Thoughts upon becoming a bitter infertile....

I never thought I'd be here.

11 months ago, I imagined ditching the condoms... and a few months later, PingOAS and finding some cutesy way to tell DH that I was knocked up.

Fast forward.

Here I am. Monthly supply of tampax intact, "Conquering Infertility" by Dr Alice Domar (more on this book and Alice Domar's Mind/Body Connection in my next entry) on my nightstand, St Gerard medal around my neck and a Hamsa being hung above our bedroom window.

I've done wiccan chants, burned custom candles and have had more theology discussions than my DH (with 12 years of catholic school) or I (with 8 years of hebrew school) had ever thought were possible.

I'm a cynic. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm afraid. I'm hopeful. I'm worried. I'm bitter.

I'm so bitter.

Male factor infertility. It's such a joke. The factor may be his but infertility is ours. I'm the one not getting pregnant. I'm the one buying the freakin' tampax.

I know he feels bad when I get my period... because I get like this. And I cry. Believe me I cry. I try not to - and I try to hide it when I do. But it's not that easy.

I know he feels responsible. But so do I. Because I'm the one not getting pregnant.

Cycle 11. How did I get here?

FUIF.

Not that it's shocking...

... but it's still a bummer.

Onto cycle #11.

I can't believe it's almost a year.

FUIF.

Showers of Happiness?

As long as I have been participating in an online forum for girls with trouble trying to conceive (TTTC or 3TC), I have seen girls with sincere trepidation about attending a baby shower. To the point where they find reasons not to go... not to go shopping, not to go to the shower, not to expose themselves to the world of baby.

I never got it.

You're happy for your friend - it's not their fault you're not pregnant... you go and have a nice time. Until today. In 90 minutes I'm going to be leaving for the baby shower of the wife of one of my oldest friends.

And I'm petrified.

I can feel the sadness already. It's seeping into my heart - it's aching.

I'm nervous for the questions, as the last to get married. All of the "when will you have children" questions... and not knowing how to answer. It's a normal question. Almost expected. And completely heartbreaking. Because I don't know.

I want to go see my friends. I want to celebrate with them.

How do I hide that I'm breaking on the inside?

What NOT to say to a woman dealing with MFI: Volume 1

"You should just try to relax. Take a vacation."

As if all of the previous vacations we've taken HAVEN'T been relaxing.

"It will happen when it's meant to."

It will happen when we scrape together $15,000.

"Just borrow one of mine; you'll change your mind."

There isn't a response.

"Have you considered adoption?"

Yes. But what don't you understand about my wanting to be pregnant?

Don't mind me, faithful readers... I'm just having a non-literary "bite me" kind of day.

A wake up call

"Hi, Mrs. Dandelion Bud. It's Nicki from Dr. RE's office. I just wanted to tell you we got all of Mr. Dandelion Bud's blood work back. The genetics are all normal."

On one hand, that wake up call this morning was good news. No hidden genetic issue to worry about as Mr. DB gets older... no genetic issue to pass on to unsuspecting children...

No explanation for our Male Factor Infertility... that's the other hand.

There's nothing we can try to fix. There's no concrete explanation. We're left with conjecture. "Has there been any trauma to the testicles?" Not directly. Mr. DB had a bilateral hernia repair as a child. "Oh, the hernia repair". Only one side was affected, but the surgeon recommended repairing both sides "just in case".

Our RE says science is finding that these hernia repairs are commonly the cause of male infertility, lacking any other diagnosable explanation. One little slip of the scalpel... one surgeon with less than 100% focus... one surgeon not considering his 4 year old patients' future fertility.

And then there is none.

So, now what? Now it's IVF with ICSI.

What will happen is after I go back on months of birth control pills to rest my ovaries and sync to the RE's schedule, I'll get shots. Every day. Painful shots that will stimulate my ovaries to produce bagillions of eggs. Or 12. Whichever. Mr. DB will "provide a sample". They'll pick the best of his and the best of mine, and they'll inject the best sperm into my eggs.

And then we'll wait. And

Short of one careless doctor 30 years ago, we have no explanation for what we're going through. All I know is, while our diagnosis is "MALE" factor infertility, the physical pain is mine. The emotional pain - that belongs squarely to both of us.

FUIF. Really.