MrsEmmons

A blog by Tori Emmons, August 25, 2010

The last couple of months (maybe a few months) have felt hopeless. I’ve been unmotivated to write, unmotivated to work — pretty much just plain old unmotivated.

The World Keeps Moving

It’s been one of those times in life where it feels like the world is rushing around me, but I am standing still. Things pass by in a bit of whirl. Everything I want in life seems to be on pause, while everything else seems to be set on fast forward.

In the last few months my best friend gave birth to her second child, my stepsister found out she was pregnant, and as usual, numerous other friends of friends are awaiting little ones. We are still not.

Even though the past few months have felt pretty hopeless. I try to know — I want to know — that the future is not. I know that someday I’ll be a parent,. But wow, all the standing still has definitely been taking its toll. My husband has been having a rough time as well, especially with our currently less than preferable job situations. he just feels like he’s failing. We both do. We’ve been in need of some good news.

A Day I'd Been Dreading

A few weeks ago was the week I’ve been dreading for months… eight months.

It's been eight months since my miscarriage. It’s amazing how time goes fast and slow at the same time. I can’t believe it’s been that long, and at the same time, I can’t believe it’s only been a matter of months. I have been up and down all week. Feeling guilty, feeling like I’ve failed… feeling at fault for something that I SHOULD know was just not in my control. I get most upset when I think about how happy my husband and our family were when we found out we were pregnant, and how devastated we all were when we realized it wasn’t going to work out. Those are the times I feel like I can’t even breathe.

I didn’t know how I was going to deal with my estimated due date. I was scared. The day before was rough. I cried and was angry for a good chunk of the day, and went to bed when it was still light out … dreading the morning to come.

Well, morning came, and as I was lying in bed, the phone rang… at 6:30 a.m. "This can’t be good," was my initial thought. Who would be calling our home phone that early? Then the machine picked up….

On the phone was a man from an organization in New York that wants to help people have children. We had applied for their grant earlier this year, but had not heard from them, and therefore assumed that we just didn’t fit their criteria. After calling our home phone, he tried my cell, which I picked up with shaking hands … they couldn’t be calling the people who weren’t picked right?

I answered the phone, and the very kind man on the other end of the line said he was pleased to let us know that we HAD in fact been selected to receive money toward our treatment. I cried… I jumped around a bit… I cried some more. I told him how amazing it was that he called today of all days… he seemed amazed, too. He called it "divine providence." I agreed.

Finding Hope Again

It’s not a gigantic amount of money in the realm of fertility treatments, but it’s enough to give us hope, and HOPE is what we were lacking terribly. It’s amazing how one glimpse of hope can change our attitudes. In the past few weeks we’ve actually started discussing treatment again, in terms of months, not years. We even did a new search for donors and contacted the clinic we are planning on using. Having that hope changes everything.

We are terrified to jump back into treatment. It seems unreal that we’ll be going through all of it again. It seemed so far off a couple of days ago, and now it seems like within the next six months we could be back on the rollercoaster!

We are excited, scared and more cautious than before, but most of all we are hopeful. Hopeful for the future, hopeful for the next few months as things (hopefully) come together, and hopeful that things will work out for us this time.

Having hope feels amazing.

a blog by tori, March 23, 2010

I am out of the closet . . . the infertility closet.

My friends know, my family knows, my coworkers know . . . heck, the random person walking down the street might know something about our infertility.

If you know me at all, you most likely know that my husband and I are infertile. You probably know that I’m a teacher, I love kids and that we’ve always wanted a family. You know we started trying two years ago and that we’ve undergone treatments. You may also know that one round of treatment was successful, at least for a little while.

If you bring up babies in a conversation or ask me why I don’t yet have a baby, prepare to know. In detail. If you ask my husband, prepare to know even MORE detail.

Why? Because I know that for changes to be made in the way people think about and treat infertility, people need to talk about it. I know that it’s a rough subject and I know it can be uncomfortable, but most important subject are.

