A Guys guide to IF – Part 4 – the sexist truth

So you’re here…you’re sitting in front of your designated fertility god. You and your missus are finally meeting him face to face and you’re desperately relieved to find he doesn’t look the slightest bit Latin American, he’s not wearing a necklace made from the wrinkled genitalia of past patients…there’s no blood drenched altar in the corner of his consulting room…there’s no sign whatsoever of gruesome and inhuman acts…he’s just a normal, kind looking gent in a white coat who really wants to help you achieve your dream…phew.

It’s at this point that it becomes difficult for me to tell you how things are going to progress…there are too many variables, too many potential issues that you, your other half, or both of you could be experiencing for me to tell you how things will proceed from this point….so, instead of trying to do that, I’ll tell you some things that I do know…

Remember the first instalment of this guide…the post where I told you that the reason infertility was such an issue was all down to the female biological clock and their programmed need to have children? That if it wasn’t for this instinctual behaviour programmed into their psyche, that you wouldn’t be infertile – you’d just be childless. I told you it was all her fault that this is now the single biggest issue in your life – and will remain so until a suitable resolution is achieved…

Well, I’ve got news for you…not only is it the fault of the female in your life, the fact that it is now totally controlling every aspect of your life means nothing.

You’re not gonna get any sympathy, you’re not gonna get supportive messages from friends, family and colleagues who know about your situation. The chances are you’re not going to join a support group, join an infertility forum, start meeting other men struggling with IF on a regular basis for coffee and a chat. There’s this feeling that women suffer infertility and should get treatment, support and sympathy, but if it’s the guys fault, well, he’s just not man enough.

Because, not only is it their fault…everyone thinks it’s their issue…it’s a woman only problem…it’s like breast cancer…not many guys out there getting support for enduring that disease.

Now I know if you’re reading this and you’re a women, your eyes will be large saucer shapes displaying your horror at what I’ve just written, you’ll be taking in deep breathes in shock at the politically in-correctness of my claim, you’re preparing to flame me with unending angry messages, preparing to write to whoever you need to write to in order to have my blog taken down…but hear me out.

Firstly, this is a guys guide…so I’m talking to your other half…

Secondly…argue with this…

When women tell people they’re suffering with infertility, 9 times out of 10 they’ll get sympathy, a hug, a gentle pat on the back, sad bambi eyes as the person says something like “shame, that’s terrible, tell me all about it”…guys will get silence. The guy they’re telling will suddenly be unable to make eye contact, will fidget, and after about 10 seconds of excruciatingly uncomfortable silence, promptly start waffling on about their favourite sports team’s dismal performance this year. And that’s if they’re lucky!! If they’re unlucky, there’ll be comments about not being man enough, not doing it right, there’ll be offers from some bastard that he’ll take your wife somewhere and get her knocked up for you, but whatever happens, guys will look at him as if he’s somehow less of a man.

Joined any infertility forums? Many guys on there? The Cigar Room (or whatever they’ve named their guy zone – if they even have one) burning up the bandwidth with thousands of posts a day? Read many blogs? Found many guys out there talking about their battle with infertility? Nope, didn’t think so.

But that all pales into insignificance with the differences between the male and female experience when you get to talking about tests and treatment…

What do you think the general reaction would be if I suggested women actually enjoy having internal scans? They call it the ‘dildo cam’ after all…not many women own a dildo for something other than pleasure. How do you think it would go down if I asked someone on the forum if they enjoyed their examination, if they were looking forward to the stirrups? Not very well I’m sure…

But these same people who would be so horrified, will think nothing of asking the same question of a guy and his semen analysis. There’s nods and winks all round – even the nurses will have a joke. As if MSM (medically sanctioned masturbation) is somehow exciting and fun…like it’s nothing to be apprehensive about, nothing to be shy of, nothing to dread. There are snickers and smirks…next time your missus has a scan, as she comes out of the changing room afterwards, give her a nudge, and with a twinkle in your eye, ask her if she enjoyed that…and see what reaction you’ll get.

I bet it’s not a good one!

Ok, I hear some of you saying that at least with an SA, you’re generally alone, it’s just you and the sterile container, there’s no doctor prodding or poking you with phallic objects…and I get that…but that doesn’t mean us guys are looking forward to the next instalment of ‘shoot to win’.

I think a lot of women forget that for a guy to ejaculate, he has to be aroused…he has to be ‘up’ to the task at hand…The problem with this is that arousal is 90% mental and 10% blood flow…and I don’t know if any of them have been in the local andrology room of their clinic, but my experience is they’re hardly inspiring. Hell, one of the clinics in our town doesn’t even have a designated room – they make their male patients use the unisex toilet!!

Add to this the pressure of knowing what’s at stake, and that you’re going to be handing your not-so-sterile-anymore container over to someone who is then going to analyse the contents in minute detail…and then report back on their findings…like some dreadful school assignment that’s just destined to end in tears…and, if your wife is on a forum or writes a blog, she’s gonna be shouting the results from the roof top…and you just know if your count is good, your morphology will be bad, if your motility is high your quantity will be lacking…there’s bound to be something below par…because what you really need is another blow to your self-esteem!!

It’s like when you have to give your GP or nurse a urine sample…they’ve given you the container, but you’re never sure how much to hand back…you don’t want to have just a little slopping round the bottom, but will they look at you strangely if it’s filled to the brim, and what if it’s a really strong pee and smells…handing over your semen sample is like that, but amplified a million times. You take a look at the container before you unlock the door of the andrology room, desperately wishing sperm cells were big enough to be counted with the naked eye: are they deformed, are they moving, is there enough…I’m sure there was more in the container last time…damn, hope that’s not a bad sign…

Then you hand it over to the lab technician, desperately hoping they’re not going to hold it up to the light, peer in and say ‘is that all’ or something equally embarrassing.

And this is all before we get to any of the procedures…somehow no-one seems to consider any form of sperm extraction or aspiration or varicocele correction as a particularly big deal…it’s shrugged of with a snigger or two, some comment about walking like John Wayne while stifling a laugh…but any mention of the women procedures and there is sympathetic grimaces, descriptions of the correct uses of a heated beanbag, the best pain medication and well wishes for a speedy recovery.

And maybe this is all out fault. Maybe us guys have brought this down on ourselves…

As I’ve said previously, we have the sex drive and they have the mothering instinct…we are the unfeeling rocks and they are the ones with emotions. They’re the sensitive souls and we’re just insensitive.

Maybe this is why no one credits the concept that a guy might want kids just as much as his wife does. Very little thought is given to the emotional toll infertility may be taking on us. No one seems to think about the stress and the strain we may be going through…it’s like just because we’re not advertising it, it’s not there…and that’s why they can laugh at what we have to endure…hell, all we have to do is jerk off every now and again…and we probably even enjoy it…

Maybe this is why infertility is all about the woman…she’s the customer and you’re just a supplier in this equation…

We don’t talk about our feelings, our worries and concerns and as a result it’s like they’re not actually there. Maybe if we told them how scared we are of not having kids, of having a bad SA result, of the way the thought of a BFN keeps us awake at night, how seeing them in pain causes us more pain than the rest put together, then maybe, just maybe, everyone might start acknowledging that us guys are battling this infertility too.

Maybe if we spent a little less time keeping everything bottled up to protect our loved ones, they’d be able to see that we sometimes need support and encouragement too. If we were a little more open they might better understand that we have our good day’s and our bad day’s too, and that sometimes when we’re acting difficult, it’s because we’re also exhausted from being in the trenches fighting this battle, and it may help if we didn’t feel like we’re second class citizens in this sexist land of infertility.

Part 3 of A Guys guide to Infertility…

So the appointment’s booked. You’re about to head off to meet your FS – your Fertility Specialist. You’re going to see this important fertility god who, if you think about it, is a bit like those ancient priests of the Aztec’s or Inca’s – they’re gonna make each of you undress at various stages and then fiddle with your bits, they’ll require you to make regular blood sacrifices, talk mumbo-jumbo and expect you to understand. They’ll force you to endure embarrassment, discomfort and perform all sorts of weird and wonderful acts, all in the hope of assisting you to have your prayers answered (hopefully, though, in this case there is no requirement for your still-beating heart to be cut from your chest with a blunt stone – although there may be times it might feel like this is exactly what’s happening to you). I don’t know what these ancient priests charged for their interventions, but, adjusting for inflation over the last 500 years, it was probably as frightening to those poor suckers, as it is to you now.

