliant programmer and a good guy and we did some great things, work-wise, when working together. But either you don't have a fucking social clue, or I was doing a shitty job at sending "shut up & go away" signals, or some combination of the two, because your attempts at conversation and being all buddy-buddy were annoying BEFORE you ever told me you & your wife were expecting. You were fine to work with, but I do NOT want to be your coding or gaming or general geeking buddy. You told me that you started having surgeries for health issues when you were 2 or 3 years old, but you evidently didn't have any trouble getting your wife pregnant. I was in perfect health and had never had ANY health issues until I was diagnosed with this shit last year - what the fucking bloody hell is wrong with me?!? Now I'm doubly glad that you left, because that allowed me to take over your position, to get more pay with less stress and to get away from being forced into working with one of the very few people on this earth who seem to have a genuine personal hatred of me. I don't know if she's ever been pregnant - probably not, she's married to her job - but fuck her too, just for good measure.

I have my next fucking semen analysis in the morning. I had begun wishing on Sunday night that I could just fast forward to 9:30am tomorrow morning, because by that point, the last two super-stressful work days would be over, as would this appointment that I REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY don't want to do. As much as I don't want to do this, though, I don't want to NOT do it even more. The appointment is the easy part; it's the potential of the results that's really the source of the anxiety. But I have to know the results. WE have to know the results. Once the appointment is finally done, my heart is going to be leaping into my throat every time my cell phone rings, for fear that it's the clinic calling. I'm just praying HARD for good results, valid results, and very good news. Please, God... at this point, that's really all up to You.

I don't hate any of these folks above. I don't resent them for having what we don't. I won't even say "for having what we can't," because "can't" implies that I believe we never will, and I haven't given up hope on that yet. I'm just hurting, and venting, and isn't it better to let it out in a journal entry that you know none of them will ever read, rather than lashing out and hurting people directly?

There's a book that I've mentioned on here before... Donald Miller's "To Own a Dragon." It's a book about fatherlessness, and the title comes from young Don wondering what it would be like "to own a dragon." But dragons only exist in fantasy novels; they're always a part of someone else's story, but not your own. Donald likened that to wondering what it would be like to have a father - if you grow up fatherless, as I did, then a "father" is a mythological being too, and always a part of someone else's story but not your own. When I hear about or think about folks getting pregnant around us, that strikes exactly the same chord within me that the father thing does. I know that fathers exist; I know that they're NOT mythological creatures. But the idea of having a father is like reading a fantasy story to me. I know that pregnancies happen; I know that they're NOT impossible, and hopefully soon not even impossible for us. I do still hope & believe that we will get there sooner than later. But after the last year, imagining the idea of myself as biological father to a child feels pretty much exactly the same as imagining the idea of myself as a knight in King Arthur's Court. That sounds like I've given up on the idea ever becoming reality, which is not at all true. But that's the feeling that I struggle with now.

Perspective reminder: Tomorrow's test & subsequent results are not the end of the world. They're not the end of the road on this IF journey, either. But they do go a long way towards deciding what turn this road takes next. Also, whether or not you have kids does not define you. A man is judged by his own choices, his own actions, and his own heart - not by whether or not he had a kid and what the kid did or didn't do. I'm still going to be the best damn husband and the best human being I can be, no matter what ultimately happens with the "having kids" question. And while "loving father" is something that I'd dearly love to see on my tombstone, the rest of my life is not going to be overwritten by "couldn't have kids" if it doesn't happen. But the hugeness of how this feels right now, and the depth of the desire motivating all of these choices over the last year, really cannot be overstated.

We need You, God. I need You. Please... please may this have all been worth it.

On fatherhood

"Father" is a word that has haunted me for most of my adult life. My parents divorced while my mom was pregnant with me, so I've never once seen or had any kind of contact with my biological father. You'd think that would have bothered me more as a child, but they say you can't miss what you never had, and in my case, that was true. Over the years, my mom remarried three more times, but none of those "fathers" lasted very long either - #2 was still married to another woman, #3 was verbally and emotionally abusive, and #4 seemed great at first, until he tried to rape and kill my sister. Only #2 did I ever call "daddy" and mean it, but I was so young and he was gone so soon that he barely even rates a footnote in my catalog of childhood memories; his only lasting legacy was instilling in me a fear of dogs that lasted until I was several years older.

It wasn't until college that I ever sat down around a table with a mom and a dad and all their kids, for a family dinner, at a friend's house - and it seemed genuinely odd to me, because I'd only ever seen that on TV. A few years later, I began developing a friendship with an older man, a genuinely good man, a man almost old enough to be my father, and he began to feel like a father to me. Only then did I first feel the pain of growing up fatherless, because only then did I begin to realize everything that I had missed.

Father's Day was, more often than not, a non-event in our house growing up. Most of the time there was no man in our house besides myself, and whenever the next step-dad was there, gifts and celebration felt more out of obligation than genuine appreciation. Before I was married, the only Father's Day card I ever bought because I wanted to was one for the friend and mentor mentioned above; I signed it and addressed it, but I still have it now, because I wasn't sure that sending it would be the right thing to do - how awkward that might or might not be.