The need for advocacy, when it comes to infertility, is vital. If you are currently on your own infertility rollercoaster, then you are probably already aware of the lack of knowledge most people have about the subject. Dealing with people who aren’t going through the same thing can be really difficult. People, in general, don’t get it. They can’t unless they’ve been there, and while I’d never wish infertility on anyone, I definitely wish they had more knowledge about it.

Teaching people about infertility seems to happen in layers. Layer one seems to happen when you don’t want it to. It’s the layer that happens when people ask, “Why haven’t you started a family yet?”

Now, I know that not everyone is comfortable answering directly, but if you are like me, then normally it goes something like this, “Actually, we’ve got a whole team of professionals working on that for us, hahaha” or, “Actually we would love to start a family, but for us it’s going to be a long journey.”
Layer one, for me, is the hardest.

After that, the layers, seem to be a little easier. I like to tell people a little bit about what type of infertility we’re dealing with, and what our treatments are/will be, and what our experiences thus far have been.

Then I like to delve into a bit of advocacy. I want people to know that most insurance doesn’t cover infertility. Not because I want their pity, but because people need to know that insurance, basically, is not covering procreation. For many people this means that if you are unable to procreate in a totally naturally way, then you are unable to have a family. I want people to know that even if treatments are “covered,” like with the insurance we used to have, that it can still cost thousands of dollars per cycle.

People don’t know this, they really don’t. They don’t get that this is like saying, “If you can’t walk into a building naturally, you don’t get to come in” or, “If you can’t see a book, you don’t get to read.” It’s unfathomable to me, and it should be to anyone, that a person’s right to have a family can be denied, even though -- as we all know -- many people out there choose to recklessly play with their lives and have children in unstable homes every day. These people aren’t “tested,” they aren’t expected to pay thousands. They get what is natural, and so should we.

I refuse to be ashamed of the path that my husband and I are taking to achieve having the family we deserve. I don’t want my children to ever feel ashamed that their family was not built in the “normal” way. Advocacy can help change the way that people view fertility treatments, and hopefully over time, it will change the way that insurance companies see treatments as well.

There is no pity at my party. I am proud to be an advocate.

a blog by tori, Feb. 12, 2010

We're on a forced break from treatment and, the good news is, there's been one unexpected benefit: Our relationship is hot.

Let's face it, fertility treatments are hell on a marrriage, not to mention what they do to your sex life. You're either too hormonal to be interested in sex or too worried to "do it" because you’ve just had your procedure done. Or maybe you and your partner are just too down in the dumps to care about it. Sound familiar?

Well, I'm happy to report that over the last couple of weeks my husband and I have regained our semi-newlywed, mid-20’s sex life. We’ve also had lots of fun just flirting, laughing, watching movies, and playing games without worrying about the all encompassing, ever looming "treatment schedule."

Over the last couple of years of TTC, we've have lost a lot of our innocence and our naivety about the ease of having a baby. We watch our friends start and expand their families and we feel more and more removed.

When we were actively pursuing treatment, it felt like we were in slow motion in the baby making business. Now, with our forced break, it feels like we are just on pause . . . . frozen in time. Things are moving on around us, but we are standing still.

But, like I said, I know this break is good for us. The baby rollercoaster is a vicious one, with loops, dips and climbs like nothing any amusement park has ever seen. Right now we are just standing in line, but we know we’ll get back on the ride soon enough, and eventually even finish it (hopefully with a great souvenir!)

But while we wait in line, let's just say we're reconnecting.

a blog by tori, Jan. 29, 2010

In my last blog I wrote a bit about the fact that my husband and I are now on a forced break from fertility treatments. When I started to pull myself out of my miscarriage grief and get back into my normal groove, it was really hard to come to grips with not trying to get pregnant -- naturally or through treatments. It’s funny how during treatment I could look at the needles and the progesterone and the “sharps” container and be so upset that I had to go through all of this to have a baby, yet when I no longer had to deal with any of that, it was even harder to adjust.

