Guest Blogger - The Hubby Tells All (or at least some)

Alright Lady Bloggers (& Paul), my sweet hubby went out on a limb here and shared his feelings (gasp!) with all of you so that maybe you could share it with your hubby or someone who is going through IF and might need a little company.   Show him a little love.  He'll be writing more very soon because he didn't really get to write much of anything he really wanted to write about.....how well we all know that feeling!  It's what keeps us coming back.  

So, without further delay, meet my fella, Rik.  

I love this man.

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This article is geared towards guys who are going through the non-fertility experience.  My wife and I have been going through it for a while now, and she has asked me to write some thoughts from my perspective on the whole deal.  Not really sure where this will end up, by the way, but maybe something here will be useful.

First, I'd like to share a quick story.  My wife, Shannon, had to face one of her biggest fears very recently.  Namely, exploratory surgery on her girl parts (laparoscopy and hysteroscopy - Google them).  Yep, she was freaked out about it for at least 4 days prior (probably more, but she kept it bottled up pretty well if so) and we went through countless "what if" scenarios.  My job was to convince her that no, her abdomen will not explode and that yes, I will definitely still find her very attractive after it's all said and done.  But, to be honest, some of her fears gave me a little spook as well (although I kept that to myself).

So, anyway, after a few sleepless nights, we found ourselves sitting in the waiting room.  She was fully decked out in her hospital gown and kick-@ss hospital socks, kicked back in the chair and waiting to be taken back.  This was big. She was certainly terrified.  Terrified of being put to sleep. Terrified of what they might find - or, actually, what they might NOT find.  We wanted endometriosis to be in there because that would mean there was hope for us to get knocked up, and that it was the endo that was the culprit.  But still, this was big and pretty scary for her (and, ok, I was nervous as well).

In my mind, I figured she'd freak out when they came to take her back, throw some punches around, latch on to the arms of the chair and just refuse to go.  This idea couldn't have been farther from the truth.  She stood up when they came in, made some sort of joke about walking the halls with her backside exposed, smiled really big, kissed me as she walked by and said "See ya later."  That was it.  That was that.  Off she went.

Surgery was supposed to take between 30 to 90 minutes, tops.  I was prepared for this.  What I wasn't prepared for was the phone call I got from the Operating Room.  It had been a while since she'd gone back there, so I thought this was the call saying she was in the recovery room.  Nope.  This was a call to say, "Hey there this is Nurse Suchensuch from the OR...just wanted to give you a quick call...to let you know that it's taking longer than expected...due to poor visibility."  Poor visibility. Poor visibility?  So I asked the nurse, "Poor visibility?"  She said yes.  "What causes that?" "Hold on" she said, and put her hand over the phone.

I heard muffled voices and then she came back to restate, word for word, what she had already told me.  This concerned me.  I said, "Okay" and we hung up.  And now the mind starts racing.  You know that feeling you get when you know you're being lied to?  Yep.  Had that feeling.  Actually, I knew she had just lied to me, because why would she call to tell me something so meaningless?  I interpreted it to mean, "Hey, things are not at all what we planned for down here, and the doctor is still working and yes, your wife is still alive, we think, but we have some problems down here that we didn't expect and hopefully, if all goes well, neither you nor she will know the difference."  Not good. (By the way, she WAS lying to me. The reason it was taking so long was due to way more endo than the Doctor had expected, as well as some on an ovary...which makes it pretty serious. Poor visibility, my @ss).

For the next 45 minutes, I admit to you that I was scared.  What if she dies? Never considered that. What if they have to take out her ovaries? Never considered that.  What if she doesn't make it out of the OR?  I don't sit around at home on rainy days and think about these types of what-ifs, but a couple what-ifs were currently kicking my @ss in that waiting room.

Thankfully, the doctor came in a little later and first words out of her mouth were "She's ok."  I don't remember much of what she said to me from that point, but it involved photos and some pretty crazy stuff.  Truth be told, I was pretty shaken up.  Didn't expect that. Not at all.

And so, here are two points I'd like to make.  First, my wife is much more brave than I could have ever imagined.  Second, I'm not as bullet proof as I once thought.  What do these two points mean?  I don't know, probably, but I think recognizing both points are crucial to "the guy's portion" of the non-fertility process/experience/mind-bomb.

I have made progress on sharing my thoughts and feelings on things with Shannon, even though there is still room for growth.  But, recognizing and acknowledging to my wife that I am impressed how brave she has been through this whole cluster, and that she is showing strength that is truly admirable, can make a huge difference.  Think about it - think about how many different times you have said to yourself, "Man, I'm glad I'm a guy."  Women definitely got the short end of the stick, but they really, really, really, really get the short end of the stick (actually, make that the "sharp" end of the stick) in this whole non-fertility thing.  All we have to do is make sure we get as much as possible into the cup.  Damn, I'm glad I'm a guy.

To the second point (I ain't bullet proof), it probably is important to avoid the whole Macho Man Randy Savage (RIP) approach.  You can't bulldoze your way through this.  You can't put on that stone face and hit the mute button.  You need to acknowledge, to your wife/pincushion, that you aren't immune to the left field emotions that crop up during this stuff.

Combining these two points will bring you and your wife closer together in that she is getting stronger and you are getting...well...more open to being, well, less of a robot, I guess.  At any rate, it will help you both feel like a stronger team in this, and it does make it easier - on BOTH of you.  You still have to man-up and pick her up when she's freaked or worried or emotional or just pissed off at you in general.

Now that this article is ending, I had a ton of other things to say but...it is what it is.  Good luck and go kill some rabbits! (that means go get her pregnant, by the way).

- Rik

I know how this looks.....but I can explain!

