The Adventures of (In)Fertile Frank

Four Bean Salad

2008-07-09T15:17:00.003-04:00

I know, I know, I never call, I never write, I am quite simply a bad blogger.

My only excuse is that I have 3 month old twins at home and my opportunities for prioritizing have been reduced to, "should I go take a shower or eat something today." Yes, the Beans twins have arrived, bringing great joy and chaos into our household. Unfotunately, the twins (a boy and a girl) came into the world 11 weeks early and spent the first 70 days of their life in the NICU. While other bloggers have admirably updated the outside world from the confines of the hospital walls, my writing capabilities were reduced to signing insurance papers and "informed consents."

Mrs. Beans and I have described the whole experience as a very unfunny version of "Groundhog Day", the Bill Murray comedy vehicle, in which he plays a weatherman living the same day over and over again. I canceled my classes for the rest of the semester and we basically spent every day in the hospital or at some hideous baby store retrieving all of the gear that we had convinced ourselves we had plenty of time to obtain.

The good news is that we have two happy and healthy little babies who are the center of our universe. This marks the end of my blogging efforts for the moment, but I may return in another format. To those of you who have traveled with us on this journey, I say "thank you," and to those who are just starting out or who must continue to fight long odds on your way to parenthood I wish you the best of luck.

Peace,

Frank N. Beans

Beans Family Update!

2008-03-20T23:00:00.003-04:00

So the goal was to have a glorious return to the blogosphere, Ph.D. in hand, and a tenure track position secured at Ivy U (after negotiating a live-in nanny for the little beans).

Alas, the dissertation is still a few weeks from completion and my job search now involves repeatedly hitting the refresh button on my e-mail with the hope that some search committee chair will contact me to profusely apologize because my application accidentally slipped behind the radiator and they simply have to meet me immediately so they can shower me with grant money and book contracts. Yes, that is the stink of desperation that you smell. Just one more "bitch" about an academic job search. They generally don't bother to tell you if you are rejected and it is considered uncouth to check on the status of the search. So, basically there is a lot of waiting and wondering involved.

Despite the stresses of jobs and living arrangements the babies are doing excellent. We just passed the 24 week mark and Mrs. Beans is doing fantastic. Both babies are measuring "singleton" size and it is hard to believe that they will continue to grow (tip for dads of multiples, don't let your wife see footage of John and Kate plus 8 on TLC). Our evenings involve a routine of heating pads, ice cream, and the dreaded maternity fashion show as Mrs. Beans tries to determine what to wear to work the next morning. Frankly, I don't get it. We have a lot of nice maternity clothes that we purchases or that was given to us by friends and family, yet Mrs. Beans insists on trying to squeeze just one more "wear" out of every outfit. I swear I heard her jeans cry out for help the other night. Now, I think that she looks beautiful and I tell her this on a regular basis, but she is only reluctantly starting to wear her maternity outfits with any regularity.

Actually, I might need to start wearing her maternity clothes soon. I have come down with a classic case of couvades (sympathy pains) and put on 15 lbs. This came as a bit of a shock because I had lost a ton of weight while we were doing the "healthy lifestyle changes" while preparing for IVF. You know, cutting back on the crack and trying to limit my exposure radioactive materials. It turns out that husbands who go through ART are more likely to get sympathy pains (and this must be true because I read it on google). Did this happen to any other fathers out there? In any event, I am running again and preparing for some serious car carrier lifting.

Speaking of which, we registered for some baby shower items recently... holy crap! We had no intention of doing a shower, but fell for the "everybody else is doing it, so why not us" argument, and thank god we did. Now, we are neither frugal nor extravagant, but I don't think we had really thought about the extra costs of twins. Even if you are trying to shop wisely and gently used, the baby "start-up" costs are astronomical. As someone joked on another blog, "I hope that come out ready to mow some lawns." That's silly babies can't mow lawns... but they can launch their own brand from a sitcom full of cheesy puns (and co-starring Steve Guttenberg)...

He's a struggling musician. She's a bounty hunter with a sordid past . Together they are trying to raise twins as they travel across the country in search of hot gigs and cool cons!