When you’ve lived life in two-week increments for nearly two years, and then suddenly you have all the time in the world, it’s hard. There are no constraints. No planned sex. No skipping the caffeine and sushi. No anxiously awaiting an HCG blood test. You are just . . . free. And yet, gaining freedom is admitting that you are losing a dream. Maybe not forever, but at least for the moment. It’s hard to enjoy the sushi and soda. It’s even harder to enjoy the “boost-you-out-of-your-grief” drink your friend buys you when in the back of your head all you are thinking is “I shouldn’t be able to have alcohol right now!”

As hard as it has been to adjust to the non-TTC, non-treatment lifestyle, I will say that in some ways it has been good. Once I got through a couple of weeks of pretty bad depression, I was able to take a deep breath and actually feel relaxed. I wasn’t planning weekly or bi-weekly appointments around my and my husband’s work schedule. I didn’t have to worry about where I would be at the time I was supposed to give myself injections, or if I had to be home for my 10 p.m. HCG trigger.

This month I actually lost track of what day of my cycle I was on! I completely forgot!! I had to count back and try to remember! That has definitely not happened in the last couple of years. I am used to being able to know, almost to the hour where I am in my cycle. Now I can just progress through all parts of my cycle without worry (well, except for the worry that Aunt Flow will show up when I am least expecting her).

I am using this time to work on me … emotionally, spiritually and physically. Emotionally I’ve had a lot of ups and downs. Sometimes I’ll go through a week crying nearly every day, and then have a few days of just being happy. Mostly happy to just be spending time with my husband when he’s not working (can I just say again how much closer we have become through all of this … it really is quite amazing).

I‘ve started seeing a counselor, and will probably also be joining an infertility support group, which I am really excited about! Spiritually, I am hoping to get back to going to church regularly, I am going to be joining a bible study on spiritual healing, and I will hopefully be able to come to terms with what has been going on in my life over the last couple of years.

Physically (and this is the biggest challenge) I want to lose some weight. New Year’s resolution?? Always!! This year I am telling myself that I especially need to be diligent so that once we start treatments again, I am nice and healthy! I need to change some eating habits and get in some good workouts (courtesy of my new Wii Fit!)

I’m starting a new year with new goals, and I’m hoping that by putting them in writing here, I’ll be more committed to them!

a blog by tori, Dec. 29, 2008

I’ve been needing to update for a long time, but I haven’t really known what to say. Our third cycle of IUI using donor sperm was successful. We thought we had our dream, but something went wrong.

First, let me say that seeing a positive pregnancy test was everything I thought it would be. I took my test a day early because I knew -- the gagging in the morning and my super sore breasts told me that something was different about this cycle. I was right. I think I silently screamed in the bathroom for a good three minutes as that second line got darker and darker. I felt like I had waited a lifetime to see it. I thought about how to tell my husband, who was sleeping away. I tried to think of cute ways, fun ways, special ways.

In the end I just told him, and it was wonderful. The smile on his face made me forget what we had gone through to get there. My first HCG (blood pregnancy test) numbers came back amazing – 371 -- scarily amazing. I started trying to get my mind wrapped around the thought of multiples.

We were in awe. We told our parents and some close friends who knew we were in treatments. Then we got our second blood test numbers, and then our third, and our fourth. None of them were good. I went in for an ultrasound and the doctors determined it was not a viable pregnancy. At this point they think there is a high chance that it was ectopic, and that the early implantation associated with it cause the high numbers. The other option is that it was multiples. I can’t decide which I like to imagine it was more. Both come with their own set of feelings.

Ultimately what kills me about the whole experience is that my husband, who has had such a hard couple of years, was so happy for the week that we thought our dreams had come true. He referred to me numerous times as his “pregnant wife” and touched my belly as much as he could. He smiled and laughed like I hadn’t seen him do in so long, and any worries I had about him connecting to a donor baby instantly disappeared. He was already in love. From the moment he saw the pregnancy test he was enthralled with all things pregnancy and baby.

