Take Two Steps Forward, Take Two Steps Back....

We come together when....opposites attract!

Ok, so I'm totally dating myself, but the truth is, I have ALWAYS thought that this song is a perfect description for Mo and me. But that's really not what I wanted to write about today. I really just wanted to kvetch for a moment (again!) about how many freakin' YEARS it took for my husband to be diagnosed with a testosterone-deficiency. Aside from our fertility woes, he has been beleaguered with extreme fatigue, mood swings, depression, the list goes on and on. And then, out of the blue, we are handed this Magic Cream and WOW!!! The man I started dating a decade ago is back! I am not exaggerating when I say he was like a new man. Instead of sleeping the days away, we got up and got out. We laughed. We had sex. A lot of sex. Good sex. In a matter of weeks, that cream did more to restore our marriage than any couples therapy or fertility treatment ever did. Mo felt vibrant, he felt happy -- and that made all the difference in the world!

And then. Dr. Expert, in his wisdom, told Mo to stop. And Mo did. Because the only thing he wants more than to feel better is he chance to be a father. And he is willing to suffer through whatever he has to suffer through if it will give him that shot. But man, it has been so deflating to watch him. Within days, his energy level plummeted. He sleeps most of the day -- and the night. He doesn't want to go anywhere, or do anything. We haven't had sex in over a week. I can actually SEE how awful he feels, and I feel so. damn. helpless.

He has three more weeks before his bloodwork appointment, and several days to wait for results. I am hoping that everything will be in by the time I go back for surgery, so that Dr. E. will give him the Clomid scrip then. I know that once he does, it won't be long before Mo is feeling better. And in the end, the chance to have a child of our own is totally worth it. I just hate watching my husband disappear in the meantime.

Motherfucker

Yep, I've got it. That damn gene mutation --MTHFR-- that I see all over the blogosphere. (Don't pretend that's not how you read that acronym, either.)

I am apparently heterozygous for A1289C. While that's a very common mutation (it is estimated that,like, half the population has it), and it's easily treated with folic acid and B-vitamin supplementation, it is also a possible explanation for our early miscarriages.

Know what else is? The ugly looking scar tissue Dr. Expert found that has basically fused my uterus shut. You know, the scar tissue I was worried about post D&C? The scar tissue I asked Dr. Down-to-Earth about before doing both our second fresh and second frozen cycles? The cycles that ended in a chemical pregnancy and an outright failure?

Yeah. To say that I am not happy is an understatement.

On the one hand, we finally have some ANSWERS. Which is great. Everything Dr. Expert has found can be treated. I will have surgery in early August, Mo can start the Clomid, and baby-making sex can commence as planned (that still seems like a bit of an oxymoron to me. Babies come from sex? Really?)

But, wow. Looking back, I am so angry. I am angry that Mo's counts were ignored for so long, and no one thought to check his hormone levels as a possible cause. I am angry that IVF with ICSI was presented as our only option. I am angry that Dr. Optimistic failed to tell me soon enough to increase my thyroid medication, which also could have contributed to the loss of Baby#2. I am angry that Dr. DTE neglected to include the MTHFR test in my miscarriage panel that was run before FET #2, and that he didn't think it necessary to check for scar tissue before either cycle, knowing that I had a D&C prior, and despite my voicing concerns about that very issue.

I feel like so many people that I trusted dropped the ball. Everyone assured me that our first loss was just a fluke, and it likely was. But after our second, I wanted EVERYTHING ruled out before proceeding. It wasn't, and now we have lost a year and $20,000 doing two doomed cycles. And we will spend another year gearing up for our final try.

So there you have it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I suppose every one of us with RPL or repeated ART failures feels this way at some point. We finally have some answers...I just wish we'd found them a little sooner.

Strike That, Reverse It

Ok. So. The last post espousing my love for all things testosterone? I may have spoken just a teensy-bit early on that one.

