Today was L’s one-week, post-transfer follow-up to have her progesterone level checked. Everything checked out fine (desired range 20-100, her score: 52). As such, we’ll continue with the PIO shots at the current dosage for at least another week.

Next Friday is the “big day” when we find out the results of this IVF cycle.

The waiting (thus far) hasn’t been too bad. I think the poor fertilization rates were enough of a slap of reality to ensure that we didn’t spend these two weeks in a state of optimistic, hyper-anticipation. On balance, this is probably a good thing… and really our odds are, statistically speaking, reasonably good (perhaps 35-40% for a singleton and 10% for twins). That’s much better than the 0% we faced while regimentally fucking during the TTC year(s).

And, since we’re signed up in a shared risk program through IVF cycle #3, there’s not a lot of drama about “where to go from here” should we have a negative outcome. The first cycle was (thus far) easily bearable for us. The plan of action is in place. The money has already been spent or allocated for future rounds of drugs.

Given all of that, we remain neutral in our expectation. A positive result would be a wonderful surprise. A negative result (I hope) won’t be devastating.

Of course, this is probably just how I approach life: “an optimist will tell you the glass is half-full; the pessimist, half-empty; and the engineer [me] will tell you the glass is twice the size it needs to be.”

My biggest concern, should we face a negative outcome next week, is that L doesn’t become too distraught or disappointed by the news. For me, that’s probably the hardest part of all of this: seeing her at the “low points.” I suspect—though I have nearly zero empirical evidence outside of my own experience—that most husbands/partners feel this same way.

Earlier this year, I broke my leg while (attempting) to walk on an icy sidewalk. Note: this is not a good activity for a native Floridian with relatively poor balance. Anyway, I spent six weeks in a cast and on crutches.

During this time, I watched a lot of television (a rarity for me). And, since I’m a bit of a foodie, I was drawn to culinary shows, including those with celebrity chefs. This is when I discovered Gordon Ramsay, a British chef best known in the States for his Hell’s Kitchen and Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares series. However, over in the UK, he also has a series called the F Word (Ramsay’s notorious for his use of profanity, especially my beloved expletive, fuck — clearly one of the reasons that I like him).

However, the main reason why I like Ramsay is that he openly discussed his low sperm count on the F Word. And, he encouraged other male celebrity guests to do the same. The F Word also featured an investigative segment on the effects of diet on male fertility and launched a “Low Sperm Count Campaign” (here is Zita West’s recommended diet for improving male fertility).

How cool is that?

Ramsay’s wife also had female fertility issues, specifically polycystic ovary syndrome.

According to an article in The Times, they’ve had three children through IVF: a single on their 3rd attempt, followed by twins on their next attempt. Somewhat miraculously, their fourth child (youngest daughter) was conceived naturally.

As an outspoken advocate for men and infertility, I’m making Gordon Ramsay the first winner of the (hopefully soon to be cherished) Adventures in Fatherland “Golden Specimen Cup” Award.

This August, L and I plan to be back in London. As it happens, it will coincide with our 12th wedding anniversary, which we plan to celebrate at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant.

As I’ve mentioned previously, one of my goals for this blog—as we chart our course through “Infertilityland” and beyond—is to add a male voice to discussions of these topics and to encourage other men to participate likewise. In particular, I’m interested in going beyond issues of “male factor” infertility, which is somewhat but not adequately covered. Rather, I’d like to explore more the role of men in cases of “female factor” infertility too.

Just say “no” to gendered infertility…

Why? Well, I don’t really believe in the concept of a gendered infertility.

That’s not to say that I’m some sort of scientific wacko without a shred of basic medical knowledge. In clinical terms, I understand that “male” or “female” factor infertility (along with a more specific diagnosis) is important to conducting an appropriate treatment course. So, yes, in that sense I believe in gendered infertility.

But, in emotional terms, I see little benefit in gendering the infertility in a relationship.

As a couple, we’re infertile. We’ve gotten into this together; we’ll get through it together.