Having to tell him that it wasn’t going to work out was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do (the only thing that rivaled that was telling him that his sperm count was zero). It’s been a rough couple of years.

Right now we are on a forced break. We lost our good insurance on December 1 and can no longer afford fertility treatments. Things right now are hard. I feel like my husband and I are barely keeping our heads above water. But I know it will get better; I know I won’t always feel like this.

My good friends have helped me get through all these feelings, and I am starting to come to grips with the fact that the pregnancy just wasn’t meant to be. This is a club I never wanted to be a part of. I thought that being an active member in the infertility club would somehow make participation in the miscarriage club avoidable. I know that doesn’t make sense . . . but that was logic I just wanted to believe.

Eventually my husband and I will be parents, and we’ll be good ones, but I just have to remember that infertility works on its own timing, and that I can’t force it and can’t wish my baby into existence.

Although if I could, I would wish ours and all of yours into existence as well.

a blog by tori

This is a blog I had hoped I would never have to write. One I’d been fearing. One about a failed cycle. Even more so, I had hoped to never have to write about multiple failed cycles. And yet here I am. Here a lot of us are. Wondering why? Why -- when they’ve identified the problem and fixed it -- are we still not pregnant?

I recently found out that my donor IUI (DIUI) cycle number two was not successful. I will say that I definitely took it better this month than I did last month (meaning I didn’t cry for hours and participate in a total two day pity party). Although I had hoped, and prayed, and tried to will this cycle to be “the one,” I prepared myself for it to be negative, and when it was, it wasn’t such a bulldozer of emotions. Part of this has to do with the things I have been reminding myself to be thankful for over the past month.

First, I’m thankful for the relationship I have with my husband. Over the past two years, since we seriously started trying to conceive, our relationship has grown so much. What I had thought was a strong relationship already, has grown into a partnership that I am relatively sure can withstand almost anything set before us. We have seen such incredible ups and downs over the past couple of years that, at times, it felt like we wouldn’t be able to pull ourselves out of bed and face the day, and yet here we are, strong and ready to face whatever happens next. I have learned that my husband is an amazingly selfless, amazingly mature, thoroughly, well, amazing, man. He has always wanted children, and now, in the face of a challenge, he has chosen the absolute most selfless option so that we can experience pregnancy together. I will never be able to fully express to him what his decision means to me.

Second, I am so thankful for the relationships I have made with other women who I have met through TTC and IF support groups. I did say to one of my friends the other day that “I wish we’d met under different circumstances, but I’m still glad we met.” I have met women who have faced fertility challenges I cannot even begin to comprehend, and yet they are still trying, still hoping to build their families. I admire so many of the women I’ve met. I am so used to having them to talk to every day, and now can’t imagine them not being in my life.

Third, and maybe most important, I am so thankful to live in a time when fertility miracles can happen. I try to think what it would be like a hundred years ago, not being able to get pregnant. I realize a couple of things when I think about this. One, the problem would have most likely been blamed on me. There wouldn’t be tests or anything medical to back it up. But the problem certainly wouldn’t have been blamed on the manly man who ruled the house. Our RE has told us that up until fairly recently numbers on the partner likely to be the cause of fertility problems were highly skewed toward women. It wasn’t until a few years ago that medical professionals found out -- and made public – the fact that it is a 50/50 type of thing. Then, after blaming the fertility problem on me, there’d be no more to the conversation. Medical intervention for infertility just wouldn’t have been an option, even 50 years ago, most of the miracles that are achieved today were out of the question. I live in a time when a couple who cannot achieve their own pregnancy has options. Options that are achievable.

As much as I want to crawl into bed and do nothing for the next two weeks until my next IUI, I have to keep hope in my mind, because I am lucky enough to live in a time when infertility does not mean childlessness, at least not forever.

Dealing with failed cycles is something I had hoped to avoid, but I know that statistically I’m not in that bad of a spot. I know I have a lot to be thankful for, and I know that someday I will be a parent. If the IUIs I’ve had thus far have not achieved pregnancy, I know that it’s for a reason. I know that it wasn’t the baby meant for me.