Look for "Double Trouble" coming this fall to UPN!

We hope that all is well out there, and we will be updating more frequently as we hit the home stretch. Thanks for you patience and I am looking forward to catching up with the blogs.

Time Out!

2008-01-14T00:01:00.000-05:00

Okay, I have been having a serious case of "the guilties" over the past few weeks for not blogging so I am calling an official time out for the next 4 to 6 weeks.

I don't believe that I have ever mentioned this before, but while my wife is carrying twins, I am gestating a dissertation and searching for a tenure-tracked position in academia. Unfortunately, I have yet to find an institution that will acknowledge the value of my vast knowledge of pop culture. Alas, I am left with no choice but to complete my dissertation immediately and go knocking on the doors of various ivory towers. This whole situation has become a huge source of stress as we try to plan for the arrival of the twins with no knowledge of where we will be seven months from now. That being said, I need to take a small break and focus on meeting some self-imposed deadlines.

I will be back to update the Beans family saga in about a month and checking in on your blogs! In the meantime, enjoy these pics of the twins at 12 weeks!

Celebrating a "Happy Ending"

2007-12-17T15:53:00.001-05:00

The past few weeks have been quite eventful for the Beans family. Last Wednesday marked the final day of progesterone injections and on Friday we had our first appointment with the new OB/GYN.

While the final shot has occurred, Mrs. Beans' butt continues to bear the tell-tale tracks of someone with a severe heroin habit. Apparently her poor little rump was a bit more damaged than we had anticipated, as layers of skin have started to peel and flake off. Yuck.

Frankly, we are both relieved to be done with this part of the process; although, our initial needle resentments primarily centered on the limitations that the timing of the shot put on our social life. That really isn't a problem anymore, since Mrs. Beans is now exhausted from playing the role of a 24/7 "hostess with the mostess" to our unborn children (now in fetus size!). Case in point, a few weeks ago we made a trip to Target and had an early supper (4:30) at a Friendly's in the mall parking lot. Let's just say we were a little out of place.

Seinfeld used to have a bit about the employees who worked at the movie theater. Something about all of the ticket takers being either 14 or 84 and that it took 70 years to move three feet. The same can be said about the clientèle of a Friendly's restaurant, everyone was either under 20 or over 80. And can we discuss the "Happy Ending" dessert? Who the hell came up with that marketing campaign? Is it a joke? Do they have a special training for the wait staff so they can practice asking customers if they want a happy ending with a straight face? Is there any estimate on the number of WWII vets who were disappointed after ordering a meal from the senior menu with the promise or a FREE Happy Ending, only to realize later that it is a clown shaped ice cream cone and not a sex act?

In addition to our outrageously exciting social lives we have also transitioned to a new OB/GYN. The atmosphere in the waiting room could not be more different. Imagine a world where it is permissible to make eye contact! We did get quite a chuckle out of our first appointment. First or all, we had never realized that the world is so rife with STDs! Of course, we had been screened during our fertility treatments, but we must have answered a dozen questions and this is also the first chapter in most of the pregnancy books that we have been reading.

The highlight of the exam was when the nurse asked me if I had fathered any other children.

"Ummm, have you seen my lab results?"

Glances at computer

"Oh. I'll just check no."

We were a little disappointed that we did not get another ultrasound (we were eager to check in), but apparently in the fertile world they do not monitor you quite as closely. However, since we do have twins and are technically "high risk" we are having an Early Risk Assessment next week, so we will get to take another peak. Apparently, they can get a much better idea about any developmental issues by taking a blood sample and taking some extensive measurements using the ultrasound. Based on the results we can decide if we need to do amniocentesis in the 16th week. Pretty cool stuff and we are excited at the prospect of getting more information and potentially avoiding a rather invasive test later on.

And finally we received our due date, July 9th! It really doesn't mean much since twins tend to go earlier, but we are still excited to have a target date in mind.

Please, Don't Feed the Beans

2007-11-30T20:34:00.000-05:00

I have not felt sympathy for an inanimate object since I read the Velveteen Rabbit as a small boy. I did feel some brief pangs of pity for some of the characters on the Island of the Misfit Toys in Rudolph the Red-nose Reindeer, but it was fleeting, as claymation tends to freak me out.

