As the petri dish turns

Yesterday, Will phoned me from work (he was on call) and as we were chatting, burst out with "I wish we could get the microarray results back right now!" We are currently 14 days into our wait for the the chromosome analysis results...

I have to tell you, it surprised me. On two fronts. I'm usually the one bringing up IVF-related matters. And I tend to feel bad about this. In fact, sometimes, I try to censor myself, storing up "infertility thoughts" and sharing them all at once (the infertility digest version?) so that poor Will can have a break from hearing about it sometimes. So to have Will bring up the topic of IVF/infertility at all, well, that was a bit of a shocker. Kind of a nice shocker, but still.

And then there was the second aspect of it that was a little startling. As he started talking, I realized that Will is actually more impatient than I am about finding out the results of this cycle. Now there's a switcheroo. I'm usually the one feeling anxious, feeling urgent, feeling that wemustdosomethingnownowNOW! And he's usually the one advising calm, advising patience with the process, counseling zen-ness with the uncertainty of it all.

Interesting how things flip around sometimes. Will said to me incredulously, "Don't you just want to know now?" And I answered honestly (and I realize this may sound really weird) that No, I don't really want to know just yet. Part of that is driven by the fact that since we got our mediocre FISH results on the sex chromosomes, I've thought that our chances of having a chromosomally normal embryo in the batch of 7 blastocysts is about as likely as...well...winning the lottery. And I'm in an ok sort of space right now emotionally, which I know I won't be if and when we get devastating news. So I'm feeling no rush to get that news.

And also, I'm strangely enjoying this in-between time. Because at this moment there is absolutely nothing that I am supposed to be doing on the infertility front. And what a relief that is. Sure, we'll have timed intercourse this month, just like we always do, just in case some miracle might happen, but that's no big deal. Until we get the results, I'm basically off the hook, reproductivewise. No pressure to do anything, no fear that time is ticktickticking past and our chances of having a family are going out the window with every passing day. Because our chances? Well, they incubated in a petri dish and are frozen in Colorado just now.

So it's kind of funny here in the land of in-between...to see my dear husband for once be the one who just can't bear all the waiting. Me - at least for today - I'm going to continue to enjoy this downtime and just kick up my heels. And now I can maybe look forward to also having Will bring up IVF sometimes.

As the petri dish turns, for once the shoe is one the other foot.

"IVF is on your mind again, Will? Ok, I'll be a good wife. Of course we can talk about it. But really, honey, you've got to relax. You're driving yourself crazy."

Mo

Hallmark reject #6: the clothing line (male factor)

We're in Denver at the moment, but we thought we'd post this week's Hallmark reject in our absence.

Because we certainly wouldn't want to leave the guys out in the cold without infertility apparel!

So, at Alexicographer's request, here is the debut of the male-factor line.

Forget the health care profession - I think we may have found our true calling as snarky copy writers.

Wednesdays with Will: revolver for a revolving door

Mo and I arrived for our pre-op appointment the other morning to find this welcoming sign:

Gee, isn't that what we have been doing with these repeated IVF cycles? In fact, it is nice of them to ask us, but Mo and I have been doing this for the past two years. We've gone around and around through the revolving door of treatments, postives, D&Cs, more cycles, negatives, and then around again. To make things more interesting, the sign was actually next to the elevators, but we get the idea.

Mo and I are getting a little too used to the IVF clinic. We know the staff and they know us. We know where we like to sit in the waiting room and what magazines we've read. I like the water coolers. We both have grown increasingly fond of our physician. We've shared many mediocre breakfasts in the diner around the corner. Life changing events have occurred here such as a career move Mo was vying for and learning we were pregnant after IVF #1 and then, um, not so pregnant.

Despite all these fond memories, we are ready to move on. I think we are both feeling weary more than anything. We are ready to get out of the revolving door soon, please.

Transfer is set for tomorrow - we're hoping for the last time.

Thanks for all of your warm wishes and thoughts. They mean a lot.