I know that as long as I keep my eye on the goal, and as long as my relationship with my husband stays the focal point of our journey through infertility, eventually our dream of being parents will be fulfilled.

And for that, I’m already thankful.

a blog by tori

A couple of weeks ago, I was talking to my mom on the phone and explaining my upcoming month of fertility treatments, and she sarcastically exclaimed “Boy, you’re just a ball of sunshine aren’t you!” At that very moment I realized something…

I used to be optimistic. I used to be the person that people would turn to if they needed a laugh during a rough day!

Infertility has changed that for me, and I realized that I need to stop the pessimism that is slowly invading my life, and take back my optimism.

During infertility, and treatment, staying positive can be an incredible challenge. What you were initially trying to achieve seemed so easy! Sure, pregnancy might not come from the first month of trying, but certainly you’d be a mommy (or daddy) within the year! Then that didn’t happen. Time started to pass, soon you reached the year mark, and with each visit from “Aunt Flo” your cup steadily became a little emptier, and quite a bit less than half full.

We’ve all had those feelings that we never thought we would have or feel. That secret jealousy when a good friend gets pregnant, that thought of “it should have been me,” or “we deserve this more,” and worst of all, “I’d be a better parent.” The thought comes quickly, and you tell yourself you are just hormonal, and deep down in your heart you really don’t mean those things, but it happens . . .

Infertility chips away at your once optimistic, happy life.

So, what do you do? Wallow in self pity? Give up? No way! If nothing else, infertiles are good for one thing, not taking NO for an answer. Sure, we may throw ourselves the occasional pity party (and we’ve usually got IF friends who are more than willing to attend), and sometimes the stress and sadness seems overwhelming, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel, I promise.

One of things that has kept me sane through this entire process has been having a great group of IF friends that I can lean on when the weight of infertility is just too overwhelming. I’ve realized over the last year and a half that these friends do not need to be in my exact situation. They don’t need to be dealing with nonobstructive azoospermia, or male factor infertility, or even have trouble with the actual act of getting pregnant.

Any woman, or man, who has been through any kind of infertility or child loss just understands. They understand the pain, and loneliness. They understand how easy it is to feel isolated from the normal Fertile Myrtles of the world. Best of all, from what I’ve experienced, they are totally willing to listen to crying, yelling, whining and every other emotion that comes with infertility.

Writing out my feelings, both on my blog and in a journal has also helped me so much over the last year or so. Sometimes I will start to write, and realize that thought and emotions are spilling onto the page that I didn’t even know existed in my mind. I’ve also found that sometimes my feelings are so jumbled up in my mind that putting them on a piece of paper is only way I can sort them out. Even if you don’t want anyone else to read your blog, and even if you are horrible about updating journals, I strongly suggest some form of writing to get those IF feelings out of your mind.

Finally, and most importantly, just spend time with your significant other. Plan days out, plan nights in. My husband and I have realized that sitting at home, doing nothing, wallowing in our infertility, is not only bad on us as individuals, but horrible for our relationship. Some of the best days we’ve had over the last year and a half have been planned last minute, and have been seen by both of us as totally necessary escapes. We’ve gone to quite a few festivals over the summer that we’ve always talked about going to, but never got around to. We’ve gone to shopping centers just to walk around. We’ve gone to the beach and just sat in the car and talked. During infertility, being a strong team with your partner is absolutely the most important thing to remember. The two of you will probably (hopefully) never go through another challenge of this magnitude in your lifetime, and it is vital to be on the same page through treatments, it will be great practice for being united during pregnancy and parenting.

There are so many more ways to keep your sanity and optimism during fertility treatments, and over the past couple of weeks, since I’ve set my mind to it, I’ve been doing a lot better with staying optimistic, and sending positive thoughts out there into the universe . . . hoping that those positive feelings will come right back to me.

What do you do to keep your optimism and sanity during treatments?

a blog by tori

During my appointment with my RE last Friday, I had a lot of time to think, and I realized that I have learned some very important things on my adventure through infertility.