Now I'm almost five years married and almost two years into the journey of trying to become a father on my own - longing to give our child what I never had, swearing that I will not repeat the mistakes of my parents, determined to be the best damn dad that any kid ever saw. Tomorrow, however, is the first Father's Day since I was diagnosed IF last fall, and my body betrays me - cursed I was to live fatherless my life before today, and cursed by my flesh to not be a father now.

Our local minor league baseball team is in town this weekend, and I'll be spending tomorrow afternoon at the ballpark after singing the national anthem. Irony, that - before a game with built-in celebrations for fathers, they've asked a man who thus far can't be a father to kick off the event. I wonder if all the other men would run me out of the stadium if they knew.

Wednesday I go in for my next blasted SA. Two weeks after that, I'll see the urologist again and get the results, and we'll see what turn our own journey to parenthood takes next after that. There's no way to know for sure, of course, but certain things we do know have shown signs of improvement, so there's hope for good news, and hope that odds have improved that the best news may yet be coming after that.

I don't want this Father's Day to be a time of mourning. We'll celebrate tomorrow my wife's wonderful dad, who will be coming with us to the ballpark. And I'll look forward to the day - someday - that the celebration will one Father's Day finally be my own.

What's on my mind?

What's on my mind?

Every morning, I'm reminded - I stumble out of bed and into the shower, and I have to wash carefully to avoid hurting myself due to the lingering effects of November's surgery. I'm reminded when I get out of the shower, because I have to be careful drying off for the same reason. I'm reminded when I look in the mirror before I get dressed, because I see that 4" scar that will never go away. I'm reminded when I get dressed, because I have to pass over a drawer full of underwear that I can't wear anymore, to find one of the pairs I've bought since my surgery that I can wear without pain. I'm reminded when I have breakfast, as I make my 1/2-caff coffee, because I know why that container says 1/2-caff. Or I'm reminded, if I drink regular coffee, that I can't drink as much. I'm reminded when breakfast is over, because it's time to go take my first two vitamin pills for the day. I'm reminded throughout the day, sitting my chair at work, as I try to make sure to keep my legs spread wide to keep the temperature down on my groin as much as I can. I'm reminded every time I visit the men's room, as I see the scar again, or have to be careful adjusting "things" to avoid hurting myself again. I'm reminded whenever I hear a co-worker pop open a can of Coke, because that's a caffeine luxury I can't afford to drink. I come home, and I'm reminded when I boot up my laptop, because I can't use it on my lap anymore. We have dinner, and I'm reminded, because I have to drink water or Sprite or lemonade. After dinner, it's time for two more vitamin pills, and I'm reminded again. I'm reminded every time I get undressed for bed, because it hurts to walk around naked for too long, and there's the scar again. I'm reminded every time I want to have sex with my wife, because I have to keep track of when the last time was. Less than 36 hours? Can't do it, gotta "store up." 36 hours or more? Okay, it's go time. Up to 72 hours? MUST get off, whether on my own or otherwise, or else counts start going down again. Then I'm reminded whenever we finally lay down to sleep, as I have to be conscious of my leg position, to make sure "things" aren't trapped between my thighs and to keep those "things" as cool as possible overnight. Then I wake up the next morning to do it all over again.

One Saturday recently, my wife had an out-of-town volunteer gig that would keep her particularly busy all day, so I offered to go run through the McDonald's drive-thru while she was getting ready, to give her a good breakfast that would help her hold out until dinner. I left the house happy for the opportunity to do something nice for my wife, to get her day started on a good note, but as soon as I pulled into the parking lot at McD's, I found my mind in an unexpected argument. I'd pick up breakfast for myself while there, too, but in the past, I've always ordered my drive-thru breakfasts with a large coffee. Immediately I felt guilty if I should do that, but I tried to tell myself that we don't eat breakfast out very often anyway, so one big cup of full-caff coffee wasn't going to hurt our chances for a baby. I drew my line in the sand and refused to let infertility win this ground - I just wanted to feel normal for a few minutes - so I ordered my large coffee and determined not to feel bad about it. But once I got home, after my wife left, I'd finished half the cup and felt guilty about drinking any more, so the rest of it got poured down the kitchen sink.

I share my office at work with a man whose wife just gave birth to their third a year ago - some 12 years after their second - so I get to listen to one-sided baby-related phone conversations every day. My boss at work has five kids with his wife, and they got pregnant within short months of getting married; he told me once that he wished he and his wife had had more time to be "just the two of" them. I work with two other men who coach the girls' softball and basketball teams for their respective daughters, which they talk about all the time. The road to our pharmacy (and the shopping center that contains it) is a wide two-lane street that becomes a narrow two-lane street this time of year, as both sides of the road are often lined with parents parking their cars to take their kids to the Little League parks on the left. I dearly wish we could be in the shoes of any one of them.