We met with Dr. Expert yesterday. Again he was methodical and patient with my questions. I appreciate that he doesn't treat me like an idiot, and we can banter back and forth using acronyms while Mo stares baffled at the two of us. (It's the little things, people.). The good news is that we left the appointment full of Hope. (Yes, that bitch is back.) Here is our new plan of attack:

Mo will stop the t-gel immediately. It is, of course, killing all his little swimmers. In a few weeks/month, we will assess his FSH and LH (what the hell do men need with follicle-stimulating hormone, anyway?) and confirm that they are probably very shitty. Once we do that, he will start a low-dose Clomid regimen that will BOTH! Raise his testosterone AND increase his sperm counts! At the same damn time. Who knew? (ok, y'all did, but still.) We have to give it 90 days or so, then do an SA and see how much improvement he is making. After that, we are going to try to have sex. What I mean is, we will have sex, and see if anything happens. It's kind of a far out concept, but I've heard that some women actually do make babies that way. Huh.

Anyway, if that's a no-go after six months or so, we will proceed with IVF next summer.

I stand by my earlier statements: the most important thing to me is a healthy and happy husband. If that's not possible without testosterone therapy, then so be it. But I've done a ton of reading these past two days, and it seems like here has been a lot of success with the Clomid protocol. Check out this study here:

http://www.texasfertilitycenter.com/the-use-of-clomid-in-men/

I mean, holy shit! Increases from 15 million to 62 million? With 58% of couples planning on using IVF instead conceiving naturally? That's what I mean about Hope, people. We could actually DO this.

Of course, it wouldn't be me if there wasn't SOME bad news. I'll save that for my next post, though, as I kind of want to bask in the afterglow for a moment and fantasize for a wee second about being THAT girl (you know the one). The chances of course are slim, but I'll take 'em.

Side Effects and Their Repercussions

I know many of you were concerned about my last update re: Mo's low testosterone and our decision to go ahead with the treatments for it. Let me reassure you that we did due diligence and I read approximately forty-jillion reports about the side effects. I am VERY aware that what we are doing will most likely kill off the few two-headed, lazy swimmers we have left.

And I'm okay with that.

While it may sound totally counter-intuitive, I can definitely say that, for us, it was worth the risk. And that decision has been solidified in the two weeks since Mo started using the T-gel. IT'S LIKE HE'S A DIFFERENT PERSON, Y'ALL.

I can't explain it, except to say that I can visibly see the depression lifting. Some of it, I am sure, is the anti-anxiety medication, but the biggest change came within a day or two of starting the testosterone therapy. And the change is so significant, that I don't think I would even want him to stop, sperm-slaughtering tendencies or not. I know many of you cannot even fathom this scenario, so let me try to explain my thinking.

First and foremost, y'all, it's not my body. And therefore, ultimately, I don't feel like its my decision. Sure, I wanted Mo to consider all the risks, but I didn't have to live with how he was feeling. He did, and therefore only he should get to decide what to do about it. A few days after beginning treatment, Mo told me he hasn't felt this good in nearly a decade. A DECADE you guys. I cant discount how badly he was feeling, or the amount of relief the meds seem to have brought him. I know that if one day I decided IVF was too much and that I didn't want to put myself through it anymore, I honestly believe Mo would respect that. Because I am the one who has to endure the shots, and the surgeries, and the losses. It's my body, and my call. The same goes for him.

Secondly, our primary care physician didn't seem concerned. I mentioned the hundreds of stories I read online, all assuring me that we were essentially electing to kill off every single swimmer he had by treating this condition. His response? He's surprised Mo is making any sperm at all anyway. His testosterone was THAT low. He said the cases in which sperm production shuts down is when the body has an excess of testosterone. Given how abysmal Mo's numbers were, he doesn't believe that will be a problem. If anything, he thinks this might actually increase his sperm counts. While I am less optimistic on that front, it does lead us to point number three.

