So last night was PLANET MELTDOWN at my house. I lost my shit and had a total tantrum. It started because my husband was wanting to have sex and I soooooo didn't-- and went on from there. I ended my fest by slamming the bedroom door, falling on the bed weeping, and hurling my prenatal vitamins at the door (they didn't break, more's the pity), all the while wondering why my husband wasn't coming into the room to comfort his violent and psycho wife.
And this month I'm not even taking any fertility hormones.
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My husband and I began to try to get pregnant in May of 2002. We'd been together nine years, had gotten sober together three years into our relationship, and decided we'd finally grown up enough to be parents.
But God (don't worry, this isn't some scary christian blog. My God is alternately a gentle breeze, a tough ass lawyer chick, or Aslan from the Chronicles of Narnia, or a complete neglectful jerk) has a funny sense of humor. You've heard the jokes-- wanna make God laugh? Make plans! Well, God, that asshole, had best be laughing his butt off, cause nearly two years later, we ain't pregnant.
Ever the patient ones, we waited a whole seven months before going to see a doctor (you're supposed to wait a year-- so of course, we lied). We went to a clinic connected to a major university hospital and were soon sitting across from a lovely young resident. She glanced at my charts (I quickly succumbed to charting and temping fever-- and just as quickly abandoned it as crazy making) and agreed that yes, I did ovulate regularly. She recommended a sperm assesment, and the obligitory vaginal ultrasound (is it possible to see a fertility doctor and NOT get a visit from the dildocam? But, doc, I just wanted to pay my bill. I'm not even trying this month. Let go of my pants!!!) .
About a month later (ok, it was a week) we got the news: my husband had an extremely low sperm count. The nurse spouted a bunch of numbers for me, motility, morphology, etc. I had no idea what it meant, just that it was bad. Three days of non-stop internet research later, I knew how bad it was.
So we coerced them into doing a little more testing on me, some bloodwork, and HSG (more about that at another time). And we decided to wait. Try naturally, for a while, and see what happened. My darling husband gamely repeated the sperm assesment several times, with the news the same, or close to the same, each time.
And thus began the longest and most painful limbo period of my life. And yep, still here.
