Archive for the ‘infertility’ Category

There are millions of pregnant teens out there. A friend of ours seem to get pregnant every time her husband shows her his penis.

Getting pregnant shouldn’t be so hard, right?

We’ve tried Clomid…but that didn’t work. So now we’re doing injections (Repronex) every day for ten days. I am SO sick of being pricked. I almost dread when B comes home because I know as soon as he walks in, he has to inject me. NO, I’m a big wuss. I cannot give it to myself. I hate it, I hate it.

When it was cold, the skin across my thighs would tighten up and feel like someone was pressing hard bruises. And ITCHY! Oh my goodness it itched like crazy. B felt so bad seeing the welts, bruise/discoloration, etc.

The only thing that alleviates it a little is as soon as he’s done, I get to punch him in the arm. (not very hard…but just enough to get the pent up energy out…in my defense, I did tell him to put up the punching bag in the garage.)

But that seems to have worked. We have one good sized follicle. We did Artificial Insemination. (IUI, I think?) We’ll find out if it ‘took’ later. I’m going in Sunday to see about my progesterone (?) level.

At least I don’t have to take any more shots.


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B got a thumbs up. His swimmers are good. Good number, good motility (or however you spell that)…all around good.

It’s strange my reaction…or maybe it’s very natural. Now that we know he can father children, I feel like the responsibility is all on me. If nothing happens, it’s my fault.  My intellectual side says that’s being silly. I can’t control everything…but it’s difficult to separate the heart from these matters.

To say the least, I am a wee bit stressed about it…even though I know I’ve been given a clean bill of health…still….

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So B and I have returned from the visit. This was the visit where he leaves a deposit to see if 1) he has swimmers…or enough of them and/or 2) just how well they swim. Fortunately, we have a world class fertility clinic here. ARTS @ Presbyterian Hospital

Despite my speculation of what the room might be like in an earlier post, I was highly disappointed! First of all, they wouldn’t allow me to go to the room with him. “Wives may not go to help husbands.”

Really…what can you do at this point? So I waited. Then asked the receptionist some questions.

Yes, doctors DO right off porn as a business expense.

No, there’s no disco lights or Barry White playing in the background.

She was very nice about it and told me when one was free, I can see what the room looks like…for journalistic reporting, of course.

The room is small. Very small. A nondescript, beige-y room. Just enough for one upholstered chair. (a very small one, too…which made me think that really obese men could not use one of those) There was a small side table that held paper cover for the chair & the top drawer that held a Penthouse and a Playboy. Nope, nothing more exotic than those. No ‘tie me up, tie me down’ nor gay porn…very vanilla. (I suppose writing off Playboy is easier than Barnyard Beauties.) And of course a small sink in the corner.

The reason she said wives were not allowed was because of the ‘help’ they might give their husbands. Even when they promised, many times the lab found foreign bodies in their specimen. I was thinking maybe saliva, skin cells…from the help. She was a little more blunt: “No, they have sex in there and then try to catch what comes out. We have to throw it away and start all over.”

Having seen the room, I don’t know how they manage it other than moving things around and using the wall.

She also did say many guys bring a portable DVD player to help them get things going.
Which made me wonder: How long are they in there on average? But didn’t get a chance.

B was in there for quite a while…or it felt like it because I was waiting. He said he was NOT comfortable in there…which is understandable. A strange place, the possibility somebody could walk in, the unnaturalness of the place…even the ‘marital aid’ didn’t help much, he said. Either that or he found a really interesting article in the Playboy.

All in all, if I had to choose, I rather do what he did than what I am going through with the daily shots.

But that’s another entry.

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Well, since the last time, I’ve gone to visit Dr. Bookout 4 times…I think. I’ve lost track!

Apparently Clomid does NOT work on me.

So I’ve been taken to the next level: daily self-injected shots

I HATE it. It stresses me out to no end if I thought I had to do it myself. Fortunately, I’ve found someone to do the pricking. It’s unnatural…deliberately piercing your own skin with anything.

On a lighter note, B is going to have to see if his swimmers can, in fact, swim.
Yes, he should have gotten this done a LOT earlier…but for one reason or another, all the different doctors assume the other requested it…and that everything was ‘good’ on his end. So when I mentioned it this last time, they wanted him to get in there immediately.

So what does he get to do? Go in a room with material to help things along. I’m going in there with him. (we live too far for us to do it at home)

No, not to help him out. But I’ve been really curious what’s in those rooms. Do they have shag carpet, disco lights and fuzzy purple fabric with pleather trims on the walls? And when you walk in, do you hear Barry White? And what kind of magazines/videos will they have? Would they have material geared towards the gay community? I suppose so…for gay couples wanting to do artificial insemination. And do doctors get to write off porn as legitimate business expense? And do they wear rubber gloves when they dispose of them? (who knows who’s been doing what with which magazine! Yuck.) I wonder if any magazines get ‘borrowed’ permanently? (And do they count how many mags are in there right before you go in…and if any are missing, you get a charge on your credit card?)

Yeah, I’m curious. 🙂

I’ll report when we get back.

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