Mo's sperm suck ass. I mean, really, really, really suck ass. Not only is his volume low, but his motility is awful. During both of our fresh cycles, his sperm was found to be 99% abnormal. We've tried everything: diet changes, lifestyle changes, supplements, losing weight, you name it. And while he has seen a marginal increase in volume and motility, the bottom line remains the same: they aren't pretty, my friends. We've managed to create 26 lovely embryos, most of which fizzled out pretty quickly and none of which made it past eight weeks. I just can't discount the role that male factor is playing in our infertility and even in our losses. I don't BLAME my husband-- he has no control over his gametes. But, so far, not one test has indicated that I have anything going on that would cause/contribute to our repeated losses and failures to conceive.

So. Worst case scenario? The t-gel makes my husband feel like a rock star and then murders all his swimmers. We move on, either to adoption (already in the works) or DS/IUI.

I can live with that.

Would I love for this to be the answer to our problems? You bet. Nothing would make me happier than seeing TLIVFENRIMITT be successful, and a baby born of mine and Mo's gametes the result. But the bottom line is that we want to be parents, and at this point neither of us really cares how exactly that happens. But when it does, I want my partner to be happy and healthy, feeling good and capable of tackling each day. If that means giving up a genetic link to our child, then so be it.

We're going into this with our eyes wide open, knowing that the outcome is completely out of our hands--but also knowing that we have options, and answers, waiting somewhere just out of reach.

Twilight

I feel like I have entered the Twilight Zone lately (and for you younger readers, that is nowhere near Forks, ok?)

Friday night went smoothly, with Mo joining a work friend for a baseball game while I caught up on some backl episodes of "Mad Men." He was home by nine, and off to bed we went. It was all "I love you's" and sweet kisses until either Fat Girl or Big Boy moved the wrong way and sliced a nail down my sunburned back.

I admit it, I yelled. And it wasn't particularly nice. But I yelled at he DOGS, people. So I was kind of taken aback when Mo started yelling at ME. It started innocently enough, with a "What's your problem?" but quickly turned into mutual "Fuck off"'s, of which I am not proud.

The thing is, something in me snapped. I was not going to sit silently while Mo called names, and so I returned each negative comment with one of my own. It was the most ridiculous game of back and forth I have seen since grade school. (You're an ass. No, you're an ass. And so on.)

Like I said, not my proudest moment. Still, I didn't expect Mo to come out and proclaim his desire for a divorce, given that moments before he was professing his undying love. And yet, that's exactly what he did. Multiple times. I knew he didn't mean it, and I tried telling him that, but he had backed himself into a corner. So I did what any self-respecting woman would do, called my best friend and went out and got drunk.

Or rather, that's what I should have done. Instead, I committed the ultimate marriage foul and I called my mommy. At midnight. And showed up on her doorstep bawling soon after.

I thank the stars that my mother is so forgiving. She loves me beyond reason, and I know she can't stand to see me and Mo fighting. She tries valiantly to support me without demonizing him. She knows I very well may decide to stay with him, and so she is careful not to cut that bond. Still, she has an outsiders perspective and I know that she knows Mo's Issues are not likely to change. I imagine it is incredibly difficult for her to watch me struggle, and yet to keep her opinions to herself and let me live my own life.

To cut a long story short, I vented for a couple hours then drove home. Mo was apologetic, as I knew he would be. We both said we didn't mean it, and we went to sleep. There were a few murmured apologies again the next morning, but for the most part we went about our weekend (including dinner with my parents Saturday night) as though nothing had happened. Like I said, Twlight Zone, folks.

I am not quite sure how I feel about this. I am trying desperately to establish boundaries and teach Mo how to disagree without it devolving into he mess it currently devolves into. I am not a therapist, nor any expert on these things. My primary methods of handling conflict involve either avoidance or direct confrontation, neither of which usually get me far. (And please, for the love of god, stop suggesting counseling. He won't go, and I have trouble finding one who either doesn't insist I leave him, or whose Christian subservience outlook depresses me. I know good counselors exist, I just haven't had much luck here in Podunk finding one. In truth, y'all are much more qualified than most I have seen.)

