Ok. So, to recap, we know it’s her fault that not having children is now the single biggest problem in your life.
It’s like the Armageddon movie…you can continue doing what you’ve always done, but know that there’s this asteroid the size of Texas headed in your direction and there’s no way you’re going to escape it’s destructive force by doing nothing…Hiding your head in the sand is not the solution…action is called for.
So you agree during one of the many tearful conversations you’ve been having over the last few weeks that it’s time to do something other than having sex at the right time. This in itself is a sign of the difference between guys and girls…most guys struggle to admit that there might be a ‘wrong time’ for sex, which automatically makes it hard for us to understand the concept that there’s a ‘right time’…any time is a ‘right time’, right? Wrong. Believe me when I tell you that she’s done the research. She now has a PhD in the science of conception. She’s delved into the mysteries of the human reproductive systems and and has an indisputable god-like knowledge of what needs to be done…so shut up, nod and do as you’re told…”yes dear”.
No matter how you got to this point, you’re here now…get with the program.
Stop worrying about the fact that you finally understand why, for the last year, she’s had a headache for 26 days out of every 28, but made up for it in those two days by ravaging you like a 2-bit porn star. Stop thinking about all the other pennies that have just dropped – that’s why she’s been laying with her feet in the air for an hour after ever ‘session’, that explains the little pile of baby-grows in the bottom drawer in the spare room that has been steadily growing over the last year, and yes, that’s why she’s been doing funny things in the toilet – peeing on a little stick that every now and again show’s a smiley face…not sure what the hell that face meant, but you always had a matching one half an hour later… Maybe you now realise what was going on when your missus came home from work in a foul and dangerous mood and didn’t want to discuss it, oh and coincidentally did you see the 5 announcements on Facebook today of friends who are now pregnant. This explains why when doing the grocery shopping your wife pitches the tampons into the trolley like she’s a major league baseball pitcher standing on the mound looking at a batter she wants to put into hospital. And no, the tears running down her face the last few times she’s announced her period was here, wasn’t caused by overwhelming disappointment because she fancied a good seeing to today, but decided the ‘cleanup operation’ wasn’t going to be worth it. She’s been trying to fall pregnant for a year you dopey git…close your mouth and catch up, we need to move on.
Maybe this wasn’t your route to this point, maybe you guys agreed before you started trying. Maybe you discussed it at length, had your investment broker in before she went off the pill to ensure you guys could afford the resulting demands from a successful conception on your resources. Maybe you had a colour-coded, cross-referenced 12 point plan for family making, with all tasks assigned and scheduled progress reports and feedback loops. Maybe you’ve picked out names, schools, decorated the nursery, bought the hand cuffs and lingerie to ensure you’re always in the mood during ovulation, whatever. Maybe you consulted the family psychic or sent off to that astrologer in the sunday newspapers to find out when the best month to conceive would be. Possibly you’ve decided on a code word to alert each other that you need to copulate now dammit…the window of opportunity is cracked open and time is of the essence – even if it meant having sex in a public toilet, on the boardroom table or worst of worst, when visiting her folks for a long weekend.
Whatever your route to this point, you’ve been trying (whether you knew it or not) for a year…the magical time limit, that unmovable barrier like a Sci-Fi force-field, that doom-laden point in the conception calendar…you’ve been trying unsuccessfully for 12 months…12 cycles…
That’s if you’re lucky.
If you’ve very unlucky, you’ve got to this point in just six months… now, on the face of it, that might not make a lot of sense, but if you’re here after just 6 months, you’ve got a HUGE issue…your wife is obviously over 35.
Ordinarily, 35 is only just approaching middle age. But, unfortunately for you, the fact is, in the infertility world, 35 years old for a woman is more ‘life’s over’ than ‘mid-life’. After 35, a woman’s years are like dog years…and so the pressure is amplified exponentially…because, not only haven’t you conceived yet, but TIME IS RUNNING OUT!!!!
The fact is, you’re now officially labelled – you’re infertile. Scrap that…you’re officially Infertile…actually you’re undoubtedly INFERTILE.
This means action is called for…the current plan hasn’t worked…time to see a specialist.
Now the first thing you need to know is that the costs have just moved up a to a whole new level.
You thought you were spending a lot up till now. The money you’ve spent over the last year on ovulation predictor kits, pee-on-a-stick home pregnancy tests, tissues for the regular week-long tearful episodes, the increased internet usage as your other half consulted Dr Google and researched her thesis on what’s potentially going wrong, the crockery you’ve had to replace when she returned from every baby-shower…these have all been small fry to what’s coming. If you thought it was stressful up to now…hold on to your horses, cos it’s gonna be just as bad, but with financial stress added to the camel’s back you’ve developed.
Your significant other will tell you that she’s made an appointment with So-and-so fertility god at the local clinic (or if you’re spectacularly unlucky, the clinic is a few hundred miles away which will add a few more straws to your double-humped shoulders). It’s in a month and a half’s time (because these guys are more heavily booked up than the drug dealers at a Amy Winehouse concert).
Strangely, she’ll moan about this delay, but will start doing better emotionally from the minute the appointment’s booked – there’s a plan, there’s forward movement, things are happening (even if the only things that’s happening is that you’re waiting – go figure).
As you approach the appointment, she’s gonna start getting stressed…there are going to be even more discussions about what-if’s, you’ll start receiving calendar appointments for 5 hour strategic planning sessions, so you can map out your responses to every conceivable scenario (and after the 43 trillion hours spent on Google, she’s come up with quite an alarming array of scenario’s). She’s gonna have sleepless nights, struggle to concentrate on anything else and be a little touchy.
A word of advice for you guys…now is not the time to point out that she has bags under her eyes, or that her hair looks like she goes to the same hair-dresser as Worzle Gummidge, or, even worse, that you’ve found a grey one lurking in there. Probably not a good idea to tell her she’s put on some weight and as a result that the dress she’s wearing looks like a relief map of the Andes. Unless of course, you fancy running around the house with a knife-wielding lunatic chasing you. Tell her you fancy her best-friend and think she should invite her round for a threesome if you want a good beating…but whatever you do, do not ask her if she’s sure she wants kids!!
Don’t list the things you’d be giving up if you had children, because, at this point, she’d gladly give up every one of those things to be pregnant. She would sell your house and your cars and every valuable you own if it meant she could have a baby. She’d happily sell most of her friends and every last one of yours into slavery if it would buy her an emplanted embryo.
She’d donate both of your bodies to medical science for the chance of getting those two lines on the pregnancy test kit…and, this is practically what she’s doing…because you’re about to meet the fertility specialist, and he’s gonna put you through more tests than the space shuttles pre-launch sequence…so prepare yourself.