Yet, the other day I found myself feeling sorry for the holiday cupcake that Mrs. Beans demolished in about 2.3 seconds. It is difficult to find an appropriate metaphor for the combination of pure efficiency and animal instinct that Mrs. Beans employed when she devoured that cupcake. Has anyone ever seen a calf-roping contest? They release the poor calf and it runs like crazy for about 10 feet until it is lassoed and hog-tied by the pursuing cowboy in about 3 seconds. You feel awful for the poor little calf, but at the same time a small part of you thinks, "Holy shit! I can't believe how fast that was!" I think this might best describe the experience and I literally stood there slack-jawed.

In any event, I found myself feeling sorry for the poor little cupcake. What did it do to deserve a fate like that? I know, I know, its the circle of life, and perhaps if the cupcake wasn't so darned delectable with its buttery frosted goodness and sassy holiday funfetti topping it could have lived a longer and fuller life, but it just seems wrong. I am strongly considering the purchase of one of those hand held catapults that you use to throw tennis balls for your dog. I mean doesn't the cupcake deserve a fighting chance?

I think part of the problem is the realization that I am now living with a full-blown predator. I am left to pick over the remains of whatever Mrs. Beans has devoured and I have taken to stashing a small package of Saltines in my dresser door. I break out in the chills when the packaging crinkles and makes a noise as I attempt to open it in the confines of my closet.

crinkle, crinkle

"What are you eating!?!?"

"Mmmm.... uh, N-n-nuthing." As I frantically wipe crumbs off of my chest.

Frankly, keeping the cupboards stocked has become a major priority for me. I've seen the way she eyes me when she thinks that I'm not looking. I'm just one false move from becoming an appetizer.

Man Seeking Minivan... Wood paneling a plus.

2007-11-26T23:35:00.000-05:00

There is an old proverb that goes something like, "A spoonful of honey will catch more flies than a gallon of vinegar."

And that old proverb is dead wrong.

Today was our final appointment at the fertility clinic and it could not have gone any better. Mrs. Beans and I were expecting some scowling faces, especially after we reiterated our desire that the doctor from our previous examine not be present. However, it was all kittens and rainbows down at the baby factory. Sure, the nurses and doctors were probably pointing and whispering behind our backs, but who cares!? Our face-to-face interactions were easily an 11 out of 10. The doctors couldn't have been any nicer and walked us through the exam in great detail. It is too bad that you basically have to raise hell to get what you need. But I digress. The results are in...

And....

TWINS!!!!The wand doctor had no more said, "Let's play a little game called 'just the tip,' see how it feels" when the babies floated into view. Yes, two healthy little Beans were spotted "spooning" in the upper reaches of Mrs. Beans uterus. They are both the same size (7 weeks, 2 days) and have heartbeats of 165 and 147 (I will assume that this is a resting heart rate since they didn't seem to be doing too much). Mrs. Beans is technically 7 weeks and 5 days, but according to the doctor the "size lag" is no big deal. One of the babies has a much larger gestational sac/apartment, but again we were assured that "size doesn't matter." I am feeling excited and Mrs. Beans is feeling tired and hungry! She is snacking for 3!

Bean Wolf!

2007-11-20T22:55:00.000-05:00

Over the past few days I have been trying to catch up on my blog reading and I have noticed that some bloggers have transferred me over to the "expecting" category on their blog rolls. This is totally fine (and accurate), but this came as a bit of a shock. Mrs. Beans and I still "knock on wood" about about every ten minutes. As previously mentioned, we are very nervous and continue to worry incessantly about the status of Mary-Kate and Ashley. I know that at week 12 the chances of "that which shall not be named" decrease significantly, but I think that I might continue to work over the ol' worry dolls until the birth... or maybe even high school graduation (side note: In 3rd grade I "shop-lifted" a worry doll on a field trip to an international fair in Minneapolis, and then in a fit of irony proceeded to use the worry doll to lament my crime and inevitable capture/incarceration).

