Hurry up and wait

Today I finally managed to track down Mr's semen analysis results.  The first time I called the clinic, they said they'd faxed the results to my doctor the next day. So I called Dr. P's office with the date and time of the fax, only to be told the fax number the clinic had sent it to was not Dr. P's.  Turns out the clinic sent Mr's results straight to the fertility clinic that Dr. P usually refers patients to, rather than to Dr. P as requested. So after four phone calls back and forth, I finally got someone on the phone who could tell me the results: Not Good.

Same results as before. Lots of semen. Only a little of it lively. Even less of it moving in the right direction.

He's been referred to a local urologist. A very prestigious one in our state.  On the face of it, this seems good. If you've got a problem, go to the best to solve it. But as usual, the Best has a waiting list; a long one. So after another set of four phone calls back and forth between myself, the Urologist office and Mr, we finally have an appointment - six weeks from now.

I got off the phone feeling so tired and defeated.  I was so upbeat last week, even after less than stellar news, that we are finally getting somewhere.  But today just felt so frustrating and like this is just never going to happen. Why do we have to work so hard at something that should be so natural?  It's amazing to me that so many people manage to get pregnant by accident - but us?  We have to wait, and call, and schedule, and manipulate, and argue, and pay, and pray.

And hurry up. And wait.

Progress

Well, we've finally made some progress on the baby front. Mr went in for his second semen analysis last week and I went to the gynecologist for my annual visit and to talk baby today.

Unfortunately, nothing seemed to go right. Although it's been over a week since Mr's test, the doctor's office didn't have his results. And contrary to last year when my blood tests looked good and things with my cycle seemed normal, I've gone steadily downhill from there. Dr. P is concerned with the length of my luteal phase and thinks perhaps there is a fertility issue with me after all. So now not only, do we have to handle Mr's issues, but we have to address mine as well.

Not exactly what I was hoping to hear, but I handled the news surprisingly well. At least we are finally making progress. Baby steps, perhaps, but steps nonetheless.  All aboard the Baby Train. This thing's finally rollin'.

Rant

It seems like I have been waiting forever to have a baby. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a mother.

We've been married not quite seven years now and I would have had a baby the minute we got hitched at the ripe old young age of 22.  But Mr was in graduate school - a five year program, not making much money.  When we made the decision to do the PhD thing, we agreed on a No Baby policy until school was over. Five years seemed like an eternity, but I knew it was the right thing to do. When I had a baby, I wanted to do it right. I didn't want to barely scrape by and give my firstborn any less than the best.

I waited patiently. Even as my friends married and had their first babies. And then their second babies. And in some cases, even third babies.  All the while knowing that when grad school was over, it would be my turn.

So I should have been ecstatic when he finished in only four years, right?  Must be God smiling down on me for waiting so beatifically!  Or not...

Mr decided that he wasn't quite ready. His new job required a cross country move and very long hours. Could I please just let him get a year under his belt? Really, I wasn't losing anything because we thought grad school would be five years anyway.  Reluctantly I agreed.

Except the new job sucked and we made a second cross country move after only six months.  I warned Mr that he was most certainly not getting a full year at this new job, but I'd stick to my word and give him the rest of his original year - surely six months was enough time for him to get settled at the (second) new job, right?

As the first anniversary of his graduation approached, I broached the subject of babies. By this time he was happily ensconced in his work and we were building our first house - which turned into his new excuse for extending my wait. Did I really want to move with a six months pregnant belly? So many expenses with the new house! Didn't I want to be able to spend solely on a baby when it came? So I agreed to wait another six months, until the house was done.

And finally, finally that fall, I got my wish. I threw out my pills on the day we moved in.  Mr wasn't totally on board but I refused to wait any longer. I'd been patient enough and he'd love a baby when it came.

Except no baby came.

I tried to keep things low pressure for him. I am not the crazy woman screaming 'I'M OVULATING! COME HOME NOW!' into the phone every month. Most months he isn't even aware that it's 'time'.  But as the months piled up with no pregnancy, I began to worry.  After a year, I went to the doctor and had myself tested. Basic tests came out fine and then it was his turn....

But he refused to go. 'Too busy at work' he said.  I tried not to be a nag about it, terrified to bring it up over and over and over again. But month after month, Aunt Flow came calling and Mr kept stalling.

Finally, nearly nine months after I asked him to get tested, I was done waiting. I gave him a week: Get tested. I've lost my patience. Get it done.

And he did. The news was not good: Low Sperm Motility. 'Retest in a month' the doctor said, 'Then we'll go from there'.

A month passed and we had friends in town that week. So I gave him a pass. Then he was going on a business trip overseas. So I gave him a pass. Then he was back but was crazy busy catching up. So I gave him a pass.