You may go to this first appointment with nothing to do before hand (other than worry), or they may ask your better half to have a series of blood tests done before this first appointment. The second option is a bonus. It means you already feel like things are happening before you’ve even set foot in the clinic. If she does need to supply blood for the preliminary tests, the peeling off of the sellotape with the cotton wool a few hours after they’ve taken the blood, is just the first pin prick of the pain you two are about to endure. These blood tests will be the starting point for the FS to begin to delve into the conundrum of your infertility…But, much more importantly, it is a very useful bench-marking point for you … if she makes a fuss about the needles when they take the blood or she squeals when removing the sellotaped cotton wool from her inner elbow or complains about the bruise afterwards, you’re in trouble. No doubt about it. BIG TROUBLE and you are about to become acquainted. This is the tiniest glimpse of what the future holds for you both, and if she’s struggling at this stage when she’s still excited and eager about the first FS appointment, your life is going to be a living hell when she’s pumped full of enough hormones to stop a bull in its tracks, has ovaries the size of basketballs, is bloated and uncomfortable, has had countless sleepless nights, and is up at some ungodly hour of the night in order to give herself the little bastard of a stinging trigger shot. Because, if she’s complaining now, god help you then.

If you get to this bench-marking point and she doesn’t take it in her stride without a whimper…you’re quite simply fucked.

I don’t have any fool-proof, tried-and-tested, guaranteed-to-work advice for you I’m afraid. That being said, at this point, if I was you, I’d start making some very serious and detailed plans of your own…

I’d ensure the spare bedroom has a comfortable bed and a door that locks from the inside! Maybe start ensuring all sharp object are behind lock and key (tell her you’re ‘baby-proofing’ the house in anticipation of the pitter patter of little feet – this gets her buy-in and stops her becoming suspicious)! I’d start stocking up on aromatherapy oils, bubble baths and scented candles. A sound system for the bathroom may be a very wise investment, along with a good selection of calming music. You may need to test-drive some if this music beforehand – you don’t want to perform a flawless SAAP (Spousal Attitude Adjustment Plan), only to discover that the recording of sperm whales humping in the pacific ocean is winding her up instead of calming her down! It’s good to know before it’s a matter of life and death whether she finds the pan-pipes a fantastic accompaniment to a relaxing bubble bath, or whether they remind her of the time she caught one of her flatmates in bed with her boyfriend…because these little details could be the difference between a scene from Gone with the Wind or one from Fatal Attraction.

I’d become good friends with the local florist – you may be seeing a bit of him over the next few months! I’d ensure I can throw together a good wholesome meal from any 4 ingredients that commonly inhabit your fridge. If you’re not a natural listener, find somewhere where you can take lessons (I’ve found listening to test cricket on the radio the perfect teaching aid – if you can listen to 5 days of that without falling asleep, you’ll be able to stay awake through the sleepless nights heading your way, without being repeatedly woken by a flying elbow when she’s discovered you’ve nodded off again while she’s baring her soul to you).

Even if she takes the blood tests in her stride, now has come the time for you to spring into action.

The first thing you’re gonna have to do is learn to speak fluent infertileese…I don’t care if you’re not good with languages…over the next few months, you’re gonna be having some pretty important conversations. And there’s no time in these conversations for your missus or the FS to stop in mid sentence when they notice the vacant expression on your face. There’s not time to explain what they meant with whatever acronym they just causally threw into the sentence…you need to know this stuff better than anything you’re ever studied in your life. You thought the 3 times table would be useful, it’s nothing compared to the importance of being able to explain the difference between ZIFT/GIFT/ICSI/IUI/FSH/PICSI/EWCM without the need to refer to your crib notes.

So spend a bit of time learning all about these things. It’s not essential to get a bachelor of science degree in this stuff  (although it helps), because, chances are your other half has already got her PhD in it…but you do need some idea of what’s involved.

The second thing you’re going to need to start doing is understanding yourself. You need to spend some time on deep introspection…you will need to start understanding how you actually really and truly feel about each little aspect of starting a family, and dealing with the tough choices you may need to face because of your infertility. You don’t need to be 100% certain (because your mind will change over time as you guys experience things), but you do need to be able to vocalise a few of your feelings and hold a decent conversation about them – because when you’re discussing things with your missus, you need to be able to make a positive contribution to the conversation…You might be wanting to sit quietly and think it out, but you won’t have time…she can’t sit quietly for half an hour between sentences so that you can compose a reply. So give it some thought before hand – that way she won’t think you’re resistant/hesitant/uncommunicative…because that’s not going to help matters. If all else fails, you can use the fall-back phrase ‘I don’t now how I feel about this. Give me some time to think about it.’ will work once or twice, but you will have to come back with an answer sooner or later and overusing this phrase can also end you up in hot water.

Anyway…

…you arrive at the clinic on Appointment Day.

First things first…a good shower/bath before hand for both of you is a good idea – there’s no telling how this meeting is going to pan out…your other half will have been careful to put on her best knickers – not the sexy ones, but the ones with no holes or frayed seams (because, for some reason, mothers seems to instil the idea that their daughters should always have prefect undies on in case they get knocked over and have to go to hospital – maybe if they spent more time teaching their daughters how to cross the road instead of how to dress, this would be less of a problem…)…and it’s worthwhile doing the same. And the fact that you have to worry about the cleanliness of your bits, as well as the presentableness of your small-clothes tells you all you need to know about this appointment…it could be a simple straightforward consultation with your new doctor on one side of his desk and you and your wife on the other…or it could end up with you standing up with your pants round your ankles while your nuts are being fondled by a middle-aged man in a white coat…you just never know.

You’ll walk hesitantly into the reception area, desperately hoping the waiting area will be empty…and hoping even more that if there are people there, that you won’t recognise any of them…last thing in the world you’ll want is to see your buddy from the tennis club, or horror of horrors – someone from work. Your missus will take the lead at this point – no matter what your relationship and personalities are normally like, it’s at this point that you’ll become the wilting flower afraid to make a move and she’ll become the one to walk up to the receptionists and tell them your names and that you have an appointment. They’ll give you a wad of forms to fill out, a wad that’ll roughly equate to the same number of pages you had to complete when buying your house. You’ll sit quietly in the waiting room while your missus completes the forms, occasionally asking you inane questions that only a mother would know. If there’s anyone else in the waiting room, you’ll furiously avoid eye-contact…but you’ll still try and check them out…like the shop assistant who can calculate the cost of your entire wardrobe, extrapolate your likely income levels, shopping habits and the exact likelihood of you purchasing anything of worth from their shop – all in a split second glance at you. You’ll be surreptitiously studying everyone else there, calculating their age, their economic status, sexual orientation, health, weight, virility, all whilst pretending to flip through the most diabolical collection of crappy health magazines the world has ever seen.

It’s at this point that you’ll notice something strange…you’ll notice that you wince every time anyone says your name out loud…it’ll feel like the world hushes the moment anyone within 100 feet of the clinic says your name…some fluke of acoustics will make your name resonate and echo, getting louder and louder with every repetition – your anonymity is well and truly blown – get used to it.

Your wife will finish the paperwork, hand it to the receptionists, who will again say your name a few more times in a booming and resonating way. Then you’ll sit there…like you’re in some kind of purgatory…desperately trying to do the impossible. You’ll be trying to support your wife by holding her hand, giving it regular pats and squeezes, flashing her reassuring smiles, making small talk, showing her how much you care while also trying to impress everyone else in the waiting room (especially any other men there) with your masculine virility and strength. You want them to know that any fertility problem you guys have is definitely with your other half, because you’re such a man, you could father an entire nation, given sufficient resources. You want them to know that you’re 120% man – the successor to the Camel man, or was it the Gunston man – whichever one was more rugged and manly. You want them to think you’re the kind of guy that rides a big harley when he’s not driving the Porsche to his corner office in the fortune 500 company he’s built single-handedly in the last 4 months after sailing round the world in a boat you made yourself, eating nothing but sharks you caught by hand.

