In the last day or so, L’s been complaining of increasing symptoms, seemingly associated with her progesterone shots. Or, they might be indicative (according to the Mayo Clinic) of her being pregnant. These include: sore/swollen breasts, fatigue, nausea, constipation, and (in the past day or two) slight cramping.

The reality is that there’s really no way to tell at this point.

And, she’s going to follow official advice by not peeing on a stick.

So, we wait: four more days to initial results.

And, I’m leaving town…

I’ve mentioned in the past that we live in Florida. However, I haven’t mentioned that I work for a company in Minnesota. That was the deal—I’d work for the company, if they’d let me commute.

This means—in addition to “usual” business travel to meetings and events—I travel a fair amount extra to see my staff and participate in meetings at headquarters. Fortunately, I have some flexibility in how I arrange my schedule. As such, I was able to be home during the retrieval and transfer process. However, I can’t just not travel for months at a time.

So, this week I’ll be heading back up to Minnesota.

The PIO shots won’t be a problem as we have a pinch hitter to assist with that.

I leave tomorrow and return Friday afternoon. Fuck.

At the time that I set my schedule, this made sense (to me at least). In part, we expected (being naïve, optimistic, dumb asses) that we’d have a five day transfer. This would have meant that the blood test would have been on Sunday, not Friday. Opps.

If we get a positive result, I’ll most likely learn about it at the airport. This is not exactly L’s idea of the best way to share the news. Although, it probably is apropos given the amount of time I spend on planes and in airports.

If we get a negative result, I won’t really be available to comfort L. To me this is the worst case scenario. Double fuck.

Or, I might just be sitting on an airplane for a few hours not knowing whether or not we’ve won the parenthood lottery.

Lesson learned. Next time (fingers crossed there won’t be a next time), I’m not traveling during “results week.” Period.

Oh well. At least I got my first class upgrade. So, I’ve got that going for me.

I’ve noticed a common theme in reading other infertility blogs (written mostly by women) over the past weeks and months: a keen awareness of, and emotional reaction toward, other women’s pregnancies.

Obviously, there are the shared congratulations and excitement when a fellow member of the infertile sisterhood trips the BFP light fantastic.

That’s not what I’m talking about…

No, I’m talking about the—often emotional—reaction to pregnancies by seemingly uber-fertile sisters, cousins, friends, co-workers, and acquaintances. Or, more generally, any “bitch with a bun in the oven” shopping at stores like Babies ‘r Us, Pottery Barn Kids, or Pea in the Pod.

That’s what I’m talking about…

In terms of emotion, I’ve read reports of everything from depression to jealousy to anger. (Anger: especially in the case of said mother-to-be handing out well-intentioned, but dumb-as-fuck advice). That said, the overarching theme seems to be a poignant sense of “why not me” and the enveloping sadness associated with that emptiness.

A little closer to home…

L and I have never talked about this particular aspect of infertility.

But, it got me to thinking: does she have a similar reaction?

I was now curious. So, I explained my observations to her the other night.

She confirmed a similar set of feelings:

She sort of shrugged. “Yeah. It makes me sad. It’s sort of like when I was young and other girls had boyfriends before me. I’m not unhappy about their happiness. I just want my happiness too. I think: when will it be my turn?”

My perspective as a man…

I can’t say I share a similar response—or really any response—to other pregnancies or childbirths. I try to look interested and act pleased. Heck, sometimes, I genuinely am happy for them or really do think “it’s the cutest baby ever!”

But, I mostly don’t give a shit.

Maybe it’s because I’m less exposed to this sort of thing as a man? No, I don’t think so. For example, at my office, I recently had three co-workers go on paternity leave for their birth of their children. We also have at least six more “blessed events” slated through the remainder of the summer. I’ve looked at ultrasound pictures (mostly alien-like). I’ve seen the baby pictures (mostly cute). I’ve not touched any bellies—because I think that’s just creepy. But, suffice it to say, I am fully aware.

Yet, I really just don’t give a shit.

Are most men (in infertile couples) like this: blissfully unconcerned?

Is this a fundamental difference between women and men?

Am I crazy?

I have no data points. So, I’m left wondering.

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.

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.