I don't regret any decisions that I've made. I don't regret that my wife and I decided to wait two years after getting married to be "just the two of us," before we decided we were ready to start trying to expand our family. I don't regret even one minute of the time I get to spend with my wife now; I didn't marry her to have kids, and even if we eventually do have them, I don't need kids to make me feel content in my life with her. Kids will never replace her or overtake her place as first in my heart. But I WANT kids, I WANT to be a father as well as a husband, I WANT my wife to be a mother too. I WANT the chance to try and be the best dad ever, just as I strive now to be the best husband ever every day. I WANT my wife to have the chance to be the best mom ever, because I know she absolutely will be. I don't regret all of the doctor visits, or the surgery, or the supplements I'm taking now, or the lifestyle changes I've made, or the drugs I may have to take in the future, all in an effort to fulfill that deep desire for both of us. Even if we never end up with the end result we hope for, I don't regret the trying. Because I couldn't live with myself if I gave up without trying, and I am NOT ready to stop trying now.

The road may be damned hard, but I've said from the time that I began dating my wife, and I still believe it every whit to be true today - there is NOTHING that we can't face together. We've been through hell together already, and came out stronger on the other side. We don't know where this road will take us next, and we don't know if it will ever take us where we hope to be at all. And that's maddening, and that's heartbreaking. But it's still a road I'm determined to walk. It's still a battle I'm determined to fight. I'm determined to carry on with my wife at my side, determined to help her through this in every way that I can, just as I know she's determined to help me likewise. Infertility has wounded me in many ways, but IT WILL NOT TAKE ME DOWN.

Male infertility book reviews

Back in October when we were first diagnosed with this, I soon began looking for infertility resources from and for a male perspective. I found a recommendation for one book, and came across a couple of blogs, but that was it. So I bought the book - "Overcoming Male Infertility" by Leslie Schover & Anthony Thomas - and while it's a great clinical book for potential diagnoses and treatments, the chapter on coping could be summed up as, "This is tough for guys to deal with. Do something about it or else you'll go nuts." I had already read a lot of the medical info online, so the coping portion was what I was most interested in, and that part was sorely disappointing. Fast forward to two months ago, and I joined Resolve's online forum, making an introductory post there. On that post, I mentioned the lack of resources for guys I had encountered, and a few folks recommended a few books I had never found or had overlooked. All told, four titles were mentioned, and I've now read all four.

First up is "Maybe Baby" by Matthew Miller. Miller writes for a living (newspapers), so he writes very well; his book is largely sourced from his relatively popular blog of the same name. His book is much more in line with what I was looking for when I first began searching for resources; rather than clinical, it's a first-hand personal account from the male half of a couple on their journey through infertility. However, even though Miller states "I am an infertile male" in the opening pages, the diagnosis for him & his wife is really more unexplained infertility than anything, so their situation differs from ours. Some of the emotions he expresses are very much things that I can relate to, and it's obvious that he loves his wife very much, so those are both points in his favor. But ultimately the book was much less helpful than I'd hoped it would be, because I mostly didn't relate very well to Miller, as I don't think we'd have much in common. First, he's an extrovert (which I'm not), and it seems he didn't have much trouble at all talking to others about their infertility struggle (which I do), so he never expresses the loneliness that many men in this situation often feel. Second, his personal life story is very unique - from being a 500-lb. teenager to a 30-something health nut & workout addict. Kudos to him for taking charge of his health, but I have never been in either situation, so I cannot relate to either extreme, and those are defining characteristics of his life. Third, he's openly and completely non-spiritual, whereas I am very spiritual, so he offers no helpful perspective at all in that regard. And finally, the book just seems unfinished; it ends as he & his wife are gearing up for their first round of IVF. I understand that not every infertility story necessarily needs to end with a baby, but regardless of the ending, I think Miller's book would have benefited from being written later on in their journey. He talks in the book about signing the book deal that would become the book, so the impression given is that it was published when it was due to publisher deadlines, rather than when the manuscript was actually ready, mature, and complete. Final word: "Maybe Baby" is not without value, and others may benefit from reading it more than I, but it was ultimately disappointing and could have been better.

Next is "What He Can Expect When She's Not Expecting" by Marc Sedaka. Sedaka is a notable writer for television, which explains how they had the money for the 10 rounds of IVF, 10+ rounds of IUI, and all of their other infertility treatments listed on the back cover. Unrealistic availability of funds aside, Sedaka writes a book that aims to give men a better understanding of what their women are thinking and feeling as they deal with inferfility. This is a great idea and an important topic to address, but it came up a bit short for me in a couple of ways. First, while the diagnosis for Sedaka and his wife is again "unexplained infertility," the book seems to be primarily written for dealing with cases of female infertility; it says virtually nothing about male infertility, and nothing at all about how that particular diagnosis can and will affect your wife. Second, while I'm certain that some men will benefit greatly from reading & heeding the advice in this book, it strikes me as mostly "don't be a dick!" common sense. And relationship common sense. "Be open and honest with her, listen to her, be patient with and supportive of her even when she's dealing with emotions that you don't or can't understand." All good reminders, but nothing that years of striving to be a good husband hadn't taught me already. All in all, it's a very quick read (I finished it in one 2-3 hour sitting), so it's worth a look if you can find a cheap copy or (as we did) find it in your local library. Just don't expect life-changing insight.