Still, it feels --odd?-- to be proclaiming divorce in one moment and love in another. That's not how marriages end, is it? Or maybe it is, and I am fooling myself into thinking that the possibility for a family is less than remote.

I did have an interesting conversation with my sister about it on Saturday. I told her that I was contemplating not telling anyone if we cycled again. That I felt a little bit judged, since all was not rosy on the marriage front. Who are we to be making a baby, after all?

Her response floored me. She told me that since she can remember, our whole lives, I have wanted children. That nothing in my life was more important to me, ever. It was my dream since we were toddlers. And she thinks that, no matter what happens with Mo, that is a dream I should still pursue. Maybe we will end up a happy family, maybe not. But she thinks I will be happier with children than without, no matter what.

I actually reached across he sushi bar and hugged my "hands off" sister at that point, because I felt like she actually got it. That thing I can't quite put into words, that reason why I keep trying to make things work out. Because my dream is not a fulfilling, adventurous marriage with a romantic partner. My dream is messy and squirmy and exhausting, but in the end completely worth it. I want children, first and foremost. And that's not a dream I can put off indefinitely.

Families are messy, and marriage even more so. I blog about it so that you all know that you're not the only ones. Sure, there are the annoyingly perfect couples out there (they are also the ones who get pregnant on their first IVF :-D), but we aren't them. Judge all you want, but I can contemplate a new life and an IVF cycle at the same time. Neither one is guaranteed to make me happy, but in the end? I've got to know that I did everything I could.

And so do you.

Wait and See

I don't know quite how he did it, but Mo has somehow wiggled his way out of the doghouse once again.

Please don't worry about offending me, dear readers. I know he's an ass, and he has definite Issues. It has been worse, I assure you.

Which, interestingly enough, makes it even harder to leave. Because I stayed before, when no one would have ever faulted me leaving. I stayed, for a million reasons, some good, some not. And how do you look at someone with whom you have quite literally been to hell and back with and leave them over what is comparatively minor?

All excuses, I know. He is who he is, and I will never change him. I can only change how I react to him. That is challenging enough, I can assure you. There are mitigating circumstances at play here (isn't there always?), some of which are being addressed and others that are being dutifully ignored. The truth is that I am horrifically indecisive, and I keep waiting for the decision to be made for me. For my path to become glaringly obvious. And while it may be obvious to you, dear readers, I waffle. Because it isn't all bad. In fact, a lot of the time it's pretty good. And one of the major Issues (Mo's depression) may finally, after ten years of cajoling, be treated. (He has begun meds for that and anxiety, both of which he desperately needs).

I hate being so vague, but once again I feel like his story is not my story to tell. So you are left with only one side of the conversation, and that side is murky at best.

All I can tell you is this: I am doing the best I can. And for right now that means continuing to play wait and see. I am not nearly the optimist I once was -- I know a magic cure does not exist. At the same time, I am not yet ready to completely close the door on this chapter of my life.

I am doing the best I can. And really, isn't that all any of us can do?

The One Where Jo Gets Angry - UPDATED

UPDATED AT THE BOTTOM.

Actually, angry doesn't begin to cover it. I am fuming, and the person I am most angry with is myself.

First, I apologize for my absence as of late. Mo whisked me away for a fabulous and fun- filled birthday weekend that involved copious amounts of alcohol, sex, and expensive gifts (not necessarily in that order.). It was a wonderful, if temporary, escape from reality.

Things felt good, really good, this week. We reconnected, I felt loved and appreciated. And that is exactly why, at this very moment, no one wants to have the misfortune of being within a ten-thousand foot radius of me.

Because where is my loving, attentive, and reformed husband right now? Damned if I know. I can make a pretty educated guess though, and it makes me want to blow a gasket.