I’m not sure how you portray this to anyone watching whilst sitting on a couch, but it probably doesn’t include holding hands, winking and talking about what could be wrong with you…

So, you’re gonna have to make a choice…either you’re the supporting, loving, doting husband, or you’re the tough, virile, no-nonsense stud who doesn’t do feelings, housework or doctors… and I’ve got news for you…if you’re sitting in that waiting room, you’re the former, so stop trying to make everyone else think you’re the latter…you’re not and they all know it.

Then they’ll call your name out (with what seems like a megaphone), and it’s time to walk through to the back and meet your fertility god – you sheepishly follow your wife, casting a last haunted glance at the other guys in the waiting room who watch you with wide-eyed fear and pity…like a lamb to the slaughter…feet dragging as you follow your suddenly chipper and excited wife through to HIS office…hoping against hope that he hasn’t got one of those sacrificial altars in the corner next to the bookshelf!!

A Guys guide to Infertility continued…

Ok. So, to recap, we know it’s her fault that not having children is now the single biggest problem in your life.

It’s like the Armageddon movie…you can continue doing what you’ve always done, but know that there’s this asteroid the size of Texas headed in your direction and there’s no way you’re going to escape it’s destructive force by doing nothing…Hiding your head in the sand is not the solution…action is called for.

So you agree during one of the many tearful conversations you’ve been having over the last few weeks that it’s time to do something other than having sex at the right time. This in itself is a sign of the difference between guys and girls…most guys struggle to admit that there might be a ‘wrong time’ for sex, which automatically makes it hard for us to understand the concept that there’s a ‘right time’…any time is a ‘right time’, right? Wrong.  Believe me when I tell you that she’s done the research. She now has a PhD in the science of conception. She’s delved into the mysteries of the human reproductive systems and and has an indisputable god-like knowledge of what needs to be done…so shut up, nod and do as you’re told…”yes dear”.

No matter how you got to this point, you’re here now…get with the program.

Stop worrying about the fact that you finally understand why, for the last year, she’s had a headache for 26 days out of every 28, but made up for it in those two days by ravaging you like a 2-bit porn star. Stop thinking about all the other pennies that have just dropped – that’s why she’s been laying with her feet in the air for an hour after ever ‘session’, that explains the little pile of baby-grows in the bottom drawer in the spare room that has been steadily growing over the last year, and yes, that’s why she’s been doing funny things in the toilet – peeing on a little stick that every now and again show’s a smiley face…not sure what the hell that face meant, but you always had a matching one half an hour later… Maybe you now realise what was going on when your missus came home from work in a foul and dangerous mood and didn’t want to discuss it, oh and coincidentally did you see the 5 announcements on Facebook today of friends who are now pregnant. This explains why when doing the grocery shopping your wife pitches the tampons into the trolley like she’s a major league baseball pitcher standing on the mound looking at a batter she wants to put into hospital.  And no, the tears running down her face the last few times she’s announced her period was here, wasn’t caused by overwhelming disappointment because she fancied a good seeing to today, but decided the ‘cleanup operation’ wasn’t going to be worth it. She’s been trying to fall pregnant for a year you dopey git…close your mouth and catch up, we need to move on.

Maybe this wasn’t your route to this point, maybe you guys agreed before you started trying. Maybe you discussed it at length, had your investment broker in before she went off the pill to ensure you guys could afford the resulting demands from a successful conception on your resources. Maybe you had a colour-coded, cross-referenced 12 point plan for family making, with all tasks assigned and scheduled progress reports and feedback loops. Maybe you’ve picked out names, schools, decorated the nursery, bought the hand cuffs and lingerie to ensure you’re always in the mood during ovulation, whatever. Maybe you consulted the family psychic or sent off to that astrologer in the sunday newspapers to find out when the best month to conceive would be. Possibly you’ve decided on a code word to alert each other that you need to copulate now dammit…the window of opportunity is cracked open and time is of the essence – even if it meant having sex in a public toilet, on the boardroom table or worst of worst, when visiting her folks for a long weekend.

Whatever your route to this point, you’ve been trying (whether you knew it or not) for a year…the magical time limit, that unmovable barrier like a Sci-Fi force-field, that doom-laden point in the conception calendar…you’ve been trying unsuccessfully for 12 months…12 cycles…

That’s if you’re lucky.

If you’ve very unlucky, you’ve got to this point in just six months… now, on the face of it, that might not make a lot of sense, but if you’re here after just 6 months, you’ve got a HUGE issue…your wife is obviously over 35.

Ordinarily, 35 is only just approaching middle age. But, unfortunately for you, the fact is, in the infertility world, 35 years old for a woman is more ‘life’s over’ than ‘mid-life’. After 35, a woman’s years are like dog years…and so the pressure is amplified exponentially…because, not only haven’t you conceived yet, but TIME IS RUNNING OUT!!!!

The fact is, you’re now officially labelled – you’re infertile. Scrap that…you’re officially Infertile…actually you’re undoubtedly INFERTILE.

This means action is called for…the current plan hasn’t worked…time to see a specialist.

Now the first thing you need to know is that the costs have just moved up a to a whole new level.

You thought you were spending a lot up till now. The money you’ve spent over the last year on ovulation predictor kits, pee-on-a-stick home pregnancy tests, tissues for the regular week-long tearful episodes, the increased internet usage as your other half consulted Dr Google and researched her thesis on what’s potentially going wrong, the crockery you’ve had to replace when she returned from every baby-shower…these have all been small fry to what’s coming. If you thought it was stressful up to now…hold on to your horses, cos it’s gonna be just as bad, but with financial stress added to the camel’s back you’ve developed.

Your significant other will tell you that she’s made an appointment with So-and-so fertility god at the local clinic (or if you’re spectacularly unlucky, the clinic is a few hundred miles away which will add a few more straws to your double-humped shoulders). It’s in a month and a half’s time (because these guys are more heavily booked up than the drug dealers at a Amy Winehouse concert).

Strangely, she’ll moan about this delay, but will start doing better emotionally from the minute the appointment’s booked – there’s a plan, there’s forward movement, things are happening (even if the only things that’s happening is that you’re waiting – go figure).

As you approach the appointment, she’s gonna start getting stressed…there are going to be even more discussions about what-if’s, you’ll start receiving calendar appointments for 5 hour strategic planning sessions, so you can map out your responses to every conceivable scenario (and after the 43 trillion hours spent on Google, she’s come up with quite an alarming array of scenario’s). She’s gonna have sleepless nights, struggle to concentrate on anything else and be a little touchy.

A word of advice for you guys…now is not the time to point out that she has bags under her eyes, or that her hair looks like she goes to the same hair-dresser as Worzle Gummidge, or, even worse, that you’ve found a grey one lurking in there. Probably not a good idea to tell her she’s put on some weight and as a result that the dress she’s wearing looks like a relief map of the Andes. Unless of course, you fancy running around the house with a knife-wielding lunatic chasing you. Tell her you fancy her best-friend and think she should invite her round for a threesome if you want a good beating…but whatever you do, do not ask her if she’s sure she wants kids!!

Don’t list the things you’d be giving up if you had children, because, at this point, she’d gladly give up every one of those things to be pregnant. She would sell your house and your cars and every valuable you own if it meant she could have a baby. She’d happily sell most of her friends and every last one of yours into slavery if it would buy her an emplanted embryo.

She’d donate both of your bodies to medical science for the chance of getting those two lines on the pregnancy test kit…and, this is practically what she’s doing…because you’re about to meet the fertility specialist, and he’s gonna put you through more tests than the space shuttles pre-launch sequence…so prepare yourself.

