A Big Deal

I try to keep this blog upbeat and fun, it very much mirrors my personality.  I don’t like to dwell in the negative, and when I do, I try to at least find the humor in it.  “Happiness is a choice” is a phrase I’ve uttered more than once.  So I’ve been less than eager to blog about our struggles with infertility, but isn’t this a part of our life?  No one goes through life without their fair share of uphill battles and I am no exception.  Also, this has completely occupied mind for the past year, so it’s time I wrote about it.

Infertility is a blanket term that covers all sorts of specific diagnoses, and the uniqueness of infertility is that it can lie with either partner, or both partners, as is our case.  For almost a year the “fault” of infertility lied solely with me.  I ovulate no problem.  In fact, one could probably set a clock based on the arrival of my period.  The problem lies with my uterine lining.  This is the way it was explained to me : “Your ovaries and your uterine lining are operating on two different clocks.  Both are doing what they are supposed to do, just not at the same time, which means while you may have a fertilized egg, the lining is not prepared in time for it to attach.”
“Is there a name for this?”  I asked.
“Not really,” was her reply “but it is an easy fix with Clomid!  Have your husband get a referral off post for a semen analysis and we can get started.”  WHEW!  What a relief!  An easy fix.
Not so fast there Hass!  You forget, this is the ARMY, and nothing is ever easy in the army!  “We don’t want to give your husband a semen analysis before he deploys.  Why? Well…. because….. it would cost more money to do it before.  Oh, you saw through that bullshit excuse? Well, fine but you have to jump through these five (maaaaaaybe 12) hoops before we will give you a referral.” *  By the time we got the referral it was too late and Cody was leaving for Afghanistan.

*This is not want the Army actually said.  This is sarcasm.  It’s also how the Army sounds in my mind when they make stupid decisions. 

Upon his return, we wasted no time in getting the referral.  Took a week to get it, a month for an appointment, and then another month for the results to be translated to English, and three more weeks for an appointment with MY doctor, to hear the results.  Which weren't good.  She suggested we go for a second semen analysis to confirm these results, but this time through the military hospital at Ramstein so we could avoid the hassle and frustration of the German urology process. 
Again we go through the referral process, this time we have to go higher up to get approved.  We drive over 300 miles one way, for my husband to do the deed into a tiny specimen cup, only to hear that we can’t be seen by the doctor until the following month!  We ask if we can receive the results by phone or email, perhaps a phone consult, but no, it is against their policy.  We have no choice but to drive back.  We made the most out of it and treated our selves to Chili’s and several margaritas!
As our life seems to hold true to Murphy’s law (and other things reminiscent of a sit-com), the brakes on our car went out and we needed new pads and a rotor  No problem! We order them, they come in with time to spare, we open the package and the rotor is missing.  Plan B: call and reschedule the appt.  “The doctor is going on leave for a month the day after your appointment, and we are booked a month out after that so let’s see what we have available in June……”  Never mind.  Plan C:  rent a car.  On the day we go to pick up the rental, the car that was supposed to be turned in that morning, has NOT been turned in and the company cannot get in contact with the renter.  Plan D: call and text EVERY one we know with a car who might let us borrow it for an entire day and put over 600 miles on it.  Thankfully, the rental car was turned in and plan D was scrapped.
Cody results from the second semen analysis were better than the first, but still considered sub fertile.  Now we deal with the frustration of not knowing the cause of Cody’s low sperm count.  He is a normal healthy male, with no history of trauma to his genitals, ultra sounds show nothing abnormal, and there is no family history that we know of.  I read that some 80% of male infertility causes are unknown, so we might never find out. 
Right now we are looking into IVF with ICSI ( intracytoplasmic sperm injection) Tricare covers nothing if it is not coitus based method of reproduction.  Costs in the US for IVF average $15,000 per cycle, while here in Germany they are much cheaper at around 5,000EUR.  I spend most of my days searching the internet, researching our options, and trying to stay hopeful.  We are still enjoying our time here in Germany, and we are trying not to let this take over our lives, but it’s a hard pill to swallow, knowing that we are finally in position to have children, and we can’t.  We’re planning and hoping to save up enough for IVF in Europe before we PCS back to the states, but the short time we have left here, makes us question if we can.
I’ve not been shy about talking about it.  In fact every one I talk to here usually hears about it, I just haven't written about it.  I don’t want to worry family and friends who are far away, or sound like a pity case, or simply make a big deal out of it… but it is a big deal.  At least, it’s come to a point, now that we’ve both been diagnosed, that it IS a big deal.  And it’s taken over a year for all of this to unfold, thanks to deployment, and the Army, and the way that we’re forced to see two separate doctors and ferry each others information and test results back and forth between them.  It is truly maddening!  But I’m going to go ahead and toot my own horn and say that we are pretty damn good at handling all sorts of shitty situations with grace and humor.  This is no exception.  We stay positive and happy, and our lives continue on.
Until I write again,
Tschüss!

A final rant: A new pet peeve of mine that has derived from all this is the mothers I know (or don’t know) who jokingly post their children for sale on Facebook.  It happens at least once a week, and I want to comment with a big ‘ol “F*#% you!” every time.  Or an even more snarky “I’m sorry your child has annoyed you today.  Poor you.  Maybe one day when I’m magically NOT infertile, I will find some sort of humor in your shitty post.”  But I don’t because… well, it’s not their fault I can’t get pregnant, and I was a nanny and a pre-school teacher long enough to know that sometimes, you just can’t take it anymore.  But this here is MY blog and I’ll say what I want, pet peeves and all! BOOM!