Without going into too much detail (because lets be honest, I will probably forgive him at some point), let's just recap:

Mo and Jo get married. Mo and Jo want a baby. Mo and Jo can't have a baby, so Mo makes lots and lots of shitty decisions. Jo is too young to know any better, so she sticks around hoping Mo will change. Finally, at her wit's end, she issues The Ultimatum. Mo and Jo move far away and start over. Mo makes different shitty decisions. Jo decides to leave, but Mo convinces her to stay. Mo and Jo spend tens of thousands of dollars on IVF and conceive and miscarry three babies. Mo is alternately stupid and sweet, and Jo is torn between wanting to build the family she has always dreamed of and kicking her sorry-ass husband to the curb.

Have you followed all of that? Good. That just about brings us to the present, where Mo once again Fucks Up Royally, and then somehow convinces poor, naive, and optimistic Jo that he has learned his lesson and now fully appreciates the gem that she is and is turning over a new leaf.

And, then, predictably, Mo pulls another fast one and disappears for the weekend.

To be fair, I don't know for certain that he will be gone all weekend. I don't know that because he won't answer my calls or texts. What I do know is that he went out for a beer with the guys at five o clock, and I haven't heard from him since. Which means (since his phone is always glued to his hip) that he is ignoring me because he is doing Bad Things. Things he knows will piss me the fuck off, and so he does what all Total Assholes do and he avoids me for as long as possible. When he comes home (on Sunday, maybe Monday, if history is any clue), he will be contrite and full of apologies. He will assure me that he is Done with the Bad Things.

Until next weekend.

And I am sitting here typing this blog with my blood boiling because I knew he would fuck up sooner or later.

I just didn't expect it to be so soon.

(And, just to reassure my lovely readers, no I don't think he is cheating on me, and no he isn't doing anything illegal. There are many ways a man can Fuck Things Up that are perfectly legal and don't break any major vows. It still doesn't excuse his shitty behavior, or his complete lack of consideration for others.)

UPDATED TO ADD: Mo finally called me back at five in the morning to tell me that he was too drunk to drive home. He was very "What's the big deal?" and "Do you WANT me to get a DUI?" and "I can't believe you think so poorly of me." It is now noon, and he is still not answering texts or phone calls, nor is he home. I suppose there is little I can do at this point except give him enough rope to hang himself. Which, inevitably, he will. I honestly am disgusted with myself for allowing him to woo me once again, and to start thinking that things might actually be on track towards getting better. People seldom change, dear readers, and if you are waiting around hoping for someone you love to do so, I sincerely hope you are smarter than me and you have enough sense to realize that what you see is what you get, and probably always will be.

Time Keeps On Ticking....

Today is my birthday.

I am 31.

While I am still fairly young in the IF world, I feel incredibly,overwhelmingly, old. I have been trying to have a baby since I was 21. I have spent ten years of my life hoping, wishing, and praying for something that is still nothing but a figment of my imagination. While my head knows that I still have plenty of time, I am still equally convinced that my ovaries will shrivel up and die if I don't have a kid in the next five minutes. Whoever coined the phrase "biological clock" could not possibly have been a thirty-something-year-old woman. This isn't a clock my friends, it's a goddamned ticking time bomb.

Time seems to be running out for my dear husband as well. When we married, he was older and established in a sexy "now there's a real man" provider-for-my-children kind of way. Only the children never materialized, and now he is staring 42 in the face. And he is not too thrilled with what he sees. His dad died at 67, and so Mo feels like he has maybe 15-20 good years left. Which doesn't bode well when you are contemplating babies. Maybe it's a mid-life crisis thing, but he keeps on talking about moving to the beach, to Florida or California or even the Bahamas. He wants to enjoy the years he has left, and let's be honest: there is little that is enjoyable about IF, IVF, or miscarriage.

All that being said, I do still think we will pull one more fresh cycle out of our hats this summer. One last shot at a bio-baby. I fear, though, that my erstwhile husband will be officially D-O-N-E after that. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will not be. I admire those women who are able to say "enough" and to get off the crazy train before losing all their marbles. But I also know me, and I know I will not be able to give up as long as there is the tiniest shot in hell that I can have the child I have wanted for so very long.

