Gardening and Dancing In The Rain

  I've become quite obsessed with our patio garden. I water it to the point of over saturation on a reasonably consistent basis. It has been doing quite well. Sure, I've replaced some plants that did not take to my certain style of care, but most are alive, and thriving. It has given me a certain peace in all this to see something I've nurtured grow.

  This is a pretty standard reaction to infertility, I've come to find out. Many turn to gardening. I hate being clinically predictable. I selfishly want to be different, special, coping better than most. You know, make it about me!

  It's been a very difficult month. We're coming closer to our decision regarding our next step, and the emotional complexity of the situation has been overwhelming. We are desperate for the moment when the plans are set and we can get to work, and drive forward with purpose.

  What has made the month most difficult is that at the moments that Shannon needs me the most, when she is at her angriest, saddest, most lost, I struggle to not blame myself for her pain. I just want to say I am sorry over and over. You know, make it about me. I stop myself from doing that at least. Instead I either shut down, or try to solve the problem. Clinically predicable male behavior.

  We've been going to talk to someone about the journey, and it has been extremely helpful. I've been to therapy at one point before, and I remember how odd it is that clarity comes in a room that you are supposed to have clarity in.

  I have to accept that my reactions to all this can be predictable, and that I can't dance through the rain the whole way. I should occassionally take the umbrellas offered to me, and ask for cover when I need it. When Shannon wants to yell while standing in the rain, I'll stand next to her and hold her hand, and then open an umbrella and dry her off.

  

  

Car Child

  There is an azoospermia blog that I read when I got my first zero sample where the writer disappears for a few months and then returns and tells of his divorce, attempted suicide, and time in a psych ward.

  This is not one of those blogs.

  A death march at work, my brother's wedding (next weekend!!), the summer, and our donor decision process have gotten in the way. I also wasn't really ready to write. As much as I like to think I am dealing with this situation so well, I am making mistakes.

  I have enjoyed the freedoms of not having children a bit too much lately. Let's just say there are some college level stories emerging of my time spent with friends. I suppose I have every right to cut loose, but it shows me that I cannot get through this process with sheer willpower.

  I'm having increasingly bad reactions to people discussing their children. I'm in a training program at work where we meet every other week, and discuss management. Each week a member of the group presents a "who am I?" overview of themselves. They discuss where they grew up, went to school, what they enjoy, family, etc. Everyone has children. Everyone speaks about the unimaginable joy their children bring them. Everyone in the room looks at each other and smiles, feeling that glow in their hearts. I see red.

  These are not reasonable reactions.

  I'm treating my car as if it was a child. I have started dressing it up, changing the badge colors, putting on license-plate frames that match the pattern of the seats. I am washing it with special products and then taking pictures of it. I am showing you pictures of my car child. It is that bad.

  We are going to see a counselor who specializes in working with families going through DI (donor insemination - We now have a cool acronym for our challenge). I am really looking forward to talking about how I am feeling.

---

And yet, I am so hopeful. I realized after posting I should edit to make sure it is clear that I know we will have everything we want. 

Mr. Hyde

  I am not pleased with people who are successful breeders this week. I am finding it hard to be happy for people who are pregnant. I'm finding it a challenge to see pictures of people's children on Facebook and not go into a jealous rage. One school friend on Facebook has four beautiful sons, and I found myself angry at him today. There isn't much I wouldn't do to have just one of what he has. What a selfish jerk.

  These are the thoughts of a mad man. These are the thoughts that roll through my head as I sit up late at night, or in the moments when we celebrate a birth at work, or when I hear another pregnancy announcement. When a group of my friends or co-workers are sitting around talking about their children, knowingly laughing about lack of sleep, diapers, funny toddler behavior, I want to scream at the top of my lungs: YOU ARE FUCKING KILLING ME!!

  But I can't. I shouldn't. I don't need to. I need to remember at those moments that we will have our baby. We will know those feelings they have. I will see Shannon pregnant, and get to feel kicks from her belly.

  I need to tell Mr. Hyde that he is not welcome.