Will

Close encounters of the IVF kind

Will here. I was caught in a pickle yesterday. I have a new doctor who I have become very comfortable with (i.e., she knows just about EVERYthing about me), and I happened to see her yesterday morning at the IVF clinic. At first I just caught a sideways glance and I wasn't sure it was her - people look somewhat harried at these offices, so there was not definite recognition on my part. After Mo and I settled into our chairs, I tried to steal another glance but couldn't quite tell - was it her or just someone who looked an awful lot like her? I felt guilty, like I shouldn't be curious. Later, when Mo and I were heading back to the ultrasound, she was heading on her way out. We walked right by each other, and our eyes met briefly. It felt like the solar eclipse - I knew I shouldn't look, but I had to.

Working as a physician in a large academic medical hospital, it is not uncommon for me to see people at work that I know socially. I am sure it may feel a little awkward for them, but I usually don't think much about it. However, my own physicians are (mostly) physically removed from my workplace (I chose things this way) and do not have hospital privileges where I work. I like this distinction between my two roles of physician and patient.

Running into my doctor made me think about the doctor-patient relationship a bit differently. When I go to see her, I think that our lives are completely separate. There is comfort in this distance. I've told her we are going through IVF, and I always thought she seemed quite knowledgeable and empathic. I now know a little bit more about why.

When I see her again, I'm not sure how to handle this. It feels like the elephant in the room. Do I acknowledge seeing her? Do I pretend it never happened? I don't want to know the details of what she's undergoing, but it feels false to just pretend we didn't run into each other.

I tell myself that if we lived in a small Rockwell-esque town in New England this would be a common occurrence. Is it perhaps the perceived anonymity of our relationship that is comforting?

I've written about seeing our IVF physicians at social events, which is an awkwardness all it's own. But I'm wondering if others have visceral reactions when they see people they know at their IVF clinic or if they see their physicians outside of the clinic? How do you handle this?

Will

p.s. It's crossed my mind that my physician may be wondering some of the same thing as I am. Hadn't thought about it that way before, but she and I are both physicians now facing running into a patient (for her) and a doctor (for me) at the IVF suite. Strange parallel lives.

Wednesdays with Will: disconnected

Why do we ignore the past when the present looks so exciting and rich, promising? But, when the present looks more dire, we take the time to reflect on the lessons of the past?

Mo and I have been (knock on wood) relatively untouched financially by the market woes, but we have been re-evaluating our present situation and our goals for the future. Some things we are doing may seem foolhardy (we continue to put our retirement money into s&p 500 mutual funds), while other things are just plain common sense (cutting back on eating out). We have also set aside an account for IVF which allows us to earmark savings for this purpose.

I felt disconnected from Mo and our IVF cycle the past few days as I was visiting my folks in Florida (so NY of them :)). One of the walks I like to take winds through pine trees, flanked by mangrove on the bay side and the beach on the other. It leads to a fairly secluded beach that looks back onto the bay.

You can't help to notice the changes that take place everytime you go - from day to day and year to year. But, whatever it is, it is. Nature reminds us that while we can control parts of our experience, some things are just impossible to predict. That is, after all, the beauty of life, pain and joy.

From my end I am trying not to choose between optimism or pessimism, but rather trying to plan for the outcomes we have known and have yet to experience. I guess that's ok - I'll let you know how that goes. I think this all came up for me the past few days because, as I said, I have felt disconnected from Mo while I've been away and she's been going through the injections and monitoring without me. Although I know she needs me, I also wanted to visit my folks because my father - who appears outwardly healthy - actually has a terminal disease. If statistics don't lie, I would wager he has about three years left.

It is easy for me to dwell on the shitty side of things, namely infertility and death, but it is important in both cases for me to be here, right now. Mo and I have been through a lot recently and we are making a case for pretty damn good teamwork.

Will

Wednesdays with Will: detours

I try to walk every morning to work. My trip is pretty cool if you like the city since about 1/3 of the walk is in Central Park and I pass by some really interesting places. It is stimulating and things I see always give me something to ponder. Anyway, I am going to try to snap a photo along my way each week and share it here along with some thoughts; I am thinking by putting this on paper it will actually motivate me to do it.