Here is my “advice:”

1. First, and most important, know and like your RE, and even more importantly, his or her team.
Your RE will quickly become one of the most important people in your life. You’ll memorize his phone number quickly. His team will be people you see at least four times a month until you have a successful cycle. The nurse that handles your “case“ will be like your new mom (lucky you). She’ll order you around and expect you to check in at very specific times. Don’t test her … she will cancel your cycle if you don‘t follow the rules.

Friday night my husband looked at me and said “I feel totally at home when we are at our appointments.” That’s the feeling you are going for.

If you are tightly bound by insurance, then do the best you can to really get to know your RE and the team (you’ll most likely see the team members more than the RE). If you are financially able to “shop around” for an RE, do so. You are entrusting these people with the responsibility of getting you pregnant, and in turn giving you a child, make sure you accept only the best care.

2. If you are still seeing a regular OB/GYN try and get referred out to an RE.
My guess is that if you know you are dealing with male-factor infertility, or if you are a same-sex couple, or just a single woman, looking to use sperm donation as a means of family building then you are probably already going to a specialist.

If not, get referred! Don’t be too pushy with your GYN. She is trying to help, but she isn't a specialist in fertility.

If you just stumbled upon this blog, and this is your second month trying to get pregnant, this is the one and only time I will say to ”relax.” Don’t demand a referral until it’s been at least 6 months OR if you already have a medical reason to think there is a problem. Don’t let them use Clomid on you unless they have done the tests that prove you need it. (I know a lot of women who have taken Clomid for months without really needing it, because it was seen as an “easy fix.”) Speak up if you really think there is a problem, but do give it some time. You’ll save yourself a lot of time and money by giving it an honest try (believe me, you don’t want to go through the testing unless you need it).

3. Let the Doc do the talking.
Again, since you are here . . . reading this . . . you are probably obsessed with finding out any and all information about your fertility issues. And, like me, you’ve probably read up. You know what follicles are, you know what cycle day you’re on, you know what ovulation predictor kits are. Heck, I bet you call them follies, CD’s, and OPKs just like me. But don’t try to impress your doc with your knowledge. He knows what he’s talking about. That said, PLEASE ASK QUESTIONS! But, in general, do the listening, do the questioning, and let him practice the medicine. You may just find out that he knows more about baby making than you.

4. Assume you are getting naked (at least partially) whenever you go to an RE appointment.
I made the mistake of thinking that consultation just meant "consultation." Then I got to experience the embarrassment of a surprise vaginal ultrasound … the type of surprise no one wants! From now on I’ll just assume that no matter what the appointment says, what it means is “just step into this room and take off your pants.”

5. Involve your husband or significant other (or your mom, sister, or friend) whenever possible.
If it’s at all possible for them to be at each appointment then please work it in to your schedule. Fertility treatments are hard. Period. There is always more information to be taken in than one person can possibly handle, even a person with a pen and paper. Plus, you may be surprised at what they are interested in knowing. Hubby surprised me when he asked if he could get a better look at the ultrasound. I mean, we aren’t looking at a baby, just my empty uterus. He was interested. He asked questions. He had opinions. He genuinely wanted to know what was going on. It made me feel like we were such a strong team. Being part of a strong team is an ongoing theme here in the world of fertility treatments, and one I’ll talk about often.

6. Finally, prepare to be emotional.
I’m the type of person who, at certain times in my cycle, can cry about anything. I don’t think it’s bad, and during fertility treatments, being emotional will be one of the only constant things in your life. On the way to our appointment I said “I can’t see myself getting through this without crying,” and cry I did. Your RE will not think you are a freak. He/She deals with this every day, and if they aren’t compassionate to you being emotional, switch Docs. You should not feel guilty or embarrassed. Do tell your doctor though if you are feeling like your emotions are keeping you from doing your normal tasks.

All of that being said, I generally HATE getting advice, especially from those who aren’t trying to get pregnant, or have gotten pregnant easily. I don’t like hearing “relax.” I don’t like hearing that now I’ll “have time to enjoy my youth.”