  

Some Details Left Out And A Cadence Change

  Throughout this process I've been a huge advocate for transparency and openness. The more that I have been open and told people who care about us, the more the whole thing has seemed normal, and just another medical challenge like so many people face.
  However, we've reached a point where it makes sense to at least leave some details out of the story. The decision that comes next for us, given our choice to use donor sperm, is one that we very much want to be ours and known by the people closest to us. So, we won't be discussing the details of the choice we make regarding the source of our little helpers here. The decision to leave these details out was not taken lightly. As you can gather by reading our story, I am an over-sharer. It will be difficult for me to not discuss our thought process and the complexities that come with it, other than donor generalities, in this space. I'll get over it, and I trust you will as well.
  Know this though: There are a large number of offers that appear on the table when you reach this point, when you have amazing people around you. There are great sources for anonymous donors. Ivy League educations are expensive, Ivy League sperm are cheaper.
  The pace of our journey slows down from here. Where we have been thinking about days and weeks, we need to start thinking about months, and possibly years. Changing pace is difficult in any race. The body and mind enjoy the rhythm, and fight as you decrease the cadence. We find ourselves fighting the pace lately. We get disappointed when we hear about FDA requirements, required counseling, differences between policies at different hospitals. We need to focus on the goal of a third heartbeat (ok fourth including Brady) in our family, and trust our legs.

All This? This Is Not Your Fault.

  You've seen the moment in countless movies, particularly of the lifetime channel variety. A previously abused, discriminated, or otherwise oppressed individual is confronted with the reality that the pain they've faced / are facing is not their fault. Their reactions of self doubt and hate are misplaced. This is usually a very emotional scene in which two previously distant characters reach their breakthrough moment. See Good Will Hunting:

  Until today I hadn't really had this moment in this experience. 

  I thought I had. 

  I had created a reasonably strong illusion that I had removed self doubt and blame from my mind. I had become accepting of our path, and was ready for our process. Self doubt though, had remained, hidden.

  My moment came today. 

  Our family's have been amazing during our journey, but we haven't had time with them in person. This weekend we were fortunate to be able to see Shannon's full family as we welcomed back a cousin who had been studying abroad. En-route Shannon and I discussed how excited we were to see everyone. We shared anxiety about our reactions. I stayed positive and logical: 

People respond to your signals, so if you smile, they'll smile. Provide positive data and they will react positively.

  I must not have a computer brain, because when I saw the compassion, love, and heartache for us in everyone's eyes, I wasn't prepared for it. It rocked me. When we openly talked about the situation, our plans, as if we were discussing a new job, I was overwhelmed.

  A thought popped into my head then I didn't know needed reassuring: 

They are not upset with you. They don't blame you. This. Isn't. Your. Fault.

  Emotional overload was reached and I made a quick exit from the room and went outside for some air. Thankfully the men were in the kitchen when I returned, watching the Red Sox game on the smallest TV, at the smallest table, in the house. This is our usual location. We should just build caves in each house. While the rest of the house, including the best lit rooms and most comfortable seats, are filled with the laughter and escalating voices of our better halves, we huddle away.

  The Sox were down 4-1 and not looking good. A few well placed jabs at Saltalamacchia reset my emotional engine temp, and we continued with the day: BBQ, dessert, stories. As we finished up our desserts someone shouted out from the kitchen: 

It's 6-5 with 2 outs and one on!

We all ran into the kitchen. We sat crowded around the table, calling balls and strikes. The Red Sox loaded the bases. The next batter faced a new pitcher, and with a kitchen full of my dear and wonderful family, Jacoby Ellsbury hit the first pitch he saw for a game winning double. My family shouted out together with joy. 

Beat that Matt and Ben.

It Won't Matter One Bit

  When the doctor hands me my son or daughter none of this will matter. When I get to say hello by saying their name out loud and they can hear it for the first time, I won't think of this for an instant. When I can't get any sleep because of the baby crying, when I put on their first shoes, when we walk hand in hand into Fenway for the first time, this will be a distant sad spectacle. If I try to look back at these dark hours or questioning days I'll think:
  What a waste. You were free to go out to dinners, movies, and go on vacations as you wish. You wasted those last moments before you became a dad sulking around or over thinking how you'd feel. You knew all along you'd be in love.
  Today's gift is knowing none of this, the worry, the pain, the thinking, the soul searching, will matter one bit.
  I'm getting my second wind.

The Next Mile

  The next mile is going to be a very rough one. We found out this morning that my Y gene deletion is of the B and C types. With the diagnosis that the deletion is B type this means that I am officially sterile, and I don't have the gene's necessary to produce swimmer proteins. Nothing else medically is wrong or different about me, which is a relief. Having the physical exam so close after being told you can't father was odd, and I am sure will be discussed here later, after the shock has worn off.
   We're both numb right now. I'm just trying to get through the work day without breaking down. That is today's goal.
   Thank you to all those that reached out and have been reading. Days like today are when this matters the most.
   On to the harder/hardest miles.

