Love was definitely in the air. I was on my honeymoon, sipping champagne on a balcony overlooking the ocean with my new husband, Kris. I was 34 at the time, he was 39, and my son from my first marriage was 4 years old. We had created a perfect little family and we definitely wanted to add to it immediately. I looked over at him, the sunset casting a warm glow on his skin. “I hope you are ready for this, because as soon as we quit using birth control, I will get pregnant.” He replied he was more than ready.
Fast forward to six months later. We had been trying to conceive every month since we had gotten married. Every month I hoped that I would be “with child” and every month I had been disappointed. There was one month where I was sure I was pregnant. My breasts were sore and I was a bit nauseous, but my home pregnancy test only registered one line. Maybe it was defective? My period proved that the home pregnancy test was in good working order. Negative. Again.
The doubt started creeping in. I wasn’t sure what was wrong, if anything. I had gotten pregnant with my first husband purely by accident. The sex wasn’t accidental, but we had been using the rhythm method and I had messed up on the timing. That resulted in my beautiful son. About a year later, we had a similar “timing” snafu and I became pregnant again. I was definitely fertile, perhaps overly so. I miscarried at 9 weeks, but I certainly had not had problems conceiving. So why were we having problems now? Which pregnancy goddess had I angered?
Not long after, I happened to be explaining the pregnancy “delay” to a friend of mine when she suggested that I see a Reproductive Endocrinologist or RE. She was a newer friend of mine, and I had no idea that she was having trouble conceiving. She urged me to see her doctor because I was “older” and “you just never know.”
A reproductive endocrinologist? I had never given it any thought. I was happy with my gynecologist. I liked my gynecologist. I always had my yearly check-ups and always checked out fine. My menstrual cycles were regular. I had been pregnant before. I was now 35, but was that really considered “old?” Did I really need to see a specialist? Couldn’t my ob-gyn handle it? After too much internal dialogue, I decided to talk to my husband about it.
“We don’t need to see someone. Maybe we are just missing your fertile time,” he responded. We were newlyweds and I knew we weren’t missing it! I told him I wanted to make an appointment to see the
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RE. My instincts were telling me, “better safe than sorry.” I thought that it would be good to have a plan. I figured that we would most likely have to start monitoring with an ovulation predictor kit, or the worst-case scenario would be artificial insemination. I priced out some predictor kits at the drugstore, just so I would know how much extra to allot for in our monthly budget.
I called the RE my friend had recommended. Our insurance would cover the visit. The first appointment they had available was in a month. That seemed like an awfully long wait. The RE was either very popular or there were more people with these concerns than I was aware of. I booked the appointment and was sent a huge packet of forms for my husband and me to fill out. They were detailed questions regarding our medical, sexual, psychological and reproductive histories. We sent them back and waited for the appointment.
My husband was given a sperm analysis, and I was scheduled for what I was told was “day three” testing. On the third day of your monthly cycle, an RE will test your blood for levels for certain hormones. Abnormal readings on these tests can help the RE pinpoint where problems might be. The same is true of the sperm analysis.
It was all pretty easy, and I was told we would receive a call after they reviewed both of our results. Now all I had to do was wait. Wait for the call that would drastically change both of our lives.
Getting that call is one of those moments that are flash-frozen in time. I will never forget it. “Hi, Laura. This is Joan. I am the nurse coordinator at the doctor’s office. I called to give you your results. Do you have a pencil and paper?” In retrospect, when a doctor or nurse asks you if you have something to write with, you should brace yourself for serious news. I got a pencil and paper.
“Well, your testing came back normal. Everything looks good.” OK, this is not so bad, I thought. “The problem is with your husband,” she added. My heart sank. “We received some abnormal results on the sperm analysis. His motility is fine; the count is on the low side at 23.2 million. The real problem is the morphology.” I interrupted to ask what morphology was. “Morphology is the shape of the sperm, and unfortunately your husband has morphology of less than 1% normal. You will have to go straight to In Vitro Fertilization with ICSI if you want to have a baby.”
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It was at that point I felt the world being pulled out from under me. The nurse explained the basics of the scheduling, the medications and procedures involved. I took copious notes, but it was still too much to take in all at once.
I got off the phone and immediately broke down in tears. I distinctly remember standing in the corner of our bedroom, face to the wall, just crying my eyes out. I was scared for both of us. How do you tell your husband he is infertile? And all the procedures sounded extremely daunting. I was going to have to have my eggs
surgically extracted in the hopes of getting pregnant. It didn’t sound like too much fun.
My husband, stellar pragmatist that he is, took it pretty well. It was a bit of a shock at first, but we both came to be of the mindset that if this was how things had to be, then we might as well “get with the program.” We did our first fresh IVF cycle and unfortunately it was negative. We had enough frozen embryos to do two frozen embryo transfers. I became pregnant off the first frozen cycle but miscarried at seven weeks. The second frozen cycle was negative. We are gearing up for our second fresh cycle, and I will start the shots in two weeks. This will be our fourth cycle in 17 months. It’s a bit of a push, but if we bring home our baby, it will be well worth it.
I am glad that we went to see the RE when we did. Had I buried my head in the sand, we would have wasted precious time fruitlessly trying to conceive a child that could not have been conceived without expensive medical intervention.
Yes, our RE is expensive. We were fortunate to have insurance, but we have almost reached our lifetime limit. We are primarily paying out of pocket for this current cycle. Is cost a consideration? Of course it is. If you can use your ob-gyn for basic testing or entry-level treatments such as Clomid cycles, you should. Our diagnosis precluded such treatments, but if I could have done them with my ob-gyn, I would have. And if I am fortunate enough to get pregnant for more than seven weeks, I will use my ob-gyn for my obstetrical care. It’s been a while since they have seen me, but I can think of no better reunion than to walk through their doors and tell them, “Guess what, I am finally pregnant!”
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