Third is "How to Make Love to a Plastic Cup" by Greg Wolfe. Let me start by saying that this one is funny. VERY funny, in places, even though I at first resisted Wolfe's attempts at humor, as infertility is not a topic I've found myself often able to laugh about. Wolfe is a comedian by trade, so he's well suited to the kind of off-color, off-kilter take you'd expect from a book with a title like that. The book is not all laughs, however, as Wolfe knows first-hand just how difficult dealing with an infertility diagnosis can be. This is the first of these books in which the author's diagnosis is actually male factor infertility, so it's therefore unsurprising that the chapter entitled "Real Men Don't Cry (However, They Do Sometimes Quietly Sob into Their Pillows)" is one of the best bits of writing I've yet read about how men are affected by all of this stuff. He gets insightfully personal in many other places, as well, but it should be noted that this book's purpose is primarily informational, like "What He Can Expect..." but unlike "Maybe Baby." It should also be noted that a majority of this book's real estate is devoted to discussing the IVF process, which is great if that's what you're facing, but less helpful for couples who aren't there yet or who may not get there at all. I would say this is the best book of the three discussed thus far, especially for men dealing with male factor issues, but it still isn't entirely what I had initially set out hoping to find.

Saving the best for last, we come to "Swimming in Circles" by Michael Barr. Barr is another writer by trade, and he tells the story of the four-year road that he and his wife walked together in their quest to start a family. Like "Maybe Baby," this is a personal book, but unlike "Maybe Baby," this book hit home for me in areas where that one missed: Male factor diagnosis. Flawed, but relatable, protagonist. At least a touch of a spiritual view. And resolution to the story on the book's final pages. Like "Plastic Cup," this one also has a healthy sprinkling of gallows humor, which serves well to even out the heart-wrenching scenes when bad news inevitably arrives. Barr wrote the book as a means of coping with the struggle himself, and in an effort to impart hope to other guys like him - like myself - who may be facing similar struggles. It is an excellently told true story that I had genuine difficulty putting down, transporting me to see life through his eyes and leaving me feeling I had just watched a profoundly personal, first-rate film. This is the book I would recommend without qualification to any other guy on this infertility journey, and to the women who love them and who might want to understand their guys a bit better. It's a great story and a great read even if you're fortunate enough that you never have to deal with infertility a day in your life. I had given up hope that a book like this existed, but I'm deeply grateful to Michael Barr for proving me wrong.

On donor sperm

If you asked the average Joe or Jane on the street about "sperm donors," they would most likely think of the slang usage of the term for deadbeat dads who "hit it, quit it, and forget it." The vast majority of men out there have never given a moment's thought to "donor sperm" in the clinical sense, because they've never had to... unless they themselves have donated, in which case they'll think of it in positive terms. Until the last few decades with all of the advances in reproductive medicine, "donor sperm" was not even a clinical term, so it's only the few most recent generations of men that have ever had to consider the issue at all. Those advances have allowed infertile couples now to have children that were previously impossible for couples in their position even just a few years ago. But those positive developments have brought along with them new, hard questions that have to be answered. Like this one.

Fortunately my wife and I are not at the point right now that we have to make a decision on this. My semen analysis stats, while not good, are good enough at least that I'm hopeful we'll never have to seriously consider the option of donor sperm at all. We're doing all we can to improve those chances even further, and from what I've read, we've got a legitimately good shot. But the question of donor sperm HAS already come up - my mother-in-law has asked my wife about it. Apparently others have, as well. And every time the topic comes up, it seems to stick in my brain far longer than I expect it should. So, if for nothing other than my own peace of mind, I'm writing this now to try and lay my own thoughts to rest.

I have to be honest: I don't like the idea. I don't believe that ANY man does, even though some are quicker to accept it than others, if they accept it at all. But the question that burns in my mind, knowing that I don't like it - why? Beyond the obvious, primal, procreational urge of wanting to pass on one's own genes, what is it about this particular issue that causes my brain to freeze up and run in circles every time it's been brought up? And if I don't like it, and no man likes it, then how do some of those men still reach the point of acceptance?

The first brick in the mental block wall is the idea of your wife being impregnated with another man's seed. I know that it's not at all the same thing as her having a secret tryst with the milkman - there's no emotional betrayal or breaking of vows involved - but the physical result is the same. It doesn't feel like cheating. But it DOES feel like admitting ultimate failure as a husband and a man. "I'm sorry, my beloved wife - I have failed you in my duties as a husband. Please go find another man who can give you the children that I cannot, the children that you so deeply desire and so richly deserve." Yeah. It's like that. And then you spend the next nine months walking her through a pregnancy that you know you couldn't create.