A Guys guide to Infertility…part 1 of 4,856,782

Hi Kids,

for the second post in a row, I’m afraid I’m posting for any and all other people out there rather than to you two…unless of course our MFI is hereditary, in which case this post is to you too Jed. (That’s a thought actually…I better find out whether Secondary Hypogonadism is hereditary…hmm)

HopefullyTCC/Mommy-In-Waiting (depending in where you know her from) & I have been talking for some time about writing some posts on the things people don’t tell you with regards infertility and treatment. I don’t know if people are shy, don’t think it’s worth sharing, or haven’t come across these issues/experiences, but we’ve not really found much out there on the gory details, the things that scare the shit out of you at the time and would have been so much better if you were fore-warned.

My dear wife has already got the ball rolling with her first post on the subject…The Best friends Guide to IVF…and I think she’s planning on putting it on a separate permanent page, adding to it as time goes by and as other people comment and give her more content to add.

So, I better do some catch up and start my posting on the subject. Also, anyone out there reading this who has some things to add, please do so, and maybe I’ll do the same – stick it on a permanent page making it easier for other guys to find…

I figured I’d try and tackle this subject logically – it’s a large subject, because rather than just focussing on IVF, I want to tackle this whole Infertility fiasco (well as much as I can based on my own experiences). I warn you now (and anyone who’s read my blog knows this), I’m not going to hide anything, no euphemisms, sugar-coating or ducking the embarrassing bits…there’s no room for any of that with infertility…sensitive or delicate dispositions aren’t allowed – they don’t last 5 minutes in the IF world. And besides which, us guys need things spelled out in small words with lots of pictures – metaphors and subtlety just won’t work…it’s a balls to the wall exposé, a no-holds-barred guide to dealing with this insidious and damaging condition….as I’ve said before…YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!! Read on at your peril…

The first things guys need to know about infertility is that it’s all women’s fault.

Yup, they’re to blame. It’s because of them that this is such a big issue. It’s because of the woman in your life that you’ll be routinely embarrassed, it’s because of your little snugglepuss that you’re going to be miserable, it’s because of your soul mate that this issue eats away at you like a carnivorous cancer.

For starters, if it was left up to guys, there would be no kids. The human race would have died out long ago. Yes, the Creator/Nature (depending on your beliefs) instilled the stronger sexual urges in the male of the species. But It also instilled the mothering instinct in the female of the species. Guys just want sex. We don’t care when, how, why – as long as we get it. Women on the other hand, want children. And sex is just the means to the end (unless they’re infertile, but we’ll get to that later). OK, ok, this is a sweeping generalisation, a bit tongue in cheek, but, the honest truth is that without this programmed NEED to be a mother, infertility wouldn’t be such a big thing.

Take our example as a case in point. I told Hopefully 16 odd years ago that I couldn’t have kids. We weren’t dating or anything. I told her because she was my flatmate and we were really good friends (‘good’ in respect to the fact that we spent all day sitting and talking, and ‘bad’ because it meant we never went to classes = 2x university dropouts). So she knew this before we realised we fancied each other, before we had our first kiss. And, as far as I was concerned, that was it – no doubts, no maybe’s no if’s or buts…me = never having kids.

We hooked up, we got married, we built a life together, we travelled the world for a year, we got jobs, we bought and sold houses and cars, we moved back to South Africa, we bought a house, more cars, started a business, celebrated 10 wedding anniversaries….all without kids in the picture. Hell, almost without kids being mentioned.

Then, just over 18 months ago, this little ticking sound…tick tick tick…the female biological clock…tick tick tick…time’s awasting…tick tick tick…

And here’s the thing gents…they can’t control it. It’s not something they decide one day when walking through the shopping centre…suddenly looking round and wondering where the kiddies shop is, cos they fancy popping in and getting one. It’s not a conspiracy that they’ve been hiding from you for 12 years, and they’re now springing it on you because they’ve assessed your resistance is low. It’s not something they chat about at book club, and decide that what the hell, life isn’t tough enough for us, our marriages, our financial position – lets throw something disruptive into the mix, lets shake things up a bit. It’s not a passing phase, like wanting a tamagochi, a rubik’s cube, a belly-button piercing or whatever this season’s must have accessory is – like ugg boots… They’re not going to forget it if you just ignore it for a while. It’s not going to go away… because, if anything, the longer it goes, the louder that clock ticks…and the louder that clock ticks the more miserable your life will become.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in this life, the most important rule EVER, if you want your life to be happy and relatively care-free, then you better make damn sure that the woman in your life is happy!

Cos, Danté got it wrong, there aren’t nine levels of hell, and if there are, they pale into insignificance besides what your life becomes when your woman isn’t happy.

In summary…infertility is all her fault, but she can’t help it, so move on from casting blame and figure out how you’re gonna be part of the solution…for your own sake as well as hers.

Thank you – and sorry…

Hiya,

for a change, I’m writing a post to any of you out there who’ve read, continue to read, or will read my blog, rather than to the kids that I so desperately wish we had, and know we one day will have.

As I’m sure you can imagine (and as a lot of you know from experience), it’s been a tough few days on the Hopelessly/Hopefully household. But, on the plus side, it hasn’t been as tough as I’d feared it would be when we were going into the cycle. I think we’re both just tired as we come down from the heightened stress and emotional  levels of our first IVF cycle – the one that failed….I’m very carefully NOT calling it our first failed cycle, as that implies we had or are expecting to have other failed cycles…and we would definitely prefer that doesn’t happen!

What I really wanted to say today, is a great big THANK YOU to all of you who’ve read my blog and especially to those of you who’ve commented,  over the last few days and on the posts before that. It has surprised me just how much your comments have made me feel. It’s like having this invisible support, that validates your feelings, understands what we’re going through, allows me to express what I’m thinking without any feeling of judgement or embarrassment. As I sit here in my home office, feeling slightly lonely and alone, I’ve been looking at these comments you guys have made, and its made me feel a little better, less alone.

And it’s made me realise something…I’ve been a very selfish and one-sided blogger.

I started this blog because I felt it was a way I could connect with this journey, a way for me to deal with the conflicting thoughts and feelings, emotions and experiences that I’ve had to deal with. A place to talk openly and honestly without worrying about the consequences.

I decided right at the beginning that it was going to be for me, and someday, for my kids to read. Something we can give them when they’re old enough to understand. Something to give them an idea of what we went through to have them. Obviously, when I started, I was anticipating that the only way we were ever going to have kids was either through the use of a sperm donor, or through adoption. I thought that giving them these posts would help them realise how much they meant to us, how much we were willing to go through to have them, how much we sacrificed just to conceive them…something to allay any fears they may have about being adopted or about not being my biological children.

This mindset lead me to ignore (in many respects) the idea that there are other people out there reading this. My readers were just the driving force to keep me writing/posting, not the reason I write/post. Yes, I looked at my readership stats, and got excited when they peaked a bit, I saw them drop when I failed to post regularly. But I didn’t really give much thought to the people behind these stats.

I started out initially reading loads and loads of other blogs, almost never commenting, often feeling a bit voyeuristic as one of the few guys in a woman dominated world. And it was the same on the Fertlicare forum, I seldom commented, feeling like I might be intruding in this female domain. I only replied to posts from people I felt I had come to know over time, and similarly, with the blogs, eventually only read three or four regularly. Those blogs being only a few ladies from the forum.

On the forum, I abhorred those replies that seemed to me to be totally senseless and mundane – those ‘thinking of you’, ‘take care of yourself’, ‘holding thumbs’ posts. They seemed without substance and pointless. They seemed to me to be people trying to ‘raise their profile’ because the more you post, the more people respond to you…and I wasn’t about all that…I wasn’t in it for the popularity, the stats, the hit counter.

But something’s changed in the last few days.

Hopefully and I have been on the receiving end of those ‘holding thumbs’ comments, we’ve received countless messages of support on both the forum and our respective blogs, people who’ve been lurking for god knows how long have de-lurked to wish us well or send commiserations. People who’ve never before commented on my blog have done so…and it’s been a very special thing.

At the risk of sounding melodramatic (which is a constant battle with me as you probably know), it’s been incredible. This sensation of there being tens, if not hundreds, of people caring about what we’re going through. People shouting support and encouragement. People sending heart-felt sympathies on the bad news that the cycle failed. The bucket-full of replies on the forum, the plethora of comments on our blogs, they’ve all meant the world to both of us.

