The Stork Has Landed January 11, 2007
The big day has finally arrived! Adam Daniel was born last night at 9:44 pm. He weighs 6 pounds, 10 ounces, and is 19 inches long. He gave us quite a scare by being reluctant to start breathing after being born, but he got going after a bit of stimulation. He also had some trouble maintaining his breathing in the transition nursery, and so he spent the night in the Level II NICU under observation. He did a great job overnight, though, and we spent some time with him there at 4:30 and again at 6:00 this morning. He is now in the room with us and doing great, although very sleepy after all that hard work.
A Male Perspective on IVF Cycling May 17, 2006
Hi! It’s Dan again. Last time I posted here I wrote about the emotional burden of being the male half of a couple afflicted with male-factor infertility. Dealing with those emotions are part of handling infertility’s big picture, but it won’t get you through the day-to-day roller coaster of an actual IVF cycle. We are now in the middle of our seventh (!) cycle, and I think by now we’re about as expert as we’d like to be.
The first emotional hurdle we had to deal with was whether to do the cycle at all. That was a relatively easy emotional investment to make for our first few cycles, but the cost, both emotional and monetary, mounts with each cycle. When we started our first cycle, we committed to quitting after three cycles. Three came and went, and then we decided we would quit after five cycles. Now, of course, we are well past that mark. The truth is that it was very hard to anticipate ahead of time how many cycles we would be willing to endure. It’s easy to set an arbitrary limit at the outset, but we discovered that our desire to have a child exceeded those limits. Ironically, the last entry I wrote here, back in November 2005, also contemplated that cycle as our last. Obviously things change. It was easier to decide to go ahead with this cycle, though, because we had frozen embryos waiting for us. The cost of a frozen cycle is obviously quite a bit less than a fresh cycle, and we weren’t going to abandon embryos that we had put time and money into making.
Once we decided to go forward, it was time to begin medication. We males are fortunate that we don’t have to take any of the medication, but get to play our own role: giving shots. Now, as Amanda has probably recounted for you in some past post, I am, shall we say, a bit squeamish. There’s a reason I ended up in law school and not medical school. In fact, the first time Amanda showed me an IM syringe for PIO injections I felt nauseated and light-headed, and I thought I might pass out. An auspicious beginning, indeed. Now, though, it’s second hand. Although I still feel guilty for causing Amanda any pain with the shots, I don’t have the same quasi-physical reaction I did when we first started. For you husbands out there who have the same feelings about needles that I did: don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.
Speaking of medication, cycling has made me realize just how physical our emotions are. Amanda has been a bit of a home-grown experiment in this regard, and we get to watch her emotions and energy level fluctuate depending on which medications and hormones she happens to be putting into her body at any given time. Sometimes it’s funny, and sometimes it’s frustrating, but mostly I think it helps me keep some perspective and patience. When Amanda is upset and having a hard time dealing with the cycle, I can more easily roll with the punches and support her emotionally because I know she’s not really mad at me. Giving your wife drugs means never having to take the abuse personally. ;)
After several weeks of shots and other medication, we got to transfer our frozen embryos. Unlike a fresh cycle, of course, there’s no retrieval to worry about. However, the thaw can be just as worrisome. Although we’ve always had high quality embryos, there’s always the chance that we could show up for transfer and discover that all of the embryos failed to survive the thaw, or that the survivors suffered severe degeneration, substantially reducing our odds. Thaw is yet another roller coaster. We were fortunate this time around to have all four survive the thaw, although one suffered more degeneration than we would have liked.
Despite the successful thaw, the ratings given by the lab tells us nothing about the chromosomal quality of our embryos. Even with a high rating for three of our four, all four could be chromosomally defective that they cannot implant, or cannot develop properly following implantation. I am especially worried about chromosomal quality because my condition tends to cause those kinds of problems. As Amanda has written about before, long-term obstructive azoospermia appears to result in very high rates of chromosomal abnormalities. Of course, it’s a little late to be testing for that kind of thing.
After thaw, we have transfer. Again, this is something in which we males can only lend a supporting role. Amanda has been amazingly tough, going through retrieval and transfer time and again. I couldn’t be more proud of her, and I do my best to take care of her when she’s recovering.
And now we wait. Waiting is one of the hard parts, I think, while we continue to administer shots and watch for any telltale symptoms which might suggest success or failure. Amanda will start cheating later in the week, using HPTs to predict the results of the beta test, which will be next Sunday. The wait is a mixture of nervousness, dread, and hope. Although I know our chances of success are small, I can’t hope that maybe this time around our luck will change. The waiting isn’t necessarily over with the beta. Given our history with chemical pregnancies and miscarriage, it’s not unlikely that we could see a low positive on Sunday and have to continue waiting and hoping.
So far, we obviously haven’t had any success, and the failure had been hard to deal with. Even harder, I think, is seeing Amanda’s anguish and disappointment. At this point, I want us to succeed as much for her as I do for me. We’re fortunate, of course, that our ordeal has forced us closer together, unlike some of the couples who split because of infertility. We are also much tougher than when we started this process. Has it been worth it? Ask me again next week.
Guest Post: The Husband November 4, 2005
Hi, my name is Dan, and I’m Amanda’s husband and partner in this whole IVF mess. Amanda asked me to write a guest post or two reflecting on our experience from the male perspective.
As you may know, we are dealing with male factor infertility, caused–at least in part–by a hernia operation I had when I was very young. I didn’t know that I had any problems until Amanda and I started to try to get pregnant a few years ago. After more than a year of failure, we both made appointments to see doctors. Getting the phone call after that first round of tests is a memory that remains crystal clear. The nurse called with the results, and told me that my count was zero. ZERO? Well, I knew that wasn’t good. From there it’s been a pretty bumpy ride, with a few highs and lots of lows.
At first, it was simply surreal. I mean, none of my other friend’s doctors have porn in their offices. That was certainly new. Dealing with doctors and nurses poking and prodding me–more often than not in areas I don’t often leave accessible to the public–was a new experience as well. Nonetheless, I had a great urologist, and I was optimistic about the possibility that surgery could repair my leaky plumbing, and we could get on with our pleasant baby-making lives. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Twenty-five years following my hernia surgery was simply too long, and there was too much damage to repair. Amanda’s reaction when I grogily asked about the surgery after waking up is the second memory that remains with me. I knew then that it hadn’t been successful.
The hardest part, at least at first, was dealing with the guilt. I know that I did not cause my azoospermia, but nonetheless I take some responsibility for the problems we’ve had. It hurts me more than anything to disappoint Amanda, and I want to be able to give her children for her sake as much as for my own. Amanda is strong, though, and with her help I turned my guilt into determination. We are both certainly tougher than when we started, although I can’t say that I wouldn’t trade our growth for a child. Even determination, though, can’t help but give way to disappointment after repeated failure. We’ve been through five cycles now, and we both know that this next cycle has to be our last, success or not.
I know we have a chance with this last cycle, but frankly I can’t help looking toward the next step, or as Amanda calls it, the infamous “Plan B.” For us, that will likely be adoption from China. We talked about adoption shortly after we started IVF, and we both admitted that we weren’t ready for it. Now, I’m not only ready for it, it’s starting to look like a damn good option. We’ve started to collect information about adoption from China, and one of the agencies sent us a DVD in their packet. Watching the video, it really hit me: this is something I want to do. I would love to have a biological child with Amanda, but I also know that if we can’t, I can accept it and wholeheartedly take the next step on our journey toward parenthood.