The Importance Of 11

  The number 11 has special importance to our family. My birthday is 1/1. Shannon's is 11/11. We see signs in very normal places about that number. Over the past few days the signs frequency has steadily increased to the point where we're drowning in it all. The $600M PowerBall last night was 11. The other numbers weren't, so we lost that one.
  It's not just numbers that are connecting in odd ways. Today as I was driving with a friend to play squash in Cambridge he decided to take a route through Newton instead of the Pike. As we drove along in his loudly blue WRX blasting Calvin Harris like 14 year olds, we drove past Newton Wellesley, the site of the start of our journey, and these lyrics were blaring as we flew by.

 So I put my faith in something unknown
 I'm living on such sweet nothing
 but I'm trying to hope, with nothing to hold, 
 I'm living on such sweet nothing

Now the rest of the lyrics are about some passive aggressive jerk who strings the singer along, but these are signs here so they can't jump right out and slap you. We made our way through the backroads and ended up talking about how we met our wives and how we knew they were the one. Just as I was telling the story of our meeting we pulled onto memorial drive by the MIT boat house. When Shannon and I first met we had an hour to kill before a Red Sox game and so I drove us over to that side of the river and we walked along the Charles looking at Boston. It felt exactly like that day as we drove by and I retold the story of knowing right then, and staring at her freaking out mentally the whole time. The water was perfectly glassy as we continued along to squash.

  The fact that my Y gene deletion mutation came as an accident of creation, at my conception, gives me the comfort to know that this was all part of a plan. I was pre-determined to have this condition. These are all signs to me that whatever route we end up having to take to become parents, and whatever we find out tomorrow about our future, there is a plan for us. We are destined for great things.

Shannon's sister Julia has been incredibly helpful in making me see that this journey is a blessing. The growth I am going through mentally, and atheist or not, spiritually will make me a much better husband, father, person.  God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love and self-discipline, whether he exists or not.

We find out tomorrow at 8:45am where the rest of the plan takes us. We're excited for the next mile of the race.

I Am A Mutant, And My Name Is Nospremo!

  Well it looks like I spoke too soon regarding genetic testing. All day today I have been playing phone tag with the nurses at Newton Wellesley because my results came back for my genetic tests. Normally all these results can be seen through a patient portal online, but for this one the results weren't shown.
   About 3 hours ago I finally got through to the nurse, and as she started to speak I already knew it was bad news:
   I'm a bit out of my element here, and I would prefer the doctor tell you, but the results did come back and they found a Y Gene Deletion
   It is really odd but I didn't get that upset at this news. It could be that I somehow knew this was the case deep in my double helix. I was even able to finish a few things at work before feeling the water works about to start and running out to the parking lot. This afternoon there was only a sprinkle.
  So what does Y Gene Micro-Deletion (YSM) mean? Well it means that I am a mutant. At conception, as the Y chromosome of my dad was copied over, parts of it were left out. This mutation has led to some of the instructions for producing swimmers to be left out. This is a very odd super power to have, the ability to not impregnate naturally. It would have been a great power to know about at another time in life I suppose. I have always wanted to be a mutant, and now I finally am. My X-Men name is Nospermo.
  There is good news though. My FSH and testosterone levels being normal means that I still most likely have swimmers around. The issue at hand now is how severe is my YSM, as the most severe kinds could mean I would pass on this problem to any sons I have. I don't think Nospermo needs a young sidekick with the same powers. We will have to cross that bridge when we get there.
  We are going to run with endurance the rest of the race. This is just another mental wall to blast through. We have our urologist appointment on Monday, we now know what we are fighting, and are going to enjoy the weekend.
   Beware infertility, Nospermo is out there, ready to defeat you.
 

Let Us Run With Endurance The Race That Lies Before Us

   I have a bad habit of falling asleep on the couch on Friday nights. Somewhere during the night before's Colbert Report I nod off. This is not a comfortable sleeping situation. It does however, afford an early morning as the light hits my face just after sun-up. This past weekend, as I woke up to the sunrise I was on a mission to extend my spring obsession. It was time to put plants out on the patio, and that meant a drive to the garden center.

  As I drove through the streets of Waltham I ran through everything that has happened, the process, the people who have reached out and shared their stories and the strength we have gathered from the fertility issue community. This community of people that have been so brave regardless of their sharing level.