Second, and maybe this is trivial, but I have serious concerns about the character of the kind of men who would donate sperm. I know that they put these men through an extensive screening process, so Joe Hobo on the street can't just show up at the sperm bank, make a deposit, take his check and leave. I know that many men, like myself, are capable of altruistic motives - "I want to do ______ so that I can help others who need it." And I don't doubt that many or most of these men make these donations with that motive as at least one of the reasons on their mind. But let's be honest - screening process aside, it's really easy for men to "donate" sperm. I would trust donor eggs from women much more, because a woman has to go through physical hell to do it; yeah, they still get paid for it, but the physical obstacles to the process are going to weed out the large majority of the women who are only in it for the money. You have to really WANT to donate your eggs if you're a woman who is willing to put herself through that, and that desire is probably most often driven by a desire to help others out. For men? Eh... not so much. I imagine that most of them are driven by the payday and/or the ego boost ("I've got women PAYING to get my sperm!") at least as much as any more selfless motive.

I also don't have a real great history in my life with "sperm donor" and non-biological dads - and "sperm donor" here IS used in the negative slang sense. My own biological dad was essentially a sperm donor - NOT in the clinical sense - as he and my mom divorced while she was pregnant with me, his son. I'm now 32 and I've never met him, never talked to him, never received any form of support from him at all. My mom remarried three more times after that, but none of those step-fathers worked out too well: the first was still married to another woman, the second was an abusive slacker, and the third seemed great at first but ultimately tried to rape and kill my sister. My grandmom never had anything good to say about my cousin's step-dad after her biological dad - my uncle - died. I knew a great adoptive dad living down the street from where I grew up, and one of our closest friends now was likewise adopted and has a beautiful relationship with his adoptive parents. But I never met a good step-dad until after college, and with donor sperm, a step-dad is essentially what I would be... just one who was there for the child's entire life, instead of coming along at some time later.

I don't even think that those are the biggest obstacles about this in my mind, though. It gets more emotional than that. Like, how would we ever tell the kid where he or she came from? You wouldn't tell them when they're too young to understand, of course, but never telling them at all is NOT an option, either. Eventually they would be on their own, talking to their own doctor about whatever, and that doctor is going to ask about family medical history. In such a situation, they would NEED to know that any health issues from me or my side of the family would be irrelevant to them, because they would not be biologically related to me. Letting them think they were related to me and then pass on incorrect health information could lead the doctor to an inaccurate diagnosis or unnecessary (potentially harmful) treatments, and I couldn't live with myself allowing that to happen. So you HAVE to tell the kid sooner or later. But even if you do wait until they're old enough to understand, I can envision the tear-stained conversation now: "Mommy is your real mommy, but daddy isn't your real daddy." "What?? What you mean that daddy isn't my daddy? Who is my real daddy?? Why isn't he here?? Why can't daddy be my real daddy?? You lied to me!! You always lied to me!!" Even somehow getting past that, I can imagine the teenage rebellion now, too: "I DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU!!! YOU'RE NOT EVEN MY REAL FATHER!!! YOU'RE NOBODY'S FATHER!!!" The idea of ever having either one of those conversations slays me through the heart.

I've always vowed, even before I got married, that if I ever did get married and had kids of my own, I would NEVER abandon them and do to them what my father did to me. Cruel irony, then, that if we're forced into using donor sperm, my resolve won't matter and they'll still end up wounded much the same. They'll be haunted by the same questions I was, and still am: "I wonder what my dad was like? I wonder how much of me comes from him? I wonder what we would have done together? I wonder what I missed out on?" Even though I would be there every step of the way, raising them with love, doing everything in my power to be the best damn dad that any kid ever had, my best efforts wouldn't matter and they would be left with a father wound regardless. That's not fair to any child.

All of that being said... if we ultimately can't get my sperm to work, our options for having a child come down to adoption or donor sperm. Adoption is noble, in that you're giving a chance to a kid who otherwise might have had none, and maybe because of the positive association I had early on with an adoptive father, that's a more positive path in my mind than being a step-dad. But my wife is not keen on the idea, and in truth, I'm not either; I'd much rather have a child of our own... or at least half our own. Going forward with a decision that neither of us are keen on seems to be an inherently bad idea, so that puts adoption last on the list. But the complicating issue for me is that, whether we adopt or go with donor sperm - the result for me is the same. I wouldn't be biologically related to the child in either case; there would be no "bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh." At least with a donor, the child would be related to one of us, and it would allow my wife the experience of pregnancy that she so desires. It would allow me to do many of the things that normal dads-to-be do, too, like caring for my pregnant wife and welcoming that beautiful new life into the world. In a sense, it would be fully both our child, in that it's a child that otherwise wouldn't exist if it weren't for the two of us together. It never "belonged" to anyone else. But, going back to that question of acceptance and how dads-via-donors reach that point, there's an issue of grieving. A BIG one.