It is a little awkward to shift identities. One day I am "Infertile Frank" and the next I am "Fertile Frank" (with 14,000 dollars worth of assistance). Strange as it seems, I had grown accustomed to the label of "infertile." It is a label that has brought so much pain to our lives, but at the same time it has become a part of my identity. Now I need some time to learn a new role, that of an "expecting father," but I am hesitant to try it on for fear that it might be stripped away. Okay, this is getting pretty deep, pretty fast... hmmm, I need an inappropriate and light hearted analogy.... Got it!

This transition from "infertile" to "expecting father" is not unlike the character transformation detailed in the 80s hit film Teen Wolf! As you may recall, the protagonist is Scott Howard (played by Michael J. Fox), an average Midwestern teen, who starts to undergo a series of mysterious changes (to him anyway, not so mysterious if you saw the movie poster). Initially the signs of the transformation are subtle, a long chest hair, rapidly growing fingernails, glowing red eyes, etc., but eventually he loses control and completely morphs into his werewolf alter ego.

Thanks to the help of his best friend "Stiles" and his prodigious basketball skills, he is embraced by the students and the town-at-large. Unfortunately, the rapid transformation triggers a minor identity crisis in Scott and he struggles to adapt to his new powers. Eventually, he comes to learn that the old Scott wasn't so bad and that the "wolf," while a significant part of him, does not define him as an individual. Perhaps it is the same way with my transformation. Certainly fatherhood will change me in some fundamental ways, but "Infertile Frank" is still an important part of who I am and always will be.

Also, some lingering Teen Wolf questions/observations:

The antagonist in the film is Mick, who competes with Scott for the girl Pamela Wells and on the basketball court (he plays for the Dragons). Yet, somehow they also attend the same high school? Can someone please explain to me how they can attend the same small Midwestern high school and yet play for different high school teams?

Next, is dribbling really an obvious "wolf" skill? If anything, I would think that the elongated hind legs would be a hindrance to an individual's hoop skills. Furthermore, I think that the immediate acceptance of Scott by the rest of the student body was a little too quick. I don't know about the rest of you, but "different" didn't exactly fly at my high school.

Finally, what kind of nickname is Boof? I looked it up on IMDB and the character's name is "Lisa 'Boof' Marconi," so it is not like Boof is short for Boofinski or something. "7th Grade Frank" always thought that Boof sounded dirty, but my 7th grade body also found algebra vaguely erotic (I also giggled that the team mascot in the movie was the "Beaver"). "Modern Frank" still thinks that Boof is a little suspect and frankly, it didn't seem like that was her first time "in the closet" if you know what I mean. I would be willing to bet that Boof's name is carved into quite a few bathroom stalls in Beacontown High School.

Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving everyone... and to our Canadian friends, well Boxing Day is just around the corner.

Revenge of the Beans!

2007-11-17T12:51:00.001-05:00

"Oh We're Not Gonna Take It!

No, We Ain't Gonna Take It!
Oh We're Not Gonna Take It, Anymoooooore!"

Ah, the harmonious sounds of Twisted Sister, now serving as the official Beans family anthem. In general the Beans are a peaceful clan. Our preferred form of aggression is "passive" (hence, my penchant for blogging). We are the type of family that leaves nasty notes when people steal our newspaper, rather than risk face to face confrontation.

But after our last doctor's appoint something strange happened to Mrs. Beans. I don't know if it is the hormones or if she is morphing into a mama bear before my eyes, but before I knew it she called up the doctor's office and went all Ethan Hunt on their ass!

Doctor: I can understand that you are very upset.

Mrs. Beans: Doctor, You've never seen me very upset.

Woo-hoo! I was very proud of her. She explained to the head of the clinic that she was very disappointed with her last appointment and that we left with more questions than answers. She explained that in the future we needed to have the appointment addressed to us and not to the supervising doctor. That it was important for us to have the ultrasound explained in detail. Very calmly she pointed out that she repeatedly had to take the initiative during the appointment to ask for clarification as medical jargon rained down on our heads.