And it’s made me realise that I’ve been selfish. My blogging has become one-sided, a one-way street of encouragement and support. I’ve been taking and taking, fooling myself that I didn’t need the readers and comments. But, in the dark recesses of my mind, I now realise that without you guys, I would have stopped blogging a long time ago, and that I would be worse off for it.

So, I want to take this opportunity to say a big and bold THANK YOU to all of you. You’ve helped me to blog, you’ve helped me analyse my thoughts and feelings, you’ve helped me to cope with the journey we’re on, you’ve helped me to better understand some of what my darling wife is going through, you’ve helped us immensely.

And I’d also like to say a big SORRY, for being such a selfish blogger. I will from now on, try my best to read more blogs, take the time and effort to comment more, be more supportive on the forum, and generally try and give back just a little of the support we’ve been so fortunate to have received in the past.

Ding, ding, ding…end of round 1…

Yup, you’ve guessed it…a negative on the bloodtest…not pregnant (your mom that is, not me…).

BUGGER!!!!

We’d managed to keep the test day a secret from all the friends and family who weren’t friends via IF (because it’s impossible to bamboozle them about when the correct test date would be). We had big plans for how we were going to announce our good news. We’d worked out the roster to make sure that the right people found out in the correct order. We’d visualised going round to nan & granddad’s to surprise them with the news, we’d got it all planned out…but it wasn’t to be….

Your mom and I were doing well up to test day. We were managing to function normally, other than the patchy sleep patterns. Getting an invite to dinner at Scary Hairy’s for the night before was a godsend – we quickly realised during the 10 days between transfer and test day that you need to keep busy – sitting at home in the evenings was not doing good things to our stress levels. Dinner out a couple of times, movies, anything to prevent us from sitting quietly at home in front of the telly, obsessing about the approaching test day.

So, dinner the night before. A great relaxing evening, sat in front of their new wood-burning fire, chatting about this and that, eating good food, a glass or two of port (not for your mom though!) and a late night – perfect to ensure we slept late and had minimal time twiddling our thumbs before we were able to head off to the pathologists for the blood test (they aren’t ordinarily open on a Sunday for walk-in patients, but they kindly make exceptions for IF’ers).

Plans ruined by a ridiculously early phone call from our internet service provider to inform us that the problem with our internet (that we had no idea about) had now been fixed…THANKS! The first time in weeks that we manage to sleep passed 7am and the phone rings at 07:30…swine!

A coffee in bed, some cuddling, some far-away looks as we both entered our own heads, then it was time to shower and head off to the pathologists. Appointment was booked for 10 am and by 10:12 we were both climbing the walls waiting for the nurse to finish her rounds of the hospital to come and take blood. There ensued the normal game of ‘hunt the vein’, with your mom’s body eventually reluctantly releasing sufficient supplies from the back of her hand (nice bruise as a result!). Your mom then proceeded to strong-arm them into promising to have the results ready within two hours, and to allow us to collect the results in person (rather than having to wait the extra hour for the clinic nurse to phone the pathologists for the results)…there was much wrangling and she eventually bullied them into submission, but they got their own back because it then meant they were doing the test on-site, rather than sending it off elsewhere, which required the use of a different container…so ‘hunt for the vein – the sequel’ (two bruised hands for your mom as reward for our impatience!).

We headed off to the nearest coffee shop for a fry-up breakfast, to fill the 2 hour gap. Had lovely mince on toast with an egg and bacon, 2 cups of filter coffee for me and a lovely rooibos cappuccino for your mom…super. Asked for the bill, and then looked at the clock to see how many minutes were left of the two hours…ahh, only 97 minutes left of the 120…WHATTHEFUCK!!! We’re in a time-warp!! I swear we took one hour 55 minutes to eat breakfast, but the clock only shows 23 minutes…bad news.

We spent a bit more time watching the other patrons, including a few families with young kids – the coffee shop has a little playground with jungle gym…very cute.

Eventually decided we’d go back to the car via the hardware store (your mom never misses any opportunity to encourage me to DIY – see it’s not only the SA’s where she adopts this approach!). We knew that would eat up an hour, but 7 minutes later we were climbing into the car wondering how the hell two hours could take so long!

We agreed to head back to the hospital car park (the pathologists are sited inside our local medi-clinic) to sit and read.

This is where I decided to take things under control – took a swift left at one of the traffic lights and headed out into the countryside. It was a beautiful clear winters day – sun shining alone in the cloudless sky, green fields thanks to the recent rains, birds a-tweeting, cows a-grazing and sheep just wondering around aimlessly looking stupid.

In a marvel of timing, we arrived back at the car park at 2 minutes to noon…just enough time for you mom to hurry in and get the white envelope that we hoped was going to spell out the biggest change in our lives to date.

She climbed back in the car with the decidedly understated white envelope and we headed for home where we had agreed to open the envelope together. Hopefully not too many speeding tickets later, I decided to play a cruel trick on your mom and insisted on stopping at the local 7-eleven for milk – after all, when we told everyone our good news, we were going to be inundated with visitors, so many cups of tea and coffee would require us to have many litres of milk in the fridge!! – see what a positive thinker I am.

Into the house, onto the couch…ready to open the envelope – our own little Oscar’s ceremony…

This is when your mom decided to get her own back on me for the mean milk-buying delay and insisted she needed to wee first, and she also needed to insert her lunch-time pussy pills (Uterogestan vaginal suppositories in case you’re wondering what ‘pussy pills’ are). So there I sat, white envelope in hand while she emptied her bladder and ‘took her meds’.

Then the moment had arrived…I gave your mom a big smooch, carefully opened the envelope and passed the paper across to her to open so we could both read…

AND THE WINNER IS……

……

……

silence

……

……

Damn results are printed in Afrikaans and your mom was clearly having trouble with the translations…I leaned over and pointed out the all too important line…

…”resultaat = negatief” (result = negative).

β-HCG value = big fat fucking zero. Not even a maybe…no doubt about it, unequivocal…no.

Needless to say, it was a difficult thing to see. We knew that this was the most likely outcome, we knew that the odds were that this was going to be the result, but it was still heart-wrenching.

No tears, no Oscar-wining performance, no rending of clothes, gnashing of teeth or loud appeals to the powers that be, no bargaining with fate or outpouring of anger…just quiet acceptance.

We hugged and cuddled in silence for a while, both trying to come to terms with this unbelievably shitty news.

After a while, we started moving again, put the kettle on (because nan & granddad had phoned an hour or so earlier and we’d invited them round for coffee – back when we were sure we would be surprising them with awesome news), and your mom got busy with sending out the million SMS’s to the large number of people who were waiting on our results.

We posted on Fertilicare, phoned some other family members, climbed into a hot bath, and talked and talked and talked. We lit a fire, ordered in pizza and watched a sad movie. We cuddled and cried on the sofa, we went to bed and cried a bit more. We held each other and finally went to sleep…ending a tiring and bitterly disappointing day.

But as bad as yesterday was, as I sit here in my office today, I can look back and know that it wasn’t all bad…as shattering as the result was, there were things to be thankful for…

I can see your mom and I holding hands in the coffee shop, laughing at the little boy covering himself in syrup, knowing that we’ll soon be one of those exasperated parents, if not quite as soon as we’d like…I can see us driving through the countryside (something we love to do) and still managing to appreciate the phenomenal scenery and beauty of the country we live in…I can think of the time spent online, reading messages of support and best wishes for the coming result, heart-felt messages from people we’ve never met, but who do really care…I can think of the hugs from my mom & dad who so desperately want a grandson, but who have never pressured us in any way, who’ve been the most incredibly sensitive and supportive people in the world…I can see your mom and I touching and holding each other throughout the day, knowing we can survive anything because we are still hopelessly and pathetically in love, exactly 14 years to the day from our first kiss….

So, this result is horrible, it’s depressing and disappointing, but it’s just another little pothole in a long and difficult journey. It’s not the end point, it’s not even a detour. It’s just the end of our first IVF, that’s all.

