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.