To the credit of the doctor who runs the clinic (and who we like a great deal), he was very responsive and apologetic. While he was supportive of his own staff, he validated Mrs. Beans feelings and assured her that she would not have to see the same physicians for our final visit.

Overall, I think that it was a very productive conversation and that Mrs. Beans felt better afterwards. Now that we have had a few days to reflect, I think that what is bothering us is that the doctor seemed to be pointing out a number of "problems" (or at least we perceived them as problems since there was no explanation). Between the HUGE cysts, a seemingly empty gestational sac, and the large amounts of free fluid in the uterine chamber, we were left feeling that there was a lot of crazy stuff going on down below and this raised some alarms for us concerning miscarriage. We now know that these symptoms are common, but because of the nonchalant attitude of the doctors, e.g. "everything looks okay for now", we were sent into a bit of a downward spiral. I must say that even now that we know better, we are still feeling quite a bit of nervous tension. We want our innocence back! Or at the very least some reassuring statements following a lengthy, invasive, and expensive journey.

In the meantime, I am cooking up a storm for the ladies. Last night they devoured some bow-tie pasta with a lovely sauce consisting of sausage, onions, sage and cannelli beans. Tonight it is homemade potato and corn chowder (with some bacon bits for good measure). Bon appetit lil' Beans!

Poor Stirrup-Side Manner

2007-11-12T17:26:00.001-05:00

Today was our first ultrasound (5 weeks, 5 days), the great news is that there is a nice healthy sac/yolk in there and an additional gestational sac that was very difficult to see (so there is the potential that there is another, but he/she is just hiding at the moment).

Of course we are grateful, but at the same time feeling a little frustrated by our appointment. Let's just say that the "stirrup-side manner" left something to be desired.

The wand was being operated by a "fellow" (inexperienced rookie) and her rotund supervisor was hovering behind her.

We got off to a rough start when the rookie's first words were, "WHOA! You have a HUGE cyst on your ovary!" "Did you know that?"

I was very proud of Mrs. Beans who calmly replied, "Well, I have been feeling some pressure, but obviously there would be no way for me to know that it was a cyst."

This is where Mrs. Beans is a good balance for my acidic sarcasm. I was ready to jump down her throat, "Yes, we purchased a home ultra sound a' la Tom Cruise and Katie Holme's and we have been monitoring the growth of the cyst. She's a real beauty, eh?"

Next, she moved over to the uterus and saw "a pregnancy." We were happy to hear that the measurements were on track when she exclaimed, "OH! WAIT, there is something else in here? Is that a... what is that!?!?" Based on her tone, visions of an Alien bursting out of Mrs. Beans chest danced through my head. Mental note: As we begin the search for an OB/GYN "really panicky" is not a characteristic that we enjoy among medical professionals.

"Is that another pregnancy? How many embryos did you transfer?" she asked incredulously.

Mrs. Beans, "2"

ME: TRY READING THE FUCKING CHART YOU IDIOT!!!

"I don't know about this one. I can't see a yolk. Chuck can you see a yolk?" (Chuck being the attending who is hovering behind).

Chuck (not looking at the screen) replies, "Nope."

"Let's me try a different angle," says the rookie as she mounts Mrs. Beans. "Nah, nothing. Can't get a good shot."

Keep in mind that no one in the room is directing any conversation toward us.

She moves down the wand, "Oh wow! There is A LOT of free fluid down here! See all that free fluid Chuck?"

Chuck replies, "Yes."

Mrs. Beans, "Umm, and what is free fluid?"

The doctor looks up, startled to see Mrs. Beans on the table.

"Free fluid is... uh... Chuck, you tell her."

Chuck (exasperated with our stupidity), "Free fluid is just blood and left over medicine that has pooled together, nothing to worry about."

Right. We feel much better. Unfortunately, I can go on and on with more examples. I will simply leave you with this. After Chuck and the nurses left the room I asked about the chances for twins based on what they saw on the ultrasound.

Dr. Sunshine replied, "Well, hard to say since they were behind one another, but I would say very slim. I can't really give odds, but if I was a gambler, I wouldn't put any money on it."