This morning Mo and I were able to take a walk together - I to the gym and she to work. On the way we came upon one of the large traffic alert signs that flashed "Road work starting. Plan alternate route." We reflected on how that was a good reminder as we start our next IVF cycle. What is the purpose of all of this? At times we get caught up in the details - money, physical pain, hassles, missed phone calls, and the "what-ifs" - and forget what we really are hoping for. And its not just a physical baby. It's our baby, our child.

For now, I am trying to put aside the thoughts of "if this doesn't work, then..." and concentrate on this cycle, preparing myself for whatever the outcome is. I'd like to stop thinking about this process of trying to conceive as an IVF process - it makes it kind of mechanical.

So, from this Wednesday forward I am planning a "Wednesdays with Will" post; I will try to remember my camera next week. I am hoping to keep both feet grounded, my eyes and mind in the present, and my heart with Mo. Here goes...

Will

Second opinion - Will's take

Mo and I often work late or have things going on in the evenings, so sometimes we don't have a quality block of time to sit and discuss. This morning we were both leaving for work at the same time, so we were able to walk and chat and get some seriously good conversation while heading our respective ways to work. There is something about a brisk walk or (even better) a jog that helps me clear my mind.

I, like Mo, had a twinge of guilt about requesting our records. More so than Mo, once I select a doctor I tend to put my trust in them and not look back. As a physician, I try to check my professional life at the door and just be a "patient." In truth, however, I recommend to everyone that they get a second opinion. I am happy when patients have second opinions - for me it is an honor that they entrusted me in the first place. And besides, a second opinion is just that - an opinion. I would hope that other physicians my patients consult with have a similar overall read on things, but I also hope they will have their own views on the patients issues. Medicine is an art.

After speaking with the CCRM doctor, I reminded myself that what we initially sought was a different opinion - not a different truth or different set of facts. We also were not seeking someone to tell us that what we have been doing is perfect, don't change anything. The facts are the facts and no matter who we consult they will not be able to provide "truth."

In the end, we learned that we are on the right course, with some additional angles to consider. A few things he reminded us: We have been able to get pregnant, both with and without IVF. Mo also has responded well to the stims in the past and there is no reason she will not in the future.

On the downside we have gotten blasts, but not as many as one would hope. We have also had miscarriages secondary to genetic abnormalities. This is the kicker, the lynch pin. The theory presented to us is that given Mo's history of chemo, these aneuploidies are most likely iatrogenic. This theory makes sense and should be considered, but at the end of the day we will never know what toll the chemo took on her ovaries.

Even though both Mo and I know (and have known) this intellectually, it is different to have it uttered from an MD's lips. It somehow made this possibility seem like a fact. It validated our fears.

The offer of microarray and vitrification is extremely appealing. However, many things in medicine are initially promised as the next-best-thing-since-penicillin. Any new technology should be seriously considered, but also contemplated carefully. I am obviously aware of our lack of positive results so far, but we need to be thoughtful in making any changes. Thus far we have been happy at our clinic and with our doctor and that counts for a lot.

In the end, we will continue our research and continue to cogitate on our options.

As Mo said to me last night, nothing has really changed in reality; whatever state her ovaries are in remains the same now as it was before this conversation. What's changed is our awareness of the possibility options has expanded.

I hope everyone has a great weekend. Mo and I are headed to a comedy club tonight with friends for a little relief.

Will

Noodle salad with a side of anxiety

First off, this is not meant to be a depressing post. It is my attempt to put a bunch of things together that have been floating around in my brain like seaweed. Last Saturday night I got very little sleep. Mo and I had a bit of a quibble earlier over nothing, but otherwise things seemed fine...or were they? I had a twinge of anxiety - that feeling I get which I cannot quite put my finger on. It starts sometimes like a stealth ninja, a bit of unease, edginess, impatience. Everything seems to become personal, especially when I am tired.