And like a boxer in the ring, the sound of the bell doesn’t mean it’s all over. It’s not something to dread or panic over. It’s just the signal to return to your corner, take a seat and rest a bit. The signal that you can take some time to wipe some of the sweat off your face, have a drink of water, a good few deep breathes, a short time-out, get some advice from the people in your corner who’ve been watching the struggle and seen what’s going on from a different perspective. All the time knowing that very soon you’ll be hearing that bell ringing to signal the start of the next round…that you’re going to have another opportunity to stand up and face the battle head-on…

Ding ding ding…end of round 1.

I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours…

Hi Kids,

TEST DAY tomorrow…pretty exciting times really!

Your mom is out gallivanting with her book-club ladies, coffee & cake followed by a movie…good timing really, because if she was sitting here at home, she would be going mad(der)…getting more tightly wound up by the second…and probably driving me crazy. So, she’s having some good distractions, getting to cuddle some baby twins and then getting to lose herself in the latest (what I’m positive is totally mind-numbing) teenage vampire movie.

I, on the other hand, have spent most of the day on the Fertilicare forum, waiting for one of the ladies who’s testing today to post her news. There was some rugby on the telly, so, to make sure I didn’t miss the news on BloomingB’s test (or miss any of the rugby), I set the laptop up in the lounge and watched the rugby whilst repeatedly hitting refresh on the laptop…all to no avail. The rugby was appalling and there’s been no news from BloomingB…(I hope that means that she’s too busy celebrating to bother logging on and updating us).

Now the rugby’s finished (and I’m not in a good mood as a result!!), and I’m tapping my fingers, still waiting for news…so, before I lose my few remaining marbles and the very last strands of my fraying patience, I thought I’d talk to you guys…and here I am.

But it’s test day tomorrow and that’s totally consuming my thoughts…so what to post about…then it hit me…I wrote a long post a while ago, but decided as it was a little too inflammatory and negative, that I wouldn’t post it…but now I’m going to…

Like I say, it’s touchy stuff, so if you’re easily offended or feeling particularly vulnerable or sensitive…don’t read any further…and if you do read further, YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!

What the hell…so here it is:-

There are a great many things about infertility that are strange. Every time you look around there’s some new strange aspect, some new strange conversation, some new strange experience. There’s almost no aspect of IF that isn’t just a little bit peculiar. And rather than point out some of them (which I might do in other posts in the future), I’m just going to talk about one of them.

The strangest strange thing about infertility (in my opinion) is the feeling that there’s some kind of level of infertility.

I’ve noticed this feeling out there in the land of IF, this sense that people seem to try and compare people’s infertility – like there’s some kind of scorecard, some kind of judo-belt-like colour rating system. And I think everyone out there has their own score mentally noted. They’ve done the maths. And whenever they read someone’s blog, read their posts on forums, talk to them or talk about them, they’re mentally scoring that persons IF journey and comparing it to their own…

‘Oh well, they were practically fertiles, I mean honestly, one little lap and she conceived naturally’ or ‘They’ve only been trying for 13 months…really, what are they worrying about’ or ‘They haven’t even had an IVF yet’ or ‘IUI’s are so easy…wait till she gets to IVF, then she’ll know what we’ve been through’ or ‘They haven’t had a miscarriage, so they have no idea’ or ‘She’s already got one kid, why can’t she be happy with that and leave us real infertiles alone’ or ‘I know they’ve been trying for 8 years, but she’s only 31 for goodness sake, what’s her problem’ or ‘Poor motility…it’s not like they don’t have sperm or something’ or ‘She got pregnant on her first IVF – she has no idea what it’s like’ and on and on and on… ad infinitum and ad nauseum.

…and I get it…some people have experienced way more than others, some have really been through the proverbial wringer. There are those people out there that when you hear their story, you marvel at their strength and dedication, their perseverance and you wonder how they keep going. It boggles your mind how much they’ve endured, how much they’ve spent, how much they’ve sacrificed in pursuit of this goal to have children.

And I suppose this is natural. Some people seem to get off lightly. But the thing that really gets me is this feeling that I sometimes get, that people have problems being supportive of everyone who’s been through less than them. This feeling that you’ve gotta earn your stripes to talk to the uber-vets – those people who’ve been through it all and are still fighting. That you should only expect support from people on the same IF scorecard level as you…as if those with a lower belt colour can’t know what you’re going through so can’t really understand, and that those with a higher belt colour shouldn’t have to acknowledge the lesser suffering of those below them.

Sure, they can offer a bit of advice and support to people on a different IF level, but don’t expect them to actually really really sympathise with you…you haven’t been through enough yet to warrant their sincere sympathy, or you’re too new to this to be able to really comprehend their suffering and provide valuable support to them.

The problem with this is that I think it’s human nature. I think people need to put everyone else in a box, give everyone a grade, a label, so they know how to deal with them, how to interact appropriately.

So you find yourself automatically analysing your own battle with IF and trying to grade yourself…to figure out your own IF score, your IF belt colour. When calculating your IF score, you need to group things into one of three categories: time, procedures and hardship factors. The first two are fairly obvious (other than I’m not totally sure on the various points scores for the different procedures – does 4 IUI’s = 1 IVF, or is it 6?). The third category – Hardship factors – seem to mainly feature the pain and heartache you’ve had to endure, the difficulty you’ve had with the whole journey, with the procedures (like side-affects from meds) as well as the financial burden of ART.

With all that in mind, I thought I might calculate our IF scorecard…and here’s what that looks like…

I’ve been infertile my whole life (as far as we know), so I reckon we get some serious points for time…but on the other hand, we’ve only actually been trying to conceive for 18 months…take out the normal 12 month waiting time that most people have to go through before ‘qualifying’ to see an FS and we only have 6 months ‘in the game’…we’re actually newbies…we don’t even have sperm…so we’re not even really trying …jeez, not sure we even qualify for a IF beginner’s white belt (well, okay, that’s changed since I wrote this originally – yippee, but we still don’t have enough to conceive in any way other than through ICSI). That raises a thorny question in the scoring…if you don’t have sperm yet, are you actually trying to conceive…I know I’m on meds to rectify that, but still….what points does that scenario score? – can’t be many.

But that’s okay, we’ve just started our first IVF cycle – well that’s plenty of IF points, because IVF is the Big Kahuna (although you do get more points if you’re having to use intralipids, ICSI, PICSI, PGD or any of those more advanced IVF-related additions) and we’re using ICSI – so there’s good points scoring there. But we skipped the months and months of timed cycles, and we didn’t bother with a number of IUI attempts before progressing to IVF, so we’ve lost a whole heap more IF scorecard points there…as a result, we’ve also lost points on the hardship factors – no costs of these multiple procedures and no emotional pain and heartache from repeated 2ww’s and multiple BFN’s. We’ve never had a BFP that resulted in a little baby, and we haven’t adopted or inherited someone else’s child, so we’re scoring there. However, we’ve never had a BFN, a chemical pregnancy, a m/c or a child that never survived…so we’ve lost a lot of points there. We’re a heterosexual couple so we’ve lost hardship and complication points there and our points take a further knock because our family are trying their best (and mainly succeeding) to be really  supportive and understanding.

So, in summary, I’ve been infertile for all my life, but we’re newbies, by the end of next month we’ll have spent over R80,000, but had very few procedures, we’ll have only had one official 2ww and as we had no sperm before hand, the 7 years before that with no contraception also don’t count.

…

…

do you see how ridiculous this all is…

We’ve both been on the Fertilicare forum for well over a year, with a combined post/comment tally of well over a thousand (although 85% of those are the DW’s) – and before you comment, I do not equate number of posts made on a forum with real experience or knowledge. We’ve spent months and months researching every aspect of our diagnosis, understanding ART and the possibilities, the procedures and the acronyms, we’ve emailed overseas organisations, we’ve met others struggling with IF…and I still feel like we’ve not been through enough to be able to make eye contact with the uber-vet’s who’ve endured unfathomly more than we have, and are still gamely trying to conceive their children (I know “unfathomly” isn’t a real word, but it sort of explains how impossible it seems for someone who hasn’t been through what these people have, to understand how they keep at it).

