A few days later, as I waited for my next cycle so I could start taking Femara, I received a call from the RE, late on a Friday afternoon. I will never forget the voicemail. He said, in a very quick, worried voice, that my husband’s sperm count was “actually quite low”. He said that I should not start taking the Femara, as we now had to address this issue. I ran upstairs, and played the voicemail for my husband. With our hands shaking, we called the doctor back quickly, and luckily he was still in the office. On speaker phone, we heard him say that with the current sperm count, quality, and morphology, achieving pregnancy naturally would be next to impossible. Even with the use of Femara, it wouldn’t be enough. The numbers weren’t even good enough for artificial insemination. IVF was our only option at that point. He said to see a urologist, to determine what the next step would be.
Our eyes were filled with tears, our voices shaking, as we tried to understand what he was telling us. Everything that I thought was within reach, was further away than ever. I felt like I had been hit by a truck.
Over the next few days, we called my mom and sisters, and my in-laws, to tell them our news. They mostly reacted as we did. Tears. To be told that you can’t get pregnant the good old fashioned way, and not even with fairly extensive fertility treatment, is such a shock. It really felt like someone died. I spent the next few days, nights, and weeks, randomly bursting into tears, and thinking about it non-stop.
We set up an appointment with the best urologist in town. And waited.