Most dads say that the proudest moment of their lives was the moment they first held their child, that "little me," in their arms. But to accept donor sperm, I'd have to accept that there would never be a "little me." There would be a little baby, a "little me" for my wife, an "our child" for both of us, who would make us "parents" and would call me "Dad." But there would be no "little me" for me. I have no doubt in that situation that I would still love that baby to pieces, I would love my wife then as not only my wife but also as "mother of our child," and I would strive every day to be the best damn dad that anyone ever saw, just as I strive (and would continue striving) to be the best damn husband now. I have no doubt that, taking that child to Little League or to soccer or to ballet or to whatever they were into, I would be that proud father standing by, saying "that's my girl!" or "that's my boy!" But whether they were wonderful or terrible, I could never be proud that they were wonderful or terrible because of me. Every time someone said, "Oh, he has your eyes!" or "Oh, she has your smile!", I would smile and nod, but it would be an arrow to my heart inside as I thought, "No... they don't." I could never say, "She gets her art ability from you, but she gets the music from me," because she or he wouldn't get ANYthing from me. I wouldn't love the child or my wife any less if we had to go donor. But I would be forever wounded inside.

The $1,000,000 question, then: Would you do it? I can't answer that question right now, but fortunately we don't have to make that decision yet. I'm still very hopeful that we won't have to make that decision ever. But would I consider it? If it came down to it, yeah, I believe I would. I would have to say that I would want to exhaust every possible option to make it work with my own sperm first, because I don't think I could accept opening myself up for the inevitable wounds and living the rest of my life wondering, "What if we had tried just once more?" Donor sperm is not a shortcut and should never be used as such, and while the waiting sucks now, it's not gonna matter when we're watching our kid walk across the stage at graduation, or walk down the aisle at their own wedding, that we had to wait a few months longer now to reach that point. I realize that there does have to be a decision eventually if it's not working on your own; you can't keep trying on your own forever, or eventually time runs out. I've read about IVF and I really, REEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY don't want to put my wife through that; I don't know if I could accept that either. So would that decision point be before IVF, or after, or...? I don't know. I really don't know right now, and it's not only my decision anyway, so it would have to be something my wife and I decide together. I'd have to be convinced that we were both fully on board with any of these tough choices before I'd accept making them.

But I'm still hopeful. And grateful that we have good reason to be hopeful. The waiting and trying and failing and picking ourselves back up and dusting ourselves off and waiting and trying again all sucks - no doubt about that. But the end result is worth it. So we carry on. Together.

I Am the 11%

So apparently most guys aren't experiencing pain anymore by this point. Wonderful. Apparently most guys have reduced or resolved pain from this surgery overall, too, but I don't know if I believe that... it's certainly not in line with MY experience. Maybe my pain was just less severe than most guys' to be begin with, so that my pain level now WOULD be an improvement if I was most guys. But I don't think so - judging from what I've read from other guys, most of them don't talk about things like needing to keep wearing special underwear after this surgery, except for the rare exceptions. I seem to have more in common with the exceptions than with the rule. Of course someone has to make up that 11% that they say won't experience pain relief, so I'm not truly alone. But apparently not only did I win the genetic lottery for the crappy infertility diagnosis to begin with, I'm a bonus winner of increased pain. It doesn't inspire a lot of confidence going forward - I've continued to defy odds and expectations in a bad way at every step of the road thus far. I realize that's the pessimistic view - there HAS been some good news & positive results mixed in along the way, and I've still got some sort of chance that this pain won't be permanent. I AM grateful for that. But, again... emotions aren't rational, and that's not how I FEEL right now.

That's all for now, I guess. Just a bit of venting today.

A Mixed Victory

So this morning was the fateful, long-dreaded three-month follow-up to November's surgery. I never heard last week the results of last Wednesday's new semen analysis, so we'd find out those results this morning, and the future course of action that would go along with it.

Of course the Fertility Clinic wouldn't actually have the results READY for us this morning, after assuring me last week that they would, so we went through the entire appointment with the urologist without having any results to talk about that were supposed to be the whole point of the appointment to begin with. That was frustrating. The doc was friendlier today than any previous time I'd seen him, but he was visibly disappointed when I gave him the news that I'm still more painful now than before the surgery. Then of course I had to drop my pants for him again, and the exam this time was actually more painful than it was in December (because he wasn't very gentle at all this time), but at least it didn't uncover any new complications. He did observe that I've still got swelling, which explains my continued pain. He mentioned that if the pain does not improve any further, we may be looking at another procedure to deaden the nerves. But then, lacking any new numbers to discuss, we did what we could to talk about immediate next steps.

