Mothers Day 2013

         

Mother’s Day. All fertility challenged women dread this day. Anyone who has lost their mother also dreads this day. Hallmark doesn’t make a “losing your mother sucks” or a “Sorry your gas is not a baby” card.

           
I got stuck with the double whammy. No, my mother is alive and in reasonable health for her age. I just don’t know where that is. No, I am not adopted either. My mother just followed the same instincts birds have. Kick your offspring’s behind out of the nest and learn to fly. She could be a little cruel when I was young. Many people have said my mother was so sweet. Well just to them. I got none of that. Maybe that lack of affection was because I look like my father more? Maybe because she just did not want to be a mother? She must have had some type of postpartum depression. My Grandmother and Aunt Mary took her place as maternal roles. I am grateful that my mother let them. Many times they witnessed her being down right cruel. Had it not been for them, I may have become one of those sad headlines where some disturbed mother drowns her kid in the bathtub.

           
So here we are today. As I type this; I have just gotten news that should make me happy but it doesn’t. My first cousins wife is pregnant. This will be their first boy. They have three beautiful girls too. I thought I would take this new alright, but I was wrong. I wish I would have been told privately.  Instead I found out as just facebook friend; crying on my keyboard. The worst self-loathing comes from knowing how selfish it is for being jealous over two people creating another out of their own genitals. In my large family, I guess I can expect the pregnancies to be many. This is a second cousin who unintentionally rubbed my nose in figurative infertility.

I desperately want to cling to a family of mine and my husband’s design. Start our own family traditions. I love my acquired nieces and nephews, but I want to braid my own daughter’s hair and take my own son to soccer. This may not ever happen. The words of others like “it will happen someday”, “just relax” or my personal favorite “God has a plan for you” doesn't ease my pain. It may never happen. No amount of relaxation will make my husband’s count different. If God has a plan, how come there are so many unplanned pregnancies (don’t diminish my hope in God; it’s one of the only hopes I have left)? So for any of your friend's, who don’t have kids or a mother; think about maybe giving them a “you are special to me” card. It will be appreciated more than you know.

As for me; I assume that my wonderful husband will get me some sort of card from my two cute cats. I will spend mother’s day at the day spa, massaging other people’s mothers and giving them facials. I make sure my friends who are single mothers and those who have lost their mothers know I am thinking of them. I will make dinner for my mother-in-law and send it with my husband off her way to spend the day with her. I do not want him dividing time that should be hers for this one day; I have him all the time. And I dream that one day I will have children to spend this one day with me.

© All original content copyright Nancy De Lazzaro Brannum, 2013-2013

Randy's doctor visits and surgery

After our trip to the Gyno; Randy earned a date with a Urologist, Dr. S. Randy prefers to see his doctor alone. After, he said that he needed to take a cold shower lying down in the fetal position. He also had to go to the lab for a semen analysis. This would be the second time he had to go in for what I like to call “medical masturbation”.

           
What he found out from this first visit was that he had vericocele.  In a nut shell (pun intended); vericocele are similar to varicose veins around the testicle. This is a problem because the extra blood flow from these veins creates excess heat making the sperm lethargic. Yes my friends; my husband has “Hot Balls”! Unfortunately, the surgery may or may not have a positive effect on his count. In fact, our insurance covers 100% of this surgery because it is not considered a fertility treatment.

           
My husband hates any form of sedation. He once had a root canal where he asked the dentist to not use Novocain on him. They agreed on the lowest dosage. While the procedure was being performed the medication wore out and the dentist did not know until the end of the procedure when air hit the nerve. Medication would not be negotiable in this surgery, but asked that he not be prescribed Morphine.

           
The day of the surgery, I went to work and got out early and met him and my in-laws at the hospital. My husband was all ready to go. My father-in-law was there for support and comic relief. My Mother-in-law was in full prevention mode, questioning the doctor if there is any way to make sure this could be prevented in the future or if there are any dietary restrictions or any herbal supplements. Randy’s Urologist is fairly humorous for a surgeon and has a great bedside manner. He was very polite with her and patient. He let her know that much like varicose veins; a lot of this is genetic and cannot be prevented. This did not stop her from asking the same questions in different variations.

           
As we said, “good luck, and see you after” I learned that it may not be the right place to ask my husband if he is sure he wants children. I got the glare of death or at least what death would look like with one of those surgery bonnets on. Rightly so; timing is not one of my strong suits. Next, are the family kisses and he is wheeled away.

           
My father-in-law and I are hungry as it is now 12:30pm. We go to a local sandwich shop. My mother-in-law will not leave the hospital. In fact, she doesn’t want food either. Her nerves are shot. Although she has a book; she more than likely has just reread the same sentences over and over. We don’t protest; instead we pick her up a sandwich just in case knowing that her anxiety is just on overdrive. We enjoy our sandwiches and return back. Within twenty minutes of returning from lunch, Dr. S has come out to let us know how Randy is. My mother-in-law finds her last opportunity to ask if this can be prevented, again.  He gives her the same answer. It is genetic.

           
I am escorted back to the recovery room to help him get dressed. This will be the closest I will ever get to as to what Randy would look like inebriated since he does not drink. This does not make my job easier. It looks as if he had a Brazilian waxing gone bad. Giggling is hard not to do when helping one with his drawers. He is 6’3” and not a scrawny guy. He is going to have to sit on a donut looking cushion for the next couple days. This procedure left him with elephantiasis of the nut. The attendant wheels him out to the car. We drive home. My mother-in-law is relieved that he is out of the operating room as are the rest of us.

           
Over the next couple of days, Randy has junk on ice. He goes back to work on light duty. This surgery heals over the next six months. He is told to go to the lab after three months for another medical masturbation session and again after six months. During those six months of healing, we get our insurance paperwork to see a Reproductive Endocrinologist.  Shortly after recovery; we decide visit our favorite place, Disneyland. We avoid the E ticket rides, but Randy found out the hard way that Pirates of the Caribbean is more dangerous than he thought.

© All original content copyright Nancy De Lazzaro Brannum, 2013-2013