That line of Jack Nicholson playing the eccentric loony Melvin Udall kept running through my head "What if this is as good as it gets?" In the past two years our lives together have been occupied with IVF (and for the period of time when IVF was not occupying our lives I created my own mini-drama - but that is another story). IVF sucks, but it does create structure to our personal lives. It has all the key elements of a dramatic presentation, except so far it has always finished with a sad ending.

Nonetheless, somewhere in the back of our minds, when actively wiping away our tears, is the thought of "next time". And that is where Saturday night kicked in - the realization that someday we will get tired of watching this drama (or too poor to pay for it). Hopefully, of course, we will have a happy ending before then, but what if we don't? Playing this out together has been good material for filling our early days of marriage together. What will we do without it? The anxiety - and at the time I didn't know what I was really anxious about - got so bad I felt like popping out of my skin.

I fell asleep and woke up peacefully Sunday, but this feeling of anxiety kept surging through my body the next few days. Mo and I had just spent an amazing few days in the Mayan Riviera. What could be bothering me? In the end, I don't think it is just one thing, but rather the culmination of stressors.

Having this hiatus from IVF cycles has been a good time to regroup. I think going away made us both realize how much we love each other and how good we are together. It doesn't take the drama of IVF to make us work as one. We don't need a reproductive endocrinologist, andrologist, urologist, embryologist, phlebotomist, anesthesiologist, or IVF nurse to make us complete. Baby or no baby we have each other and that is pretty great.

Before we got married, Mo and I discussed our individual dreams and expectations for having children together. I guess I never really seriously entertained the possibility we would have so much difficulty and I never contemplated the scenario where we would be post-IVF with no kids (PINK). We have now have had that conversation and I feel much better, much more grounded.

In "As Good as It Gets," Melvin counters the statement that everybody has terrible stories to get over: "Some have great stories, pretty stories that take place at lakes with boats and friends and noodle salad." I guess I am just coming back around to realizing that Mo and I love each other and our lives - no matter what IVF does for us - will be filled with love and friends and noodle salads.

Will

IVF: When professional and personal collide

As I sit here at work, I am reflecting on downsides of being a physician going through the IVF thrill ride.

Perhaps the most invasive is that it seems that everywhere we go recently we bump into one of our many physicians. A few weeks before Christmas we went to a holiday party attended by mostly academic types (more PhDs than MDs) for the medical school's anatomy department.

I do a bit of teaching for them and we ordinarily enjoy this particular party since it is a diverse crowd as far as these things go (physicians from multiple departments, PhDs from several areas). The first thing our host greeted us with was "Wasn't there someone pregnant at your table last year?" hinting that it might have been us. NO! IT WASN'T US!! He went after this line of questioning a few more times before we were able to successfully derail him onto another topic.

While appetizers were served, the host selected faculty to give short speeches. This year we were shocked when the RE scheduled to do Mo's retrieval stood up. He hadn't seen Mo during her monitoring and wouldn't have known who we were, but we definitely recognized him just the same. It's hard to remember what he said exactly, something about the beauty of the female pelvis and enjoying having the chance to work with the medical students because they remind him why he went into medicine.

After this I was selected to speak and was a bit dumbfounded to say the least. We had to leave the dinner early to make it home for the exact timing of Mo's HCG trigger shot. As we said our goodbyes, the RE gave us a big smile and shook our hands. Fortunately, Mo's personal RE made a surprise appearance at her retrieval, saving her the discomfort of comparing the carpaccio to the arugula salad with her legs suspended in OR stirrups.

That same night there was another dinnermate, a slightly wacky surgeon who kept saying he had to leave but managed to singlehandedly polish off the entire table's antipasta platter. As we left the retrieval the next morning, lo and behold we saw him down the hospital hallway with a gaggle of medical students and residents. I could see he spotted us and I tried to quickly divert us to the service elevators (no small feat since Mo was still feeling the effects of the conscious sedation). Luckily we avoided him, not that it would have mattered but I just wasn't up for post-party chatter, and who knows what Mo might have said.