The nurse said that if my count had not improved since the surgery, he'd want to talk to us about HCG hormone treatments, since my testosterone is low and you can't treat "low T" for infertility with testosterone directly, or else you'll actually make the semen parameters WORSE. So the doc did indeed bring this up, but he admitted up front that it's expensive and not covered by insurance - $500-$600 a month. There's no way we can afford that on my current salary; there's not nearly enough budget left to squeeze. Fortunately that was not his recommendation yet, though, and he actually suggested that I try taking a specialized "Infertility for Men" vitamin/dietary supplement. This still isn't cheap - $180 for a three-month supply - but $60/month versus $600/month is WAY more palatable, and more feasible. He did say that the vitamins actually work, too. So, as much as I might like to have the "low T" addressed, it looks like that's not gonna happen. But at least I won't be screwed up with weird side effects from hormone treatments (yet), so I suppose that's good.

So we left the doctor's office this morning with the directive to start the vitamin treatments, then do another semen analysis three months after whenever I start that, then come back to the urologist two weeks after that analysis. Okay, fine. I f*cking HATE semen analyses by now, but at least it doesn't mean more high-dollar medical bills right away, and at least it doesn't hurt (like surgery or this morning's exam). At least it's another 3-4 months out. But we still didn't have the results of the analysis I did last week.

The nurse tried to get the results while we were there, and the Fertility Clinic did send over a set of results we hadn't heard yet - but what they sent was the results of the second semen analysis we did back in November, before my surgery. That... hurt more than the physical exam did today. I thought I was screwed up before - the first analysis had a count of 4.25 million (only 21.25% of the 20 million LOW end of normal), and 0 morphology (meaning ALL of my sperm were misshapen), but at least the motility was normal/good. The second analysis made the first sound like GREAT news by comparison - a count of a whopping 0.25 million, or 1.25% percent of the 20 million LOW end. About 0.17% of the 150 million HIGH end. They found a whopping ONE living sperm on the slide for the second analysis. "Firing blanks"? Yeah... apparently I am. I would have expected the second analysis to have been better than the first, actually, given than I gave that sample on five days' abstinence, versus three days for the first. But apparently that expectation was very, VERY wrong. I did read somewhere that a semen analysis should never be done on MORE than five days' abstinence or else, oddly, the semen parameters start dropping again. So maybe five days is just too long for my body... that's the only difference I can figure that would have made the results so dramatically lower. The doc's parting words for me this morning were, "Keep moving them through regularly. Whatever that means," with a smile. I'm going to take that as being on doctor's orders to never wait more than three days between release now, however that needs to happen.

But that made me even more worried about the latest semen analysis results - because I did that one on five days' abstinence, too. The doc said they would call me with the results whenever they got them, and about 90 minutes after I got to work, his nurse did. And... therein lies the "mixed victory" of the title. Count is still down from the first analysis - 1 million versus 4.25 million before. And motility is down - 44% (50% is normal), versus 60-something% the first time. But morphology is now a 1, versus 0 before. 8 is considered normal for morphology, so going from 0 to 1 is a bigger step than it sounds, and it means that at least I have SOME normally-shaped sperm now. The motility drop is disappointing, but she did say that the large majority of that 44% were in the highest category for motility, meaning they were exceptionally strong swimmers. And the 1 million is DEFINITELY disappointing - that makes the original 4.25 million seem like an unattainable goal - but at least it's four times better than the second analysis taken before the surgery. Comparing to the second analysis may be the more accurate comparison, given that they were both taken on the same five days' rest. It's also important to remember, to me, that this was an analysis of the sperm that I produced back in December, when I was still fresh off the surgery, VERY swollen and VERY sore. Hardly under ideal circumstances. So, all things considered... I'll consider this the modest win that we were hoping for. Thankful for that.

But how am I feeling? Well... pretty much how I felt after our October appointment with the OB/GYN. When he told us that the situation was not nearly as bleak as we feared after first receiving the "infertility" label. But when we also found out the exact numbers on that first sperm count, and I found out that I'm even more screwed up than I thought. Today I just found out that I'm even more screwed up than THAT, so while I'm grateful that things seem to be on the right track (albeit slowly), it's hard for me to be cheerful and upbeat. I'm angry and frustrated, honestly, that I'm still dealing with pain keeping me from living in my body as I got used to for the first 31.9 years of my life. Angry that I've gone through all of this pain and worry and stress, and that I don't have more to show for it yet. Still upset and kicking myself over all of the pain and worry and stress this has put my wife through. Back again to all of the self-loathing, self-blaming, "how screwed up am I?" thoughts. The nurse sounded like she was trying so hard to put a positive spin on the results when she called me this morning, but the fact that she was obviously trying so hard belies the fact that she knew this was not good news that any guy wants to hear, which doesn't make me feel any better either. I realize, rationally, that this is going back to the "too much, too soon" expectation following the surgery, and I need to continue to be patient. Things ARE improving. It's just that emotions are not rational, and dealing with all of this leaves me emotionally drained, which tends to tear down the rational filter and leave the raw emotions exposed on the surface.