Of course, together doesn’t mean that we start by sharing the same thoughts, fears, or perspectives. No, I think together means building a shared understanding and then executing on those plans to achieve a goal. I’ve always believed that, in the words of Antoine de Saint-Exupery, “love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking together in the same direction.”

To that end, I’m trying to chronicle my journey. In doing so, I hope to help other guys in going to the optometrist, and I hope that someone will be there to help my put my contacts back in if (or when) they pop out along the way too.

Talking to men about infertility…

Here’s an article on talking to your partner about infertility. I thought it did a pretty good job of addressing some of the concerns a “prototypical man” might have when initially facing the prospect of infertility.

I know it raised some of the issues—such as the possibility of having to perform in the collection room—that initially worried me.

This man walks into an infertility clinic…

Here’s another issue bought up in the above article that resonated with me:

I sometimes feel, especially at the infertility clinic, that I’m not a real “partner” in the process of infertility treatment. Mind you, it’s not the big things… just little things.

For example, our clinic doesn’t have a chair in the exam rooms for men to sit in – just the doctor’s wheeled stool. So, I wait… standing until I’m/we’re ushered off to somewhere else. A minor annoyance, yes, but it was a huge pain in the ass when I broke my leg earlier this year.

Sometimes, the staff at the clinic doesn’t even acknowledge my presence and often they don’t speak directly to me. Here’s what a typical welcome for an appointment seems like to me:

“Hello, L. How are you doing today? Oh, I see you brought the sperm production machine with you. Please stand it in the corner over there.”

One time, I even had a physician refuse to give me the results of my semen analysis over the phone. She insisted on only talking to L. Why? Good question: I wasn’t the patient of record! I’ll happily grant that L’s an amazing woman, but did the doctor really think that she produced the sperm sample by herself?

Good luck explaining that one to the medical insurance company.

My message to REs: I’m a fragile flower too.

Following last week’s IVF excitement (retrieval, transfer, etc.), this week seems to have pretty much returned to a steady state. If I understand the biology correctly, the blastocyst should have “hatched” yesterday and begun attaching to the uterus today. Of course, this presumes that everything has gone well. And, that’s a huge (and, statistically speaking, most likely faulty) assumption.

So, we’re just trying to go on with life as normal. We returned to work after the long holiday weekend. Tonight, I cooked a mustard and peppercorn encrusted pork tenderloin and roasted red potatoes. We ate and watched episode #10 of HBO’s True Blood.

After dinner, I gave L her nightly PIO shot, did the dishes (having taken over all domestic duties in an effort to “be helpful”), and wrote some posts/replies on the blog.

Thus far, the waiting for next Friday’s results hasn’t been too bad. Yet.

After her afternoon nap (and my afternoon of ongoing home improvement projects), I found L engaged in one of her favorite pastimes of late: reading IVF blogs. She was especially in a twitter over Murgdan’s recent post regarding her husband’s desire to not have children (update: this has subsequently been removed from her blog after touching off a number of unwelcome comments from “assholes”—including presumably yours truly—with opinions on fatherhood).

This is my summary of the story as initially related by Murgdan:

It seems that Mr. Murgdan, having never wanted children, relented and agreed to having kids. No success. Infertility diagnosis (male factor). Off to the IVF races, of which fresh cycle #1 failed. After this let down (and on the very night of the failure), Mr. Murgdan saw fit to remind Murgdan that he never wanted to have kids in the first place.

What the fuck?

In a comment responding to Murgdan’s post, Sarah—the blogger at Bottoms Off and On the Table—shared her fears about what the failure infertility treatments might portend for her marriage. I can only hope this is an overreaction. Remember: for better or worse.

I really don’t get either of these mens’ actions or reactions.

For my part, I’m totally committed to our infertility treatments. If those fail, we’ll pursue other options (unless we both conclude otherwise). If things go well, I’ll be the best father that I can figure out how to be. If things don’t work out and we end up childless, I won’t be crushed or devastated.

No, we’ll just pick up the pieces and continue building a meaningful life together.