  Some people have struggled to understand why we are sharing our experience, or have reacted oddly to it. One friend said that it was difficult to discuss because it was so personal of a situation. It is between you and your wife, they said. Well frankly so is cancer, or a genetic issue or a developmental issue with a child. So would being gay. If it was something people felt was difficult to discuss or overly personal that makes it feel taboo in my mind, and if it is taboo, then it feels wrong. This is not something to be ashamed of or to feel the need to not share, or to not be asked about. Now again, each person or couple going through this is entitled to whatever decision about sharing they want to make. This is about respecting everyone's process.

 A few people have said I was brave in writing this blog, in sharing in this way. The odd thing, I couldn't do this any other way. I need to be open about this, I need to talk about this, I need to write about this. If I don't, if I was forced to hold this all in, I would have some serious freudian situations popping up somewhere right now.

 To continue with the openness, we found out Friday that the SA and urine sample came back zero again. With this second zero test, I officially have azoospermia. Azoospermia is the medical term for no swimmers in the batter. There are a number of causes for my condition, and approaches to resolve:

• Pre-Testicular - This is when the cause is hormone related, where there is a low level of FSH or testosterone, and it can be resolved with hormone therapy. That would be great!

• Testicular - In this situation the FSH levels are high because the feedback loop is not working. Your body knows you aren't making swimmers and is pumping out FSH to get them going. In these circumstances they can sometimes find a few, but it usually means that through genetics or organ failure there won't be enough to extract

• Post-Testicular - In these situations the hormone levels are normal, the genetics clean. This is usually caused by a blockage or a missing connection. This is the best possible situation as it is most likely that there are fellas in there, they just need some help getting out.

  With the hormones level normal, we are in the post-testicular zone and have been dancing around with hope. Most likely I have no vas deferens and I am a cistic fybrosis carrier, or I got in some accident as a kid and screwed up the area and just am finding out now. On the CF front, Shannon isn't a carrier so we are ok from that perspective. Knock on wood, we will end up doing IVF and ICSI when they find some bannermen in vesicals or in a testicular biopsy. For those not familiar with these procedures here is a brief intro:

• IVF, or in vitro fertilisation is a where eggs and sperm are harvested and the egg is fertilized outside the body and then inserted as a zygote. To make this work the woman needs to be pumped full of hormones to produce eggs, they are extracted, and then she needs to get pumped full again to get the body into pregnant mode for the zygote to take and everything to proceed as normal.

• ICSI, or intracytoplasmic sperm injection, is where a single sperm cell is injected into the egg. This procedure was first successful in 1992. 

  
We are going to engineer a baby. So cool.

  As I walked around the garden center looking at plants I marveled at how lucky we are, how everything has lined up for us. We are blessed in so many ways. We have so many people to talk to. We have some much love being brought to us. We have examples of life throwing unreal horror at people, who react with courage. The survivors and first responders in Boston are helping us understand the most powerful way to react to challenges in life: to adapt, to grieve, to stay on.

  However, this isn't easy. There are dark days, hours, moments. I've been thinking a lot about a line from The Old Testament at those moments.  I'm keeping it very old school lately. I first heard the line from Obama's speech at the interfaith vigil after the marathon bombing. If you haven't watched it please do.

Therefore, since we also have such a large cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us lay aside every weight and the sin that so easily ensnares us. Let us run with endurance the race that lies before us. 

  That is my goal in this journey. To not let this situation stop a single moment of happiness in our lives, and to push on. I'm hoping to reject self doubt and pity, and share this with the crowd of witnesses around us, and run with endurance.

 Another moment from Obama's speech has me thinking about the wonderful team we have around us and the fertility challenge community that is supporting us.

Scripture teaches us God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love and self-discipline. Even when our heart aches, we summon the strength that maybe we didn't even know we had, and we carry on; we finish the race. We finish the race, and we do that because of who we are, and we do that because we know that somewhere around the bend, a stranger has a cup of water. Around the bend, somebody's there to boost our spirits. On that toughest mile, just when we think that we've hit a wall, someone will be there to cheer us on and pick us up if we fall. We know that. 

  I know that. Shannon knows that. Our family knows that, and for that, we thank all of you.

What Exactly Did You Mean By "I Screwed Up The Sample, Frowny Face"?

