Another Hurdle

Last week we decided to have The Bear submit a semen analysis. I figured, why put all of these crazy hormones in my body until we know what's going on below HIS belt?

After a lot of hemming and hawing (on The Bear's end), we found out that we could pick up the kit (please, it was a sterile cup and a set of directions), take it home and then deliver the specimen within one hour to the lab.

The Bear went to the Women's Pavilion to pick up the "kit." The Women's Pavilion (aka The Palace--dubbed by L&D nurses in this city) is about a 15 minute drive from our house. It's in the same health care system that I work for and it houses many doctors offices for all sorts of lady parts. To be honest, I think a big part of it's claim to fame is for female oncology. Anyways, instead of going up to the suite where I go for my doctor's appointments he went to the information desk staffed by some blue-haired volunteer wearing a ginormous American Flag kerchief:

THE BEAR: Hi, I'm supposed to pick up a kit?

VOLUNTEER: What kind of kit?

THE BEAR: You know--a kit?

VOLUNTEER: I'm not sure what you mean?

THE BEAR: A kit for (insert real name here) was supposed to be here for me to pick up.

VOLUNTEER: Ummm, I'm really not sure what you mean sir.

At this point The Bear leaves a very nervous and urgent message on my cell--which I don't get until after I wake up that afternoon. He eventually figured out where he needed to go. Doc B's business card, with her Suite Number was in his back pocket all along. I, of course, cannot stop laughing when he retells this story to me.

Later, when we're driving back to the Women's Pavilion to drop off his, um, sample. He asks me if I can take it in for him. I roll my eyes, and march through the hospital doors and proceed to get lost for 15 minutes. I wound up in Oncology Radiation for peat's sake. When I do find the lab, it's all locked up. Finally, a housekeeper riding a zamboni lets me in to the lab and I have to fill out paperwork before handing over the specimen cup to a lab tech wearing gloves. As a reward, The Bear takes me out to eat dinner. No where fancy, just BW3's.

This morning, Dr. B called me at home and gave me the unfortunate results: Great volume, but only 20% are normal. My heart sank. Dr. B didn't give us the nitty gritty break down of motility and morphology, but I hope that that information will be available sometime soon. With everything that's happened, Dr. B suggested that we go right away to the Fertility Clinic at the Women's Pavilion to maximize our chances of conceiving.

I'm trying to remain optimistic...I keep telling myself that one sub-par SA doesn't mean jack. Anyone can have a bad day. I know of MANY people who have kids even though they were told that they have a low sperm count or some other issue in the area. The Bear's older brother has two kids and for all we know, he might have a funky count, too. It just takes one strong swimmer. Also, I timed the whole evening: sample collection to sample drop off took 30 minutes, including the time I was lost in the hospital AND it was pretty cold out that day--something could have happened en route to the lab. Looking back on it, that whole evening was riddled with many events that all could have lead to our poor results. And I don't really think these results are THAT poor. It really just takes one. And we know he has at least one. Unlike me, who has yet to produce a decent egg.

I'm still going to give Clomid a try this cycle. I already started Provera and who knows when we'll be able to get into the Fertility Clinic, I'd rather not waste a cycle. Besides, Clomid may not be the solution for me and maybe we'll figure that out right away and my new doctor will try something else.

I'm currently waiting for a call back from the Fertility Clinic to schedule an appointment. I have no idea who we'll meet with and what to expect. Like my mom said, it really might take a whole village to make this child.

UPDATE: I finally made my appointment with Dr. C.--it won't be until December 23. How the eff am I going to wait THAT LONG? I suppose this is a lesson in patience.