Another social event we enjoy is an annual medical charity concert at Carnegie Hall (this is the only charity we are ever invited to - perhaps someone's error?). This year we were fortunate to see both my urologist (of Rocket fame) and Mo's OB/GYN (of you-don't-need-anesthesia-for-your-D&Cs fame). Quite the gang to gather for a little music. There is just something awkward about knowing that the guy sipping a martini next to us had his fingers up my (well, you know). And for Mo to have to stand in her little black dress near the OB who scraped out her uterus oh-so-painfully. It's disconcerting to say the least. Are they thinking the same thing? Nah. Luckily, professionalism still reigns.

We were seated in the balcony, giving us the all-too-tempting opportunity to launch Jujubes (particularly at Mo's OB, who we've both grown to dislike). Alas, other than making snide comments to each other, we remained respectable.

I recently selected a new primary care physician. I chose him because he is, in many ways, unlike most of the physicians at my hospital. His office is in a nondescript midtown office building and he is a believer in alternative medicine in addition to traditional Western medicine. At our first meeting I told him that I was looking for a physician who was outside of my normal work interactions, someone I felt completely comfortable with. He looked at me, smiled, and nodded knowingly. I am the patient and he is my physician. I kind of like stepping out of my work shoes and being heard as a regular Joe.

Best wishes to everyone for a healthy and productive 2009. 2008 had its highs and lows but I am ready to hit the ground running.

Will

Thanksgiving

Mo and I are off to see her family. While visiting the in-laws is not always considered a holiday, both of us are looking forward to seeing her folks and spending some downtime. A little turkey and cranberry sauce mixed in will sweeten the trip.

We are on a plane right now, headed south. She's resting beside me, and I'm sitting here pondering the “thanks” in thanksgiving. My boss sent everyone on our team a Thanksgiving email cataloguing all he appreciates about each of us. Very unusual (unprecedented, really). It got me thinking about what I am grateful for.

So, here is Will's Top 10 List of things I am thankful for:

10. Fairway Market. This purveyor has been deemed combat shopping central. However, it is an excellent place to practice mindfulness and get great deals on fresh everything. I like it better than Gourmet Garage and the like.

9. New York City just after a rain shower or during a snowstorm. The natural beauty of the city really comes out during these times, maybe due to the effect of light and quiet. During these times I am reminded of the vastness of all this city has to offer. It is as if the rain has cleaned off the sidewalks and streets and announced a new beginning.

8. A smile from a stranger. New York is often described as hectic and filled with aggressive, rude people. True, but there are more nice people than mean. When I am late to work, the security officer always greets me with a smile and “good morning doc!” This brings a smile to my face even when I am feeling harried.

7. Fulfilling and exciting career. I love my work and feel like it loves me. I give my best and receive back much more.

6. Personal growth and awareness. This past summer was “the perfect storm,” as one friend put it: I got a major job promotion, was reeling from my father's recent diagnosis with a terminal illness, and then we had two miscarriages almost back to back. To be honest, I was overwhelmed with it all, and the resulting crisis led me to reconsider my life. It caused me to realize that I had not dealt appropriately with stress, going far back in time, and it became clear that I would need to make major changes to maintain my sanity and my marriage. The past four months I have done a tremendous amount of work to better define my dreams and aspirations and get grounded. This has resulted in an improved marriage and a better, more confident self.

5. Health. At my work I see a lot of patients similar in age to me with debilitating diseases, both physical and mental. I try to remember to be grateful for both my and Mo's health each morning as we get up.

4. Safety. This is a bit amorphous, but safety means that Mo and I have enough emotional reserve to weather storms. We have learned a tremendous amount about each other, sometimes startling, but all good to share. We also have stable careers which is very reassuring during this economic downturn.

3. Friends. I have not nurtured my friendships as well as I should. I hope in the next few months to pay better attention to this area of my life and am grateful for the presence of friends in my life.

2. Family. They may drive me nuts at times, but when push comes to shove, my brothers and sister have always offered their support to me.