   With 20 minutes till my appointment at MGH, I was just getting on the Mass Pike in Weston. For those that aren't from the area, that is not enough time to make the journey. I had moved my appointment from Friday to today, and from 1pm to 10am. I had not reflected the time change in my calendar, so when I called to confirm the appointment at 9:25am, and they told me it was at 10am, I ran down to the parking lot screaming at Siri to give me directions to MGH. We have valet parking at work due to overflow, and the attendants looked at me in horror as I ran by screaming into my phone.

  It wasn't until I pulled into the garage, 10 minutes late already, that I realized I had left my wallet at the office in my haste. I thankfully was able to prove my identity at the fertility clinic through the following:

• I do know my birth date and social security number
• I successfully argued that it would be rather odd for someone to give bodily fluid samples in someone else's place under the circumstances. This isn't a test that cheating on will get us pregnant.

  Let me pause here to warn readers that I am not going to hold back on details of anything on this blog. That would defeat the whole purpose. This process is going to include the discussion of the human body and all its wonders and weirdness. That said, I will do my best to keep everything SFW (safe for work).

  After "confirming" my identity, I was given two cups, and instructed to place the baby batter in one, followed by a urine sample in the other. The urine sample cup was rather small, and was half filled with an alkaline solution to balance the pH in hopes that any soldiers in there would survive. The lab tech told me I should empty my bladder "about halfway" before beginning as they would want me to empty it for the test.

  Entering the bathroom with my two cups, I estimated how full the tank was, how much I would need to remove to get halfway, and prepared myself for the challenge of stopping the removal mid-stream. The first physical pain of the experience occurred today.

  Next I entered the "sample production room". This was the second of these rooms I have entered, and this one was a bit more extreme than the first. If you haven't had the need to enter one of these rooms before, it really is troubling. There is a couch or a chair for your use. I'm not sure why anyone would sit on this thing given the room's purpose. There is a collection of magazines and videos of various levels of depravity to assist in the process. Once again, not something that I am going to physically touch, let alone use. This sample room's video and magazine collection was much more extensive than at Newton-Wellesley. Several rather specific sub-genres were represented that I wouldn't expect. City vs. suburbs I suppose.

  During the "process" it is extremely important to get the timing right. One needs to have some sense of when it's time to reach for the cup. I misjudged, and resulted in only about 20% capture. Full on panic commenced. I half contemplated waiting around for a bit and trying again, but thinking better of it, closed the cap, took the pen and wrote  I screwed up this sample :-( on the cap and sent the sample through the revolving door to the lab. The frowny face, I thought, will create empathy.

  On to stage two of the process. As soon as I started filling the second cup I realized I had misjudged the volume it would take to fill the container. Overflow occurred, and had to be dealt with. I was now in a complete and total shame spiral. I'm that guy who screws up his samples.

  As I exited the bathroom, now fully ashamed of my performances and about to have a breakdown, an early 20's female lab tech was waiting outside with an odd look on her face. She is obviously prepared for an awkward conversation, and asks as tactfully as she can: What exactly did you mean by "I screwed up this sample, frowny face?". I walked her through my mistakes in both samples, she laughed and reassured me that the samples will be fine. As I told Shannon later, they are seeing if anyone is at the club, not whether they have reached capacity.

  I headed to the car and scrambled around for loose change to pay for parking. While searching, I thought about my emotional readiness for my samples coming back Zero from today. I would say I have reached the acceptance stage of my processing this whole thing, and I am pretty confident I will be fine with the results.

  As I pulled out of the garage Shannon called and told me the first good test results of the experience: My hormone results came back and they are all normal! This means that most likely I do not have full testicular failure. Unless I have a rare genetic issue, there should be bannermen in the keep.

  What a great way to end another step in the journey.

It's all about ME!! (Guest Post from Shannon)

I know that this is only the beginning. There will be many more tense days of waiting ahead.  There will be so many moments of optimism, gratitude, and excitement.  I know that all of that is part of the ride, along with the panic, second guessing and primal fear (isn't that what every parent will tell you).  I know that I have the best, strongest partner I could ever ask for and I am consciously grateful for him every single day.  But today I am totally and utterly depleted and exhausted and the starting buzzer is still echoing in the background.  The fact is, that for me especially, this is way past the beginning. 

Ever since we “decided” that we were going to get pregnant before we moved back from Australia I have been preparing, learning, and attempting to control the uncontrollable.  A year or so ago while working at Random House in Sydney a book landed on my desk about a woman who was my age and found out she had endometriosis and had trouble getting pregnant.  One of her symptoms was painful period cramps.  I HAVE PAINFUL PERIOD CRAMPS and since second only to my obsession with fountain diet coke is my obsession with self diagnosis I promptly made an appointment with my new OBGYN.