Funny, but if I wanted a gambler's opinion, my wife would be splayed out naked on a craps table in Vegas. As it is, we decided to see a medical doctor instead. So how 'bout you just tell stick to what you saw and tells in scientific terms.

Arrghh! I apologize for complaining, but we have been looking forward to this day for a long time and the dehumanizing nature of our 15 minute appointment, literally drained all of the energy out of the both of us. Sadly they didn't even know that they were being complete assholes.

Okay, I had to vent. We are putting this behind us (and apparently on the blog for posterity) and focusing on how happy we are to have one and possibly two, healthy and beautiful sacs! I will try to write something lucid and less angry soon.

(Less)Fertile Frank Report

2007-11-06T17:01:00.000-05:00

Mrs. Beans had another beta yesterday, 1,307 so she seems to be doubling down appropriately.

Our pregnancy scan (Yikes! Why can't they just call it a regular old ultrasound) is scheduled for next Monday. The nurse said, "Schedule it for Monday or Tuesday, whatever you feel like."

Are you serious? I want to camp out in the hospital lobby on Sunday night and tailgate with mocktails and BBQ. Unfortunately, we had to settle for an afternoon appointment.

Finally, I just wanted to pass on a word of thanks from the both of us for your support and excitement. I know that thus far we have been very fortunate. I also wanted to give a special thanks to those who shared our cycle and were not as lucky, but still took the time to congratulate us. I thought this was exceptionally generous and want you to know that our hearts go out to you.

And the beta is.....

2007-11-03T12:42:00.000-04:00

674!

Holy SHIT!

We know that it is still early, but we are tremendously excited!

More later!

Like Beans Through the Hourglass, So Are the Days of our Lives

2007-10-30T22:16:00.000-04:00

In a mere two and a half days they will be drawing blood for our pregnancy test. Obviously we are getting excited and hope to be celebrating, but I also know that we will quickly be in wait mode again. If everything worked and we do get a positive than we need to come back 48 hours later for another blood test to see how everything is progressing, and next make an appointment for an ultrasound a week later. Are both Mary-Kate and Ashley holding on? Basically, I feel like Jack Bauer, walking around with one of those digital countdown clocks in my head. beep-doop, beep-doop, beep-doop. Frankly, I am not sure if I will really feel that we are out of the woods until January.

On a related note, I have been thinking lately that one of the more frustrating aspects of this process is that IVF robs you of your privacy with regard to telling people. Before IF, I always imagined having a few weeks to savor the news of nascent pregnancy. Mrs. Beans and I would nervously hold hands in the waiting room through our first doctors visits, leisurely peruse the advertisements for nursery furniture in the Sunday paper, make lists of potential names, and think about how and when we would share our big news. Now I have a list of phone calls to make after we get the results. Don't get me wrong, without the love and unyielding support of our close friends and family (many of whom read this blog), there is no way that we could have gotten this far. But selfishly, I wish that we had some time to digest the news, good or bad. I also think what really worries me is that there is a reason (which shall not be named) that people do not run around telling others about their pregnancies until the end of the 2nd or 3rd month (at least). My worst nightmare is having to make those phone calls. Yikes! Guess, I am feeling a bit anxious. Back to Norman Vincent Peale mode.

Other updates? Well, our 2 remaining embryos continued to develop and we now have two waiting in the on deck circle for FET. I know that it doesn't work this way, but I can't help but take their development as a positive sign for Mary-Kate and Ashley. We received a very lovely form letter from our clinic. "We at Baby Factory, Inc. Wish you nothing but the best on your journey to parenthood and wish to inform you that we froze _____ embryos from your most recent retrieval." I was feeling a little frustrated with this Hallmark moment so I called them up and asked for some more details. They assured me that the blastocysts were of high quality, although one was a bit more advanced. (Please note that the accompanying picture is Trot and not JD "Nancy" Drew, Sox fans will know this is important)

What else? Mrs. Beans is feeling very uncomfortable. She is being a very good sport about her injections, but I think that she is at capacity. Over the last four days quite a bit of the progesterone has been leaking out of the injection site. Of course