Am I crazy to think we’re lucky – we may be the first infertiles with a negative IF score – our IF belt colour is…whatever would come before white I suppose. It seems strange to me that this infertility issue had me on anti-depressants 18 years ago when I was told I would never be a father, and yet I still feel like a newby, that I have no right to complain about what we’re dealing with and what we’ve been through, because deep down I know, as much as they may say otherwise, any infertile reading it will automatically perform their own mental IF scorecard, compare it to ours and be thinking that I have no right to bitch and moan…

Thank goodness we’ll have an IVF cycle under our belt soon, or we might be laughed off by every other infertile.

And it leaves me with this little nagging feeling that if this IVF cycle works, our first ever ‘real’ IF procedure will have resulted in our baby…and that there’ll be a whole world of IF’ers out there thinking we know nothing, that we had it easy, that we haven’t “suffered enough”. That we got off lightly…and you know what, if this cycle works (and I believe that it will), I will also feel that we got of lightly.

I know it might seem crazy to say it, but there are days when I look at what we’ve been through and I think it hasn’t been that bad. Maybe your mom’s slipping some kind of drug into my morning coffee…but some day’s I think we’ve weathered this brilliantly. Your mom and I love each other more every day. We have learned to talk about absolutely everything and anything – nothing is too difficult, too embarrassing, too private for us to share with each other. We still laugh a lot, we have as much fun as possible, we enjoy each other and share each others dreams.

Yes, there have been tears, sleepless nights, difficult decisions, problems, compromises, embarrassing situations, pain and distress…but shouldn’t you have to go through this to ‘earn the right’ to have a child? Isn’t it the perfect lesson in dealing with what the hardest parts of having children are? And if you can keep your sense of humour, can keep from becoming bitter and twisted, can still enjoy each and every positive thing life gives you, won’t you be better parents for it?

I don’t know, but that’s my hope.

…

And so, after all that, I can’t understand this sensation of needing to compare each others IF score, but somehow, I understand people’s need to do it…it’s the IF equivalent of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”.

And as much as we’ve been through, I feel like we’re only just approaching the IF white belt, we’re only just getting on the first rung of the IF scorecard ladder, because your mom and I are doing alright. In fact, we’re doing great…and the only thing that’ll make it greater is for a good result tomorrow on Test Day…here’s hoping.

Your parents – the daredevils…

Hi Kids,

we’re just passed the halfway mark between ET and Test Day…and if you don’t think we’re counting the minutes, you’re crazy!!

I’m happy to report that we’re doing quite well so far (other than a little hiccup yesterday)…but I have the strongest feeling that the tension is about to start rising steadily…till we hit the terrible peak of Crazy-Mad-IF-Stressed-Out-Of-Our-Minds-Test-Day. I imagine it’ll peak about 10 seconds before calling the lab for the blood test results on Sunday morning.

Oops…let the cat out of the bag a bit there. We’ve decided to tell all our family and non-IF/non-Fertilicare-forum friends that test day is sometime the following week – wanting to keep test day to ourselves for the moment – hopefully an incredible day that allows us to tell half of our family the good news in person, after calling the other half of the family and telling them the good news first over the phone (because a quick flight to Jo’burg and back to tell them the news in person seems a little crazy)…and if the news isn’t good, we’ll have a day or two to gather ourselves before telling all of them, without the need to field a million anxious phone calls…very James Bond Secret Squirrel FBI Mossad of us I know…but sometimes you have to look after yourselves….even if it means blithely lying to your loved ones and people who care about you – they’ll understand.

Reading that though, it sounds fairly negative – like we don’t want anyone to know because we’re expecting bad news…and that just isn’t the case.

Your mom and I have discussed this IVF cycle and our approach to the 2ww (2 week wait – which is in reality the 10 day wait between transfer day and test day). We’ve decided (or maybe it’s more a case of “I’ve decided”) that you only get one first IVF cycle…you only have one opportunity to enter the 2ww fully positive and upbeat, assuming it will go as planned and that there’s little doubt of a BFP at the end of it.

Now before you start telling us about the success rate statistics, know that we’ve done our research…we know what our odds are…we know that there’s more chance that this ends in a bloody BFN than a brilliant BFP…we know that there is every chance this doesn’t work…but you know what….we don’t care! Well…if I’m truthful, I think your mom does, but I don’t!

You only get one first IVF cycle.

This is the only time that your experience isn’t tempered with the first-hand experience that it doesn’t always work, it is the only time you can totally convince yourself that you’re going to get good news after the waiting…because you haven’t had a failed cycle, you’re not jaded by reality.

We KNOW what the chances are…but we’re ignoring them and being deliriously positive (or trying to be).

We appreciate that this approach leaves you open to greater disappointment…we know that being cautious would protect us just a bit from the crushing blow of the bad news that is statistically coming our way…we know that being realistic allows you to more easily deal with the failure, because when your spirits aren’t as high, they haven’t got as far to fall…we know that this would be the sensible approach when you consider the odds…but we just don’t care.

You only get one first IVF.

And we’re choosing to wear our hearts on our sleeve…we’re ignoring the odds and expecting it to work…we’re opening ourselves up for greater pain from a (statistically likely) failure and we’re doing it with a smile on our face. We’re painting great big bulls-eyes on our souls and blowing raspberry’s at fate…we’re tempting it for all we’re worth, we’ll blatantly jinx the bejesus out of things, because we are adamant that we will enjoy this time of possibilities, we’re acting like naïve newbies, blissfully ignorant of the potential for failure. We’re talking baby names, we’re wondering how many kids we will have (1, 2 or the full house), we’re thinking themes for the nursery and buying animated DVD’s. And we’re doing it without acknowledging the fact that we’re probably making things harder for ourselves in the future, because we’re committed to being positive, because…you only get one first IVF.

We’re in this like Evil Knievel. We’re ignoring the statistics and the safe approach, we’re pretending the nay-sayers are mute, we’re throwing caution to the wind and putting ourselves in the firing line…because you only get one first IVF.

When you get to your second IVF, you know better. It’ll be impossible to adopt this carefree approach – reality will have taught you the lesson, it will have taken a great big highlighter and circled the statistics, it will have put the failure rate up in huge big flashing neon lights, it’s already bitch-slapped you around good and proper. It will be impossible to feel the way you did for your first IVF, you will be jaded and can never feel that way again.

And that’s why we’ve taken this high-risk approach.

Your mom started it when she plucked up the courage to have what must have been one of the most difficult conversations in her life, that day early last year when she told me she wanted to have kids. We discussed it and decided to investigate what ‘having a family’ would look like. We went to visit doctors and specialists when all we expected was heartache and pain. We made the decision to start a family irrespective of how we got there. We looked at sperm donors and treatment options. We took the plunge and entered a treatment plan with no idea how long it would take or whether it would work at all. We diligently jabbed me with meds 4 nights a week for what felt like aeons, with no guarantees it was doing anything other than bruising my ass and our bank balance in equal measure. We’ve overcome huge hurdles to get this far. We’ve conned my testicles into producing sperm for the first time in their 36 years of existence. We’ve ‘harvested’ eggs from your mom’s ovaries and achieved fertilisation. We’ve transferred three embies in our first IVF.

All the way along, we’ve made tough choices and difficult decisions. We’ve laughed and cried, we’ve hoped and dreamed, we’ve doubted and despaired. And it’s not been easy.

So why would we choose to make Test Day any different?

We know the odds are against us, but we’re ignoring that fact…the odds have been against us from the start…and we’ve got this far. I refuse to acknowledge the fact that we may never have kids – failure is no longer an option…turning back would be like the story of the guy who decides to row across the Atlantic single-handedly. He gets three-quarters of the way across and realises that he doesn’t have enough food and water to make it the rest of the way…so he turns back. We’ve come this far…turning back or even glancing backwards over our shoulder at this point is ridiculous…we can succeed, we must succeed, we will succeed!

You only get one first IVF.