I asked her in my most “I know what I am saying is crazy but I don’t really LOOK crazy so can you just go along and pretend that I’m not a hypochondriac and order the tests” voice (not using those words exactly).  I told her that I just wanted to “rule out” any potential fertility issues.  So she ordered an ultrasound and the results came back glowing!  This paired with my 28-29 day cycles that are as regular as a bar brawl on Mob Wives put my mind at ease for the most part.  The fact that my mom got pregnant while on birth control (she deserves a gold star for that one) made me feel even MORE confident.  This is a given, I am totally fertile, but just to be EXTRA sure (and reinforce my neurosis) I started using ovulation predictor kits a few months before we would official “begin”.  The testing was a little confusing since I bought the cheapest pee sticks money could buy but I was pretty confident I was getting the positive lines when I should be. 

I just want to take a moment to let it sink in that all of this was done BEFORE we even started actively trying.  This is me – I do not claim to be ordinary, which is why when things weren't working month after month I was POSITIVE I was screwing this whole thing up.  I read all of these books about fertility and they ALL say that STRESS is the number one thing that you need to get a handle on in order to get pregnant.  CLEARLY I was too stressed out (We had just moved back from basically another planet, started new jobs, began house hunting, the list goes on) so I decided I needed to tackle my stress and embrace different mind/body relaxation techniques.  I did massage (decadent), acupuncture (love it), hypnosis (bizarre), Maya abdominal massage (jury is out), yoga (the best part is laying down at the end with your eyes closed).  I paired this with some more traditional techniques like talk therapy, going to the gym, drinking wine and venting to friends and family. I was as de-stressed as I am capable of being.

But the sticks kept coming back negative!! So all at once I totally revolted on this whole “stress" impairing fertility issue.  I mean seriously!! Jaycee Dugard got pregnant in the most horrifyingly stressful situation I can even imagine, being kidnapped, raped and held captive for 18 years. People got pregnant during the holocaust, during wars, natural disasters!! No amount of my comfy American life can even TOUCH what some people have gone through and somehow they have been able to conceive.  I just wasn't buying this stress BS anymore, this had to be medical, but again, despite all logic pointing to the contrary I was SURE it was me.    

So last Monday happened and I don’t know which one of us was more unprepared.  Prior to that phone call I had been processing the fact that I probably have some strange issue where maybe my eggs are all rotten, or I’m allergic to Sean’s sperm.  I even stopped taking allergy medications because I read that it could make my cervical mucus unfriendly to sperm.  So when we got the news that there were ZERO sperm I just didn't know how to switch gears.  Sean is the healthiest person that I know, it defies logic, but this isn't about logic, it’s about science.  And every one of our bodies is just a big miraculous jumble of parts that either do or don’t do their jobs (unbeknownst to us) until we go pinching and prodding and asking questions that we aren't really prepared for the answers to.

To keep it all in perspective I KNOW that if this is the only medical problem that we have we are beyond blessed, we have already hit the jackpot.  We are focusing on the positive and soaring with gratitude from the outpouring of love and support we have received from our family and friends.  We know all of this but we still have fears that creep in late at night or while driving into work.  We face them together, talk through them and then just keep on keeping on, usually ending our conversations with a few laughs.  I really am incredibly optimistic and I know that in the end we will have our baby, even if we have to kidnap one from some undeserving cast member from Teen Mom (Season 1 or 2).  No matter what, this is just a blip, but sometimes a blip will really knock you out for a little while.

(Note to Readers: Sean did advise me NOT TO USE CAPS but I did anyway)

Tree Photography, Celebrity Hating, and other coping techniques

 The work week has a way of snapping you into focus, away from your personal issues. I suppose that's why they pay you. This is not your time, quit your bitching and get to it.
  The weekend is your time. This has always been a good thing. This weekend, the challenge we face isn't blocked out by meetings and project plans. Our reactions to infertility stress are manifesting in interesting ways. It feels like an intro to pyschology class in this house. Shannon has developed a rather intense hatred of Gwyneth Paltrow. This exchange with Ellen Degeneres sent her over the edge last night while watching E! News:

Shannon woke up in a complete rage at 9:30am cursing Gwyneth. Diet Coke was required more quickly than normal.
I have entered into a rather intense flowering tree photography obsession. I've begun stopping randomly while driving to take pictures of blooming trees. Here was last night's addition:

 I've become totally infatuated with how spring has exploded around us. I keep catching myself marveling at the rebirth around me. I am a walking, talking, photographing cliche.
  We both admitted to our strange behaviors and so decided this morning we needed some traditional therapy, so we headed to the mall. Retail therapy is particularly effective in our family.
  Afterwards we took Brady to the park. Brady either loves something, or hates it. Brady loves playing fetch with a tennis ball. He does not love water. The first time he saw a body of water he just dove right into it and sunk like a stone. Thankfully the body of water was a pool and people were in it so they grabbed him and pulled him out before he swam to the bottom. I'd say hate is his personified emotion towards water.
  At the end of the park there is a pond that Brady will put his nose or his front paws in, but no further. While the other dogs leap in Brady looks at us to move on. This isn't for him, and he feels self conscious. Today when we reached the pond I threw the ball in just a few inches into the water. Brady reluctantly stepped in to get it. The next time I threw the ball a little further than I intended, too far for him to get without going over his head. As I hurriedly took off my shoes Brady ran to the edge of the furthest rock outcropping. Shannon called for me to stop: "Let him go, let him figure it out". Brady ran back and forth along the shore searching for a spot that he could stand and retrieve. Shannon and I stood silently as he tried several points without success. He did not turn around and signal he had given in. He calmed down and paused. Then, blindly stepping out a paw, found a rock under the surface that he couldn't see. He was now 6 inches away. He took his other paw and stepped blindly out, searching for and finding another high rock face under the surface. His head was immediately over the ball. He judged the ball in the water, and made a first strike, missing his grip and causing a splash. He took another lighter attempt, but the ball bounced back out. His third attempt was true, and he turned and ran out of the water scared but triumphant. We both clapped and congratulated him. Brady shook off the water, and we all walked on together.

It's A Small World, Full Of Support

In the short time that we've been dealing with our fertility issues two things have become clear to us:

• It is a very small world: So many people in our circle have gone through similar issues, or know people who have. There is so much power in talking to others about shared experiences, and most importantly laughing about it all. Every conversation or story of the process makes us grow stronger and makes the experience feel more normal. 
• There is support everywhere: Our hearts are filled with gratitude and awe at just how much love and support is out there. Our tears and heartache are becoming more and more related to pride, happiness, and gratitude. We know now that when we say we will get through this together, the we includes our medical team, family, and friends.

The next steps in the process:

• Second SA and urine analysis on May 1st. Prepared for a zero but hopefully for some bannermen.
• Hormone blood test next week
• Urologist appointment May 20th. This will be a big day as we'll get the results of the hormone and genetics tests, and get a sense of our plans moving forward.

If It's Not .Org, Don't Do It

   So our visit to the fertility clinic today started off great. Shannon and I took separate cars from work. Great minds think alike as we both stopped at the highway McD's to get a diet coke at the same time! We parked together and walked in together. We can get through this together!
   I was really nervous that the staff knew about my SA results and would look at us, or even worse, Shannon only, with pity. Luckily they just had us sit down.
   The visit got bad for a bit after that. A couple who had reached 36 weeks with our doctor's help had brought flowers for the doc to thank her, and in an empty waiting room other than us we had to hear the joy they all shared over the pregnancy. Keeping it together was difficult. I am sure we would feel the same joy, but seriously in the waiting room of the infertility clinic? I don't want to hear about the names or the beauty of the ultrasound images in that setting people! Shannon was less than pleased.
   When we got called in to see the doctor we went through Shannon's results first. Shannon is as fertile as they come. Good news number one of the day!
   My results were as we knew: Zero tadpoles. The one area we held out hope for was that they hadn't centrifuged the SA and there might be a few. They had. Still none.
   Next we talked about all the blood tests and genetic tests I'd get done. They are going to test the following hormones: testosterone, FSH, SHBG. If those are out of whack they can either be corrected, or it means there could be testicular failure. As for genetics they are going to test for karyotype and y gene deletion. I also have another SA scheduled where they will do a post urine analysis as the boys might be headed to a party in the bladder instead of heading home after last call. I am so happy we are doing all these tests together, and now. We have been reading about horror stories of months of waiting for each test and doctors telling the couple there was no chance each time. Our team rules.
   Next we asked the question we had been dreading: what are our chances of finding some soldiers in the barracks? Now I don't know if this was just to keep us sane, but to hear that our urologist finds them "most of the time" was amazing. It is very rare, and usually due to genetics that would have been tested already, that she doesn't find any.
   I think the weight of it all hit us right then. We shed some tears and we let the doctor know about all the horrible forum and blogs we'd been reading. The worst was the one where the husband didn't have any after extraction, they decided to adopt, and then he vanished from the blog only to come back 6 months later divorced and post suicide attempt. We laughed about it through the tears and got our first great quote of the experience: "If it is not a .org, don't do it". Agreed doc.
   A final piece of good news from today. Unlike a bunch of the forums and blogs we read, they do not, under any circumstance, start IVF until we have found tiny tots or not. Lots of stories about required sperm donor backup had us spooked that we would need to make that decision before we knew what we could find. We are both ecstatic about that.
   I also was reassured that unless I like to drink pesticide, while in a hot tub, on a daily basis, this wasn't anything I did to cause it. I am cleared for a beer tonight.
   The final step for the day was an ultrasound of Shannon's ovaries and more blood drawn for me. We need to start getting used to needles and poking.