I AM grateful for the good news that we received today. But I need to vent, and need time again to work through the emotions and thoughts stirred up again today after three months reprieve. Looks like we'll do it again in three months, and I'll do everything I can between now and then to make sure it will be a better result next time.

Here It Goes Again

Sorry, kids... recess is over. It's been three months and 13 days now since my surgery. My last post was a month and 12 days ago. So how have things been going since then?

Still painful. I'd say there's been no improvement in the pain over the last month except that when I last wrote, I was still taking at least two doses of Aleve daily for the pain. Now I'm typically only taking one or, more often, none. The pain itself doesn't really feel any better than six weeks ago, but I guess it's no worse now without painkillers than it was WITH painkillers then... so that means something, right? I still can't wear my old boxer briefs, either, but at least we've found a new kind of "regular" underwear (read: non-jockstraps) that I can wear without worsening the pain. (Brazilian trunks, if you must know.)

I went in this morning for the dreaded 3-month post-op semen analysis. It had to be done this week in time for my urologist/surgeon to get the results before my 8:00am 3-month post-op follow-up appointment on Monday. I swear that there are few things more awkward than walking into a waiting room full of women to tell the woman at the desk, "I'm here to drop off a semen sample." At least this time I had been given the collection cup beforehand, and a bag to deliver it in, rather than being led into a bizarre male patient room designated for this purpose, featuring a toilet, a sink, a large window, two leather couches, and a generous stack of Playboys & Penthouses. Porn be damned, that's one of the LEAST sexy things I've ever done.

So now it's done. My wife told me afterwards to try not to worry, as there's nothing we can do about the results of the analysis now, so all we can do now is wait. And I know she's right; I've often said similar things to her or others. But the cliche is true: "Easier said than done." I probably won't hear the results before that Monday appointment, but I'm already dreading the potential news if my phone rings before then and I see the clinic's name on the caller ID. Really, REALLY dreading Monday's appointment, too - more humiliation before the doctor, the potential to be told that the surgery has done nothing but give me increased pain, and the fear of not knowing what's next if the results of today's test (or Monday's exam) are not good.

But we carry on. Circumstances came together in an almost-too-perfect way for my surgery back in November. This was the road I chose to take, and all signs pointed then that this was the right choice to make. That's still true today. So what we CAN do, besides just waiting, instead of worrying, is to pray and trust God that He wouldn't have brought us here without a very good reason. There's the potential for very good news from today's test & Monday's appointment, too, so I'll hold onto that hope. And even if the results aren't all that we hope for right away, it's not the end of the road. We'll just figure out together which step next to take. Together.

So... here's hoping. And praying. Here we go.

Two months out

Long time, no update... at my last post, it had been three weeks since my surgery. Yesterday was the two month mark. According to the stats I've seen in several resources, 89% percent of guys with my issue say that any gland pain they experienced pre-surgery was completely resolved by having this procedure done. My doc also told me on the day of my last post that two months was average to expect the post-surgery pain to last. I'm two months and one day out now, and I'm still in that other 11% - in fact, yesterday was one of my most painful days in a while, as it was a failed experiment in wearing normal underwear again.

But the pain has improved - quite a lot since my last post. As of about two weeks ago, I was finally able to take a shower without it being a painful experience. And that has remained mostly, though not always, true since then. There are still bad days and good days. I get more throbbing aches now, less pain from incidental contact. At least when there is pain, it's not nauseating or debilitating now. But I still hope that, slower than average or not, the day is coming when I won't have daily pain to remind me of the surgery anymore.

Also concerning is that, other than a big ol' scar and the aforementioned pain, there doesn't seem to be any physical evidence now that the surgery did anything at all. The enlarged veins this was supposed to fix still seem every bit as enlarged as before. But my doctor DID tell me up front that that wouldn't go away, and there's only supposed to be a 1% chance of the issue recurring after this kind of surgery, so I realize that I'm almost certainly worried about nothing. We've still got at least another month to wait yet before any results will show up in my sperm count, so it's still a matter of wait-and-see for now.

It's just that the primary challenge in dealing with this issue has shifted again now, from a physical back to a psychological one. I'm due back at the doc on March 5; he wants a new sperm analysis done just before then. I have no idea what that analysis is going to say. I'm terrified of what it might tell us. I've done two of these already; the first one wasn't a big deal because I didn't know to expect anything bad, the second one wasn't a big deal because we already knew there was a problem, so a bad result wasn't any news at all. But this one will be different. We WANT it to be different, in a good way. I dread it every time I think of it, because I'm afraid of yet another bad result. And what will I do - what will we do - if it IS another bad result? I don't know. I don't know.

All we can do is take it one day at a time, as cliche as that sounds - but it's true. Keep enjoying the time NOT worrying about it that we have for now. And whatever happens in another six weeks... pray a lot. Accept the reality of whatever the results tell us, good or bad. And follow our doctor's advice, along with our own decisions, on where to go from there. That's all we can do.