1. Mo. Even sitting here in this airplane seat beside me, Mo offers me unconditional love. I feel it, I see it, I know it. I am a lucky human being to be able to walk on this journey of life with her. I think we are going to have a lot of fun and fulfillment in our love together. And hopefully, we can share that fun and fulfilment with a family of our own.

What are you thankful for in your life?

Will

-------------------------------------------------------
Mo here.

Wanted to say a quick hello. I am thankful for many of the same things as Will - family, friends, my health (knock wood) , and of course Will. I am also thankful that we live in NYC and have the emotional and financial resources to be able to pursue our dream of having a family together.

But I also wanted to pipe in and say how grateful I am to have found the blog community. When Will and I started this, we saw it as sort of a couples' journal of our IVF process, and it is. But neither one of us anticipated how meaningful it would be to hear from others in our same position. So that is one more thing we are thankful for. We read each and every comment. And honestly, we've been extremely moved by all of your stories and support.

Mo

Feathering the nest

We’re in the beginning stages of IVF #3, and after three pregnancies and then three pregnancy losses this past year, I’m frankly feeling a little detached from the whole process. I haven't hauled out the IVF books (still on the top closet shelf) and haven't scoured pubmed for the latest IVF research, like I usually do. I'm doing what I must: my shots, healthy-ish eating, and, yes, the one add-on of acupuncture. But I’m not engaging as much emotionally (at least I’m trying not to).

But my husband Will…well, he seems to be going a different way. As I looked around our apartment this morning, I realized that in certain ways, Will is taking a more active stance toward this cycle than I am.

I hadn't put it together before, as Will doesn't talk about IVF so much per se. But he has been quietly doing a number of things that taken together are quite striking.

For example, he just bought some kind of wireless radio/Internet thingie (he calls it the Squeezebox, I call it the Squawkbox) that will allow us to access to/listen to music all over the apartment.
(Me: "That's nice, honey.")

And he has been keen on putting wiring into the closet in our foyer, with the idea that we can move the printer, modem, router, and various other mysterious flashing electronic devices out of the second bedroom and into this closet.
(Me: "Huh? OK, whatever. Sure, fine.")

He also has been taking boxes and files and picture frames from the second bedroom closet to his hospital office all week.
(Me: Didn't even notice, actually.)

And then last night, he became downright insistent about getting to IKEA today to buy a third bookshelf-cabinet to match the other two in our foyer because, he says, we have to get organized. We’re renting a car and leave in two hours. There was really no talking him out of it.
(Me: Hmm...we're already pretty organized...this seems strange, but...ok.)

I don’t know how I could have missed the accumulating signs, but suddenly this morning it hit me.

Will is NESTING. Male nesting perhaps, but still.

This is a side of him I've never seen before. He may not talk about things so much, but there's a lot going on in that head of his.

It’s pretty sweet, actually.

Mo

How does your husband cope with IF/IVF? How do you wish he would? And any husbands out there, how are you dealing with it all?

It goes where?! A husband's thoughts on IVF

Mo says that most of the readers of this blog will be women. I expect she’s right but am not sure why us guys are not more interested.

Is it that we are not engaged. . .or are we just afraid?

This leads me to ponder one of my greatest until-recently unspoken and self-ignored feelings - the sense of somehow being "left out" of the picture by IVF. I hate saying it, but truth be told the whole IVF process leaves me feeling a bit emasculated. I know it isn’t rational and certainly not externally imposed but somehow deep down I feel a little sidelined by IVF.

We started IVF as a solid two-person team. I am an MD working in academic medicine, so my work side liked the structure of IVF - you have a calendar detailing each step of the process. At the beginning, I was intent on coming to each appointment to tackle whatever challenge – blood draw, ultrasound, SIS, HSG, surgical procedure - that Mo faced. We would do it all together.

My enthusiasm dampened almost immediately. The hormones started kicking in quickly, making Mo's temperament…um…somewhat unpredictable. And my internal dialogue began to change: When Mo said, “I don't need you to come to today’s appointment,” I heard, “I’d rather go without you.” When Mo moaned quietly during a particularly grueling PIO injection, I’d start to think defensively, “It’s not MY fault that hurt so much!” As the days passed, I started to feel a seeping guilt that Mo had to go through the wringer every single day, while I was relatively unscathed by the process. I also started questioning just what my role really was.

