The shots didn’t work. The RE called my husband this week while he was out of town for work. When he got home, he told me the news. He didn’t want to tell me over the phone. And now we are all caught up to the present.
I’m glad I’m so impatient. I’m glad I always assume the worst, and that I thought something was wrong with me from the get-go. It’s only been just about a full year that I’ve been off BC, and we already know what we have to do. IVF is the only option. For a lot of people it takes years to even come to that conclusion, so in a way, I feel like we are still at an advantage somehow.
Tomorrow I’m calling the RE to make another appointment. My husband is going to talk to the urologist over the phone, but my RE said it’s a safe bet we can just get going with IVF.
I’m not that upset that the shots didn’t work. I’ve been mentally preparing myself for the worst since February. I think my husband had more hope that they would help his numbers even just a little, so we could try IUI, or something a little less invasive. But it is not to be. His count actually went down slightly. Unreal.
I always thought it would be me. And the first 8 months of trying I thought it was me. Maybe it still will be me partially. My periods are still irregular. But it’s definitely not just me. My husband has been so amazing, and patient, and strong throughout this. I’ve always assumed that most guys, with their machismo, would be devastated, their egos damaged by this kind of diagnosis. But my husband is too smart for that bullshit. He is logical. When we first found out, and I was bawling my eyes out, asking him why he wasn’t that upset, he said “None of this changes the outcome. Until we exhaust every treatment available, I’m not going to get upset”. I got it, but at the time was still too devastated to be comforted by that logic.
So now, I’m trying to be as logical, and smart, and hopeful as my sweet husband.