Despite our best efforts, which were many and often, we are, alas, still not pregnant.
As soon as I find out we’re not, I do what any mature, level-headed man would do – I immediately start to question my virility. Actually, question may be the wrong word. Slander may be a better one. Impugn, perhaps. In fact, I become convinced that I’m sterile. Not just sterile; I begin to believe it’s possible my sperm may have lethal qualities. That they may be little deadly ninjas assassinating any eggs they find. I have an immense capacity for self-flagellating imagination and I utilize every bit of it as I imagine my deadly ninja sperm attacking my wife’s uterus. Soon they have evolved in my mind into sentient beings hell bent on rendering my wife completely, inexorably sterile. “Why would they do this to me,” I ask. “What have I done to them?” “Is it revenge for my previous negligence of their brethren?” “What,” I demand … “WHAT?!”
Of course, I explain all of this to my wife, who reasonably asks, “Dear God, what is wrong with you?” We decide that instead of me just making stuff up, we should, perhaps, consult the expert, so it’s off to Dr. VaJayjay’s we go.
When we arrive, I don’t even hesitate to grab a lollipop – my surely-sterile inner child simply deserves one. We’re brought to an unfamiliar exam room (another to cross off my list of possible boom-boom-rooms) and a few minutes later Dr. VaJayjay himself ambles in. We’ve already told him we aren’t pregnant and he calmly comforts us with the explanation that Clomid, the drug Lyena takes to help ensure and regulate her ovulation, can take three or four cycles to be effective. He maintains his standard calm, no-big-deal attitude, which always makes me feel comfortable in his presence, like he’s an uncle I didn’t know I had.
“I’m worried I might be sterile.”
I blurt it out before my brain can even register the thought. I go on to explain my fears to him about my super-killer-ninja-sperm, to which he gravely replies, “Yeah. That’s probably it. We should get you tested to be sure, but at this point, I’d say that’s very likely.” Once again, he doesn’t smile. In fact, the only smile in the room much more resembles a giant neener-neener-neener grin, and it’s sitting comfortably on my wife’s face. I guess it’s good to know the guy’s mockery is equal opportunity.
We head back to the lollipop lobby and set up the appointment for me to come in and give my sample. As we head out of the office, I discover that Dr. VaJayjay’s sarcasm has somehow made me feel better about the situation, and I begin to question my previous assessments about my sperm’s capacity for ovacide. Is there anything this guy can’t do?
Up next… Fill This