I didn't mean for this post to end up so melancholy. I have had a wonderful birthday, and I feel the love from all sides. My sister and my parents, my students, and Mo have all spoiled me terribly rotten. I know that I am incredibly lucky to have people who love me, healthy and alive and close by. I have a job that fulfills me and makes me feel like I am doing something worthwhile in the world. I have a lot, and not having a baby doesn't mean my life isn't full and rich and so much better than probably two-thirds of the planet's. I know all that, and I am beyond grateful for the many, many good things in my life.

But I would be lying if I said it was enough. It's not enough, and I feel selfish saying that, but it's true. I want it all, and I won't stop reaching for it until that ticking time bomb finally explodes.

Thank goodness I still have a few years until it does. ;-)

Still Here

Thank you, each of you, for your sincere and heartfelt comments.  I suck at returning them and have once again failed miserably at ICLW.  I am (mostly) still reading, though in spurts, and you are all in my thoughts quite often.  But finding time to blog, or comment, is hard with so much up in the air right now.

Mo and I have reached an uneasy peace, for now.  I say uneasy because I just don't know how long it will last.  He's smooth, my husband, and he knows how to say all the right things.  He is the king of promises and "I'm sorry's."

And I always believe him.

Some of you may scoff, and my dark tone here would never convince you, but I believe my optimism is to blame.  I always have hope -- hope that we can one day get past all of this, hope that I can have everything I ever wanted.

I have hope that happiness, true and lasting happiness, is always just around the corner.

I spent my twenties waiting for that happiness to materialize.  I can't spend my thirties waiting, too.

I expect that things aren't really settled, despite our flimsy compromises this week.  I suspect that another bump (or two, or three) is lurking in the distance.  I still can't say in which direction I'm headed, or where on earth I'm going to end up.

I just know that something's gotta change.

And since I can't change him, I'm gonna have to start with me.

If only I had any idea where to begin......

Clarity

That's what is missing for me in my life right now.

I am tired of living in metaphors and symbolic gestures.

I am tired of trying to figure out what my husband is thinking, tired of trying to make peace, tired of fighting the battles I'm facing both big and small.

My marriage is in trouble, friends.

It's never been what anyone would call "smooth sailing" round these parts, but I have to say the last few years have been calmer than years before.  So why now?

Perhaps now time feels more pressing, urging me to make decisions while I still have it on my side.  Perhaps now I'm just worn thinner than I was before.  Perhaps now there are certain things I'm just not willing to tolerate.  Perhaps I've become wiser with age.

Perhaps not.

I am torn with indecision, not because I don't know what to do, but because I am afraid I will one day regret it.  I'm afraid of making the "wrong" decision, afraid that it won't lead to the outcome I desire most.

A family.

Living children.

A happy home.

Those are the things I want.  Those are my priorities.

And, in all honesty, I have no idea how to go about creating the reality I want.

Mo is miserable here.  He hates the town we live in, the state, everything.  He is thisclose to throwing in the towel and giving up on all of it.  He is tired of the infertility, the money being thrown away, the heartbreak and constant disappointments.  I don't blame him for any of it.

And yet I do.

I blame him for making shitty decisions, for not handling things as an adult should.  I blame him for dragging his feet and letting this journey go on as long as it has.  I blame him for stringing me along for years with the promise of a future that may never materialize.

I know I'm being vague. There are issues -- specific issues -- that we are battling.  I am just not ready to bare it all here just yet.  I have more thinking to do, more decisions to make first.

I'm scared, friends.  I feel like things are spinning out of my control and I have no way of reigning them in.  Everything has become a muddy, hazy, shade of gray -- the past, the present, the future.  I can't see clearly any more -- I feel like I'm driving blind down a dark and winding road with no headlights.

I need a road map for this uncharted territory....unfortunately, I'm going to have to write it myself.

And I've lost all sense of direction.