I’m sure you don’t like hearing it either, but just remember that advice, for the most part, is not given maliciously. It's normally given by those who care for you. Unfortunately, it is also frequently given by those who don’t understand. Don’t hold it against them. You wouldn’t want them to be going through the struggles that you are going through. Just smile, nod and thank them . . . even if what you want to do is punch them and run away.

a blog by tori

Let's start this blog with a visualization.

Think back, back to sitting in high school, more importantly sitting in your Human Growth and Development class (or as it used to be called, Sex Ed). A teacher (normally a same-sex science teacher) would stand at the front showing slides. Slides of pregnancy, slides of sperm, slides of eggs, slides of all the things that happen when one starts to mature, and what could happen if you didn't have good control of yourself.

You were mortified. One time! One time is all it took to get pregnant! It could even be your first time! Oh my goodness! You would never, ever have unprotected sex, at least not until you were married.

Let's skip ahead a few years. And lets make this about me, not you ( at least not yet, haha). Now I am married!! Married to my high school sweetheart in fact. We are the couple in our group of friends who have always wanted kids. My husband has wanted kids since way before we should have ever been thinking of kids (I reminded him of “the slides” often).

A couple months before our glorious wedding ceremony I decided I was done done DONE with birth control. I started taking my prenatal vitamins, and we planned out how quickly a baby could come into our lives after the wedding. We weren't naive enough to think that it would happen in the first month, but we planned on being “preggers” by month four or five for sure!!!

Months four and five came and went. I was shocked! What happened to that “one time”? I implored my gynecologist, surely she could point something out, something we must have been missing. Her response “relax, I'll see you again when it's been a year of trying.”

A YEAR? Come on! Don't they know about our plan? Well, the dreaded year mark came. I had a feeling. A bad feeling. I knew something was wrong. I knew it wasn't just the stress. I knew we were doing everything right (come on, how hard is it to do?).

Unfortunately, I was right about something being wrong. We had our initial orientation with our RE and laughed at how my husband would have to do his business into a cup to be examined. We shouldn't have laughed. The test results came back, sperm count: 0.

My first thought, "Is that even possible?” I mean, really... zero? We called the next day (we found this out over, email by the way, thank you, hospital lab technology), and the shock was confirmed. Hubby went in for a repeat analysis.... zero.

The next month was full of testing (and crying). There was an ultrasound, and a biopsy, and then a diagnosis. Severe Hypospermatogenesis. What. A. Mouthful.

I practice saying it often. I practice not crying when I say it as well.

Our options were bleak. Adoption, or donor insemination. Not how I, at 23, and my husband, at 26 thought we would be building our family. But, after a couple of months of going between anger and sadness we came to a decision, and an acceptance. This is our life, we can't change it, and there is no point in wishing things could be different.

Our decision . . . Donor Insemination (DI). We did have a brief dabble in adoption (which we think is a great gift, and anyone who decides on this family building option is amazing), but decided it was not for us.

Right now we are at the very beginning. We have our first DI consultation on July 24. We have a ton of questions, which we are hoping will all be answered with sincere, positive, and thorough answers (one can hope right).

Overall, we are excited (more than anything). We are scared (beyond belief). We are hopeful (possibly to a fault).

We know the road will be long and bumpy, and it will be a roller-coaster of emotions. The other day my husband said it well. He compared the journey through infertility to an old, wooden roller-coaster. Back when they were longer, and bumpier than anything we see today.

My goal is for this blog to be about real feelings and situations, and not a sugar-coated look at what will probably be the most emotionally-trying time of our lives. I also want to be really straightforward about the fact that I am NOT an expert on donor insemination. I am, as any current or past “TTCer” is likely to be, obsessed with finding out any and all information that I can about the fertility challenges put before me.

This blog will be my honest findings, opinions, rants, ramblings and raves about the fertility journey my husband and I are embarking on; I hope you join me on the ride!