And what IS my role, really in this whole IVF business? It comes down to my producing a single semen sample. I realize it’s an essential part of things, but it seems so…mechanistic. And so removed from me as a person.

In case you aren’t intimately familiar with the sperm collection process in IVF, let me walk you through my first time:

The morning started early with a careful scrubbing of the family jewels with Dial soap. Note to self: Make sure to use the cleanest towel!

I arrived at the hospital with Mo and found about six other couples in the waiting room. The women wore hospital gowns and those dreadful treaded ankle-high socks and the men wore the usual weekend uniform of T-shirts, jeans, and baseball caps. A vague tension filled the room - no one was really talking and everyone seemed particularly engrossed in old copies of the New Yorker. Each man got called (separately, Thank God) to deliver his sample.

The collection room was small and cold and sterile. A vinyl La-Z-Boy engulfed one corner and a TV hung on the opposite wall. Next to the lounger was a small table with a remote control and a stack of well- thumbed porn magazines. A small sliding window was set into the wall where I was supposed to put my completed specimen. I could hear the lab techs on the other side of their sliding window. Good God, they sounded so close!

I settled in to the lounger and carefully balanced the specimen cup next to me with the cap nearly unscrewed. Sorry to be graphic, but trying to coordinate that "moment we are all waiting for" is a bit of a challenge – it’s not like guys routinely catch their sperm in a Dixie cup at home. I turned on the TV and noticed a VCR (when was the last time I saw one of those?!). There was only one tape and by this time it was nearly at the end. I rewound it and pressed play.

The title was something like Rear Entry. Huh. The video itself was somehow both slightly boring AND slightly disturbing at the same time. And the soundtrack was pure 70s and blaring. I tried to concentrate on the task at hand…but I couldn’t help it, I started thinking

Can the lab techs just beyond the wall hear this terrible music?

What about the kind motherly nurse who showed me in?

What if I can't orgasm?

What if, what if, WHAT IF???

Thankfully, I was able to focus and - ahem - complete my assignment. I returned to the waiting room to be with Mo. They called her name and approximately 20 minutes later she was done, groggy and saying weird things because of the anesthesia, but OK. I tried to absorb the few things the nurse was telling us since I knew Mo would have some degree of amnesia. We took a cab home.

After the grueling two-week wait we found out that we were preggers!! I was thrilled. There was still much monitoring to go…days of Betas and ultrasounds and my part already long over.

And I really hate to admit it, but I started to feel that the team was shifting from

me and Mo

to

Mo and the RE.

This was not Mo's fault but my own insecurity and lack of insight. When we were released from the RE's domain to start a new chapter with our OB, Mo went to the first visit alone since I needed to be at work - she didn't really need me since we had just been to the RE earlier that week and the fetus had looked great – perfect size, perfect heartbeat - right?

But then I got a call from my secretary saying my wife had come to the hospital and was waiting in my office. When I got there, Mo was distraught - I knew what had happened as soon as I saw the look on her face. My heart sunk and my mind went blank. I felt hopeless and helpless. We talked in my office and then slowly walked across Central Park, comforting each other. I'll always remember that. We left each other near Strawberry Fields. We had lost our pregnancy but we had each other.

So what have I learned? I have learned that I need to involve myself in every step, both physically and emotionally. I have learned that I am not truly present if I limit my role to just being a support to Mo. I have learned that I need to be open about my own dreams, fears, and expectations so that we can truly be a team. Turning my emotional firewall off has been enormously helpful in connecting both with Mo and in increasing my ability to feel part of this crazy IVF process.

So now I turn to you readers:

Ladies, what advice do you have to help me be as present with Mo as possible… and dare I say it, not be so…hopelessly male…about this whole process?

And any male readers lurking out there, what have YOUR experiences of the IVF madness been?

Will