I asked him to go last week. Patiently explaining that I have my annual lady visit in April and I'd like to have all his testing done before I go in. Reasonable request? Sure.

But he hasn't done it.  When I asked today he just shrugged and said he didn't go. No excuse. Just didn't do it.

And now, I'm just pissed. So angry I can't even see straight.

I'm done waiting. I held up my end of the deal. It's his turn. Why does he care so little for my feelings? My desire to be a mother?  It's not right. It's not fair. It's not loving. This sucks.

I want to scream. But I'm not sure he would hear.

Loserville, Population: You

I like to think that I normally handle pregnancy announcements pretty well.  I'm always excited and enthusiastic for my baby-baking friend, and reserve my tears for the privacy of my closet or shower.  One of the few upsides to living 12 hours from friends and family is that I don't have to go through these things in person.  Announcements usually come via phone (best friends), email (close friends) or Facebook (aquaintances) - all of which require only minimal faking before I dissolve into a puddle of despair.  Ditto for baby showers - no one questions why I don't attend.  I can send a lovely gift and my sincerest regrets and avoid an agonizing two hours of baby talk and belly watching (because you know there's never just one pregnant lady at these things).

Don't get me wrong, I really am genuinely thrilled for my friends who are blessed with a baby.  How can you not be? It's a baby!  But the longer my arms go empty, the harder it is not to curl up into the fetal position myself and wallow in my self pity.

Fortunately when we moved to the Midwest three years ago, we surrounded ourselves with other childless couples. None of them was in a hurry to procreate, which was A-Okay by me.  But I knew in the back of my mind that this child-free existence would eventually end for someone, I'd just hoped that I would be first.

The announcement came on Saturday. Smart man that my husband is, he mentioned it casually as I drove him to the airport for a week-long trip.  He knew that I would be upset, he just didn't particularly want to be around to see it.  I can't blame him. He doesn't share my burning desire to be a parent. He's just kind of along for the ride. 

And right he was to do it that way because I've been in a funk ever since.  I, of course, sent the obligatory email - OMG! Heard your news! So excited! - but what I really want to do is scream obscenities at the top of my lungs.  To rail against the unfairness of it all. To beg God, 'What do I need to do for that to be me?'

Instead I will practice my interested smile, force some cheer into my voice and prepare for six long months of baby talk and bump watching.

Game Face

Three of my friends had babies yesterday. Three.

What are the odds of them all giving birth on the same day?  I don't know, I've never been good with statistics, but I'm pretty sure the odds are slim.  It just felt like a cruel cosmic joke. A slap in the face. A reminder (or three) of my failure.

Don't get me wrong, I am thrilled for each one of my friends.  I don't begrudge them their beautiful babies in the least.  But every new baby is a stark reminder that my arms are empty; there is not even a baby on the horizon for me.  I can't just get off my butt and fix this for myself.  There is a process I must follow to have one of my own. A really, really slow one.

Meanwhile, I stand on the sideline and watch as my friends play the pregnancy game.  Bringing home their trophies in the form of a soft, warm bundle of beauty wrapped in receiving blankets. 

And I wonder when I'll finally win this hard fought battle? When will I have a triumph of my own?

Labelmaker

Infertile (adj): Not fertile; unproductive; barren

Barren (adj): fruitless; destitute; bereft; lacking

Such ugly words, right? For months, I've done everything possible to avoid applying those labels to us.  That's why I want to write about this here, rather than on my 'real' blog.  We (and by "we", I mean me) have told only a handful of people that we are actively TTC: my parents; my sisters; a friend who has three IVF children; a friend who's currently going through IUI.

At first, we kept it a secret because we wanted it to be a surprise. We'd been married several years, completed grad school, established careers, built a home. It was time. We were one of the few couples without kids and I hoped we'd quickly join the ranks. Imagine everyone's shock and elation when we announced!  No one would see it coming.

But the months passed, and there was nothing. And now I kept quiet because I didn't know what was going on. Was it me? Was it him? He wasn't quite ready to spend the big bucks to figure it out. He also wasn't the one crawling all over the internet, worried about how many months it had been and what that could possibly mean.

Soon we'd been trying more months that we had fingers left to count. Announcements came left and right, new babies at a rate of at least one a month. We are now the only friends left from college without at least one. Some have two or three. One even has six.  

And now I keep quiet because I don't want everyone to know.  I don't want to be labeled. Different. Unproductive. Barren. Bereft. Lacking.  

 

Infertile.

To [Womb] It May Concern

This is my place to document my infertility journey.  A place to get my feelings out. Somewhere that my family, friends, co-workers and acquaintances don't read my every word.  A place where I don't need to censor the thoughts, feelings and words that come with infertility.  A space where I won't feel judged or labeled for something that is only a very small (albeit consuming) part of me.

This is that place....