Your mom was doing well with all this, tentatively embracing this hyper-positive approach until the day before yesterday. I could sense that things were starting to get to her, that the pressure was mounting. Then, one of the ladies on the forum had terrible news – her first IVF ended in the devastating fashion of AF’s unwanted arrival. Your mom took the news really hard. It started to shake her resolve to be positive. I could see the shoulders tensing and the frown lines deepening. By last night she was in a state, desperately trying to hold it all in, trying to keep it together…and with your mom, that’s not a good thing. With a little bit of prodding, she managed to let herself go a bit and release this pent-up stress and strain, and what a difference it’s made. Overnight, she’s back to the person she was a few weeks ago, being positive and upbeat again. She lay on the bed this afternoon (rudely disrupting my pleasant reading session on the toilet) and we discussed names. How’s that for spitting in fate’s eyes. Talk about walking under the proverbial ladder, stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk or letting parades of black cats sashay across our path. We don’t care. We know what risks we’re taking with our own hearts and we do it anyway. We’re daredevils with no fear…

Because, you only get one first IVF.

“You’re basically a minivan…”

Hi kids.

It was another big day in the HopelesslyTTC/HopefullyTCC household just a couple of days ago…ET day.

I was all set to write a post playing on the “back on board the Mother Ship” idea, even told your mom about it on Thursday morning at 04:00 – yeh, we’re not sleeping so well at the moment with all this excitement going on…This post was going to be headed something like this:

Captains Log 529: Blast off from Planet Zygote, somewhere in the Morula system

Then I was going to go on about it being called “ET” for different reasons than we thought – more “phone home” than “embryo transfer”…but I’ve changed my mind…

I’ll give it to you straight…this is what happened on Thursday.

In a nutshell, we transferred three embies back into your mom…yup, all three…I’ve told you before that we don’t do things by halves…we had three developing, so we put three back…no waste no mess no fuss.

We got to the clinic nice and early, were shown through to the ward and then taken through to the IVF theatre. I got to accompany your mom this time, which was pretty cool. Your mom was all spruced up in her sexy hospital gown, dressing gown, boot socks and slippers again, while all that was required of me was for me to try and don the little slipper thingymabob’s – note to all guys with size 12 feet (or bigger) – don’t wear boots on the day and you’ll probably have to take your shoes off to get these elasticated booties on your feet – just another example of “1 size fits all” not really being the case.

When your mom was suitably ensconced on the theatre table/bed, the embryologist emerged from the adjoining IVF lab and proceeded to give us the details, explaining what was about to happen as well as how they rate embies. She showed us a big poster showing the initial stages of human development, from oocytes (eggs and sperm) through to foetus. She explained how our three embies were doing…

Basically, the two embies that were ahead when we’d last spoken to the lab the day before (the ones I’d named ‘Blodge’ & ‘Splodge’), had remained slightly ahead. They were at 7/8 cells each and they’d given them a rating of 4 out of 5 on their scale (with 5 being perfect)…so they were very happy with them. The third embie (who I’d named ‘Runty’ the day before) was still lagging behind at 6 cells, but was also showing signs of fragmentation – which isn’t great. She never gave us Runty’s scoring on their embie quality scale (which we didn’t take as a good sign!).

We asked some questions and she advised us that for a patient of your mom’s age, they would normally put no more than 3 embies back, but that 3 was what they would ideally aim for. We asked her about the chances of a triplet pregnancy if we put them all back and she said the chances were small (although there is a chance). Your mom and I took one look at each other and agreed unanimously to put them all back – like a clichéd NAM movie – no-one was being left behind on this mission!!

The Prof arrived shortly thereafter, and after a short discussion agreed that putting all three back was the way to go. He answered a few more questions and then it was down to business.

It was then that I got the most incredible experience on an incredible day…the embryologist kindly put the embies on the microscope and I got to see all three of them on the screen…how many parents can say they got to see their children when they were less than 8 cells big!

When I read that viewing the embies before transfer might be possible, I thought about it and planned to make some flippant comment if this opportunity arose – I pictured turning to your mom and saying something like “…oh my goodness, they’ve got your eyes”, or nose or chin or something…but at the actual moment of looking at the screen, all previous thoughts fled and I was entirely caught up in the moment. Damn, I hate missing the chance for a funny remark!

Blodge and Splodge looked absolutely perfect – just like the diagram she’d shown us a few minutes earlier. Nice and clear. Runty was’t quite as big and even to my untrained eye, I could see what they meant by ‘fragmentation’ – like there was some other ‘bits and pieces’ within the embie…not sure what it is or what causes it, but it was obvious to see.

So, Prof placed all three embies into your mom’s womb – we even got to see the little flash on the screen as they were injected in – pretty cool stuff really.

And that was it, back to the ward to lay down for an hour (your mom that is not me), off to the nurse for the next batch of drugs, and then home to rest.

Of course, for the sake of keeping your mom’s secrets (and her modesty), I won’t tell you about the bladder debacle. Other than to say she didn’t listen to the nurses instructions and overdid the water drinking in the morning (you see you need to have a full bladder for the procedure)…so your mom was practically writhing in agony by the time she got to theatre. Her bladder was so full that the Prof couldn’t do a damn thing until he’d catheterised her and released some of the contents – nothing like holding you wife’s hand while some guy is sitting between her legs and she’s having a pee, with two other people watching…Still, for your mom, having three other people around while she has a pee is small time – it would be cruel of me to tell you about the time she had a pee into a coke bottle at the Prince’s Trust Concert in the middle of Hyde Park – only 100,000 people around her that time…so two nurses and a professor was nothing!!

We’ve been taking it easy since Thursday, trying to give those embies every chance to settle in for the long haul. I pat your mom’s lower tummy every night before we go to sleep, hoping to make them feel welcome. Your mom’s started calling me ‘Big Daddy’ and I’ve started calling her ‘Minivan’.

You may think this a strange name, but it comes from one of the West Wing episodes (and we LOVE the West Wing).

In the episode called “The California 47th”, whilst on Air Force One, Toby Ziegler discovers his pregnant ex-wife is on board, much to his dismay. He says to her something like “…You’ve got twins in there. You’re basically a minivan. Also, how are you fitting into a seat?”

Your mom’s ‘the minivan’ with three passengers on board…buckle up and enjoy the ride…

Shiver me timbers…

It’s getting exciting now!!! Just a quick update for you guys…

Your mom phoned the clinic earlier today to check up on you guys… 3 embies doing well (2 at 4 cell stage and 1 at 3 cell stage).

Transfer booked for tomorrow morning – {insert well used metaphor about transferring back to the Mother Ship here}.

I’m assuming we will have time to chat to the Prof about how many we’re transferring, etc.

Just decided that I want to find someone who embroiders baby-grows…we can have some made up with the following:

• Hand Made in Pinelands, or
• Hand Made at Aevitas Clinic, Pinelands (maybe the clinic will pay for the embroidery as a sponsorship arrangement)
• My folks are so lazy, they weren’t even there at my conception
• My folks went to Pinelands, and all I got was conceived
• I’m so impatient, I was outside my mother’s womb before I was conceived

I believe that after transfer, they recommend you lay down for half an hour to make sure those embies don’t ‘drop out’…I’ve decided that we need to make doubly sure we’re super safe, so I’m going to rig some stirrups up in the back of your mom’s car tomorrow. That way, she can lay down comfortably on the back seat with her legs in the air the whole way home. Once home, I can carry her into the bedroom and she can spend the rest of the day, laying on the bed with her heels against the wall (sort of in the same position she used to adopt after sex when we thought I had sperm). We’ll tie some blankets around her legs so they don’t get cold and I’ll feed her soup for dinner…I reckon it should be okay for her to stand up around 6am Friday morning when she needs to get ready for work. Or am I getting a little carried away???

Anyway, we’re going out tonight – date night…dinner and a movie…because we need to do something to take our minds off of things, even if only for an hour or two. And who knows, this could be the last night ever where we’re officially just a couple…because if the beta’s come back in two weeks time with the right numbers, it’ll mean that your mom was pregnant from 9am tomorrow morning…

Oohh, I just got a shiver like that hyena in The Lion King when they say ‘Mufasa’

‘Pregnant’…ooohhh…say it again…’Pregnant’….aahhhh…shiver…