****Mom, if you're reading this, please stop now and go back to Facebook.****

****Rik, you too.  I don't want you to be embarrassed (of me, not for me).****

If you're reading this post, you probably already know I had surgery last week to see if I had endometriosis and while they were down there, they also did a hysteroscopy and a tiny biopsy.   I ended up with four small incisions on my abdomen, each one probably half an inch long.  

Yesterday, I noticed my lower, left incision was a little inflamed and slightly angry.  I had some burning sensations and it was more sore than it had been the previous few days.  When I felt of it, it felt like a really hard lump had formed underneath the skin and it really grossed freaked me out.  So, I did what any smart, resourceful person would do and Google'd "lump under laparoscopic incision".  This resulted in me calling my RE's office lickety-split.  The four options that were bestowed upon me were: hernia, hematoma, infection, scar tissue.

I left the nurse a message about my lump, trying to remember to also leave the 64 pieces of personal information they require with each and every message.  After a half an hour or so, Nurse Rachel called me back and wanted to ask a few additional questions.  I got up, crossed my office and pushed the door almost closed for a little privacy.  ("The Man" doesn't like us to close our office doors and cell phones are frowned upon in the establishment - but this was serious, so I broke the rules.)  The conversation went like this:

                  Me: Hi Rachel!  Thank you for calling me back so quickly!

                  R: You're welcome, what's going on?

                  Me: Well, I have this lump thing that has formed under my left incision.

                  R: It is painful?

                  Me: Yes, more than it was yesterday and Monday.

                  R: It is oozing any kind of fluid?

                  Me (a little woozily): No, I don't think so.  Let me check.

So, being in a dress and all, I turned my back to the door (such a lady), stood behind my chair and pulled my dress up to check.

                  Me: No, it's not oozy.

                  R: Ok, is there a fever to it?  Is it hot?

                 

I hiked up my dress again to feel with the back of my hand, then decided I'd better compare that feeling to how the other side felt.  So, I put the phone between my shoulder and my ear so I could use both hands.  I couldn't tell a huge difference, so I went back and forth a few times rather quickly to compare.  Naturally, I was a little bent over so I could see, hold the phone AND feel my incisions for signs of "fever".

It was exactly at this point that I realized if any of the attorneys or, God forbid, my male boss walked in, they would see me from the back, with both hands up my dress, moving one of my arms back and forth rather quickly, hunched over, whispering into the phone and it would look exactly like I was pleasuring myself.

I don't think I've ever moved so fast in my life.

I removed my hands, released my dress and turned around to face the door in about .0000000000002 seconds.  

                  Me: Nope, no fever, all good!  I think we're good!

                 

Ugh....You just have NO idea the relief I feel that no one made an appearance in my office during those brief minutes when I was NOT pleasuring myself.

I'm immature....but you've probably already figured that out.

**For the record, this could definitely qualify as TVT, but since it's Monday, we'll just go with it!**

So, my brother and I have an interesting relationship.  We tease each other mercilessly and can be downright ridiculous when we are together.  I realllly wish blogger would let me upload the video I have of our Minute To Win It contest....but I digress.  This weekend, I decided since he hadn't checked on me since my surgery, I'd be a stinker and get even with him for forgetting not caring about me.  I sent him a pic text of the picture the doctor gave us which showed my left ovary with all of the endometrium fluid on it and said, "I hope you never look at chocolate syrup the same way again!"  Immature?  Yes.  Unladylike? Definitely.  Disgusting? Naturally.  Super Awesome?  HECK YES!  He wrote me back hours later and said, "OMG, Shannon, that just made my knees weak."  SCORE!

Come to think of it, he never did ask me if I was ok.  Thank goodness he has a wife that takes care of... well, caring for his family.  I sent her the pic too and told her my left ovary is the one that hates mac n cheese, NOT me.  I am no longer at fault there.  She wasn't very sympathetic to that....

I've ALSO decided that it's my left ovary that doesn't like doing laundry, dishes, sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, paying bills OR exercising lately.  It was diseased people!  It's not my fault...or at least it wasn't...now I guess it will be my fault again.  Crap.  Note to self: Find some other piece of yourself to blame for the above (or lack thereof).  It seems to be a reasonable detractor of attention from the entire self.

In other news, it appears we'll probably jump right back on the ART wagon - and I don't mean the traveling Dali & Van Gogh Scratch & Dent wagon.  I'm talking Assisted Reproductive Technology!  We're going to get right back to doing our 3rd IUI (since our last one was cancelled at the old clinic b/c they missed our ovulation period).  The (new and fantastic) doc said this is a prime baby making environment so...let's do it.  Why waste another month?  We just tossed two out the window w/ the bath water by first, relying on our previous RE to do a good job and failing and second, by having to take a month off for my surgery.  I'm just hoping that the endometriosis is our last hurdle before sprinting (or waddling) towards the finish line.  Since it's about that time, I guess I'll be starting Clomid again in about a 7-10 days.  I'm ready.  Let's do this (with assistance, in a clinic, on a table, in the stirrups)!!!

Also coming up, I'm going to have my first guest blogger ever....and I hope you all are over-the-moon excited about it!  It is none other than my wonderful, fantastic, amazingly gorgeous and sensitive husband, Rik!  He is a fantastic writer and I'm hoping once he gets a little taste of this blogging biz, he'll start his own about dealing w/ infertility.  He's such an insightful person.  I'm hoping he'll have something for me to post within the next week.  Any ideas for topics or should I just give him a free pass to say whatever he wants to say (could get interesting)?  I'll leave it up to you gals & guy (love ya, Paul!).

I will close by posting my all-time favorite picture of me and my best friend in the whole wide world.  This was taken this spring when we had a few snow storms blow through and it warms my heart every time I look at this photo.  It's framed on my mantle so I see it a lot.  He's such a good boy!

Chance & Mommy

Later,

Shannon