All in all a very good day under the circumstances.

Positives

Today is going to be a positive day I have decided. 48 hours is enough time of being upset. To help I am coming up with a list of positives:

• We have the best health insurance possible. We can pick any doctor we want, and all fertility procedures are covered.
• We live in the shadow of the best medical community in the world. Our fertility specialist and our urologist are teaching fellows at Harvard Medical School, and are national and international leaders in both female and male infertility.
• Shannon and I have been through so many stressful and rough times together and separately. Everything happens for a reason. If we couldn't handle this, it wouldn't be happening to us.
• We have a network of friends and coworkers who have or are going through similar issues. We have people to talk to whenever we want. 
• Our Min Pin Brady isn't even human and is our baby. Whatever the end result, when we become parents, we will not feel any differently about how we got there.
• We are both healthy and happy, besides this rare condition.

We have our second appointment with the fertility specialist today. We are going to focus on the positives and all the options we have to get to where we want to go.

The Bad News Is We Found No Sperm

  "Here is to being pregnant on the plane ride home!", I triumphantly said as I ended my toast in front of Shannon's family three years ago. We were leaving to live in Australia for two years in May, and we had decided that we would wait till we returned to get pregnant. We decided we would start trying a month or two before we were headed home. We didn't know yet it wasn't about choice. Thinking about that moment tonight I want to punch myself for being so cocksure. Pun intended.

  We followed the pregnancy plan, with a few issues of course, as this is Shannon and me we are talking about. The first few months we tried on the wrong days. Shannon got very sick several months over the winter. We introduced the stress of new jobs / positions and house hunting. The sticks kept coming up negative.

  We decided in the New Year (2013) to focus on Shannon's health and to reduce stress. We introduced acupuncture, hypnosis, vitamins, yoga, different diets. Shannon read book after book. The sticks kept coming up negative, and the monthly bill would arrive, and we'd both be more and more upset.

  When the March cycle didn't work we had both had it. I have an amazing co-worker who I knew had struggled with their first pregnancy and I let them know about our struggles. The co-worker helped to lead us to the Reproductive Center at Newton-Wellesley. We were nervous for our first appointment but we were treated very well, and we were confident. When the blood work came back normal we shrugged. When the HSG was clean we were excited, but we expected it. We had crossed the first hurdle and seemed on the way to unexplained infertility, and the world of IUI and eventually IVF.

  One last thing to do however: The Semen Analysis. I went in with no concerns Monday, gave my sample, and left. It never crossed my mind I would get a phone call three hours later, at work, from the reproductive doctor. She started with some small talk about adjusting my phone numbers in the directory as they had my pre-Australian mobile number on file. I assumed that since she was talking about something so small that everything was fine. The next sentence I'll never forget: "So we got your sample and the good news is the volume was great, the bad news is we found no sperm." None. Zero. I asked a few questions and tried to write down the information she was giving me. I asked what our options were, what we could do, and she went through a number of possibilities. It wasn't until she said "If that doesn't work then our final option is donor sperm" that I started to freak out. I got off the phone quickly to call Shannon and tell her, and we both left work to meet at home.

  That was about 36 hours ago. In that time we've cried, researched, begged, broken down, asked why, spoken with friends and relatives. 

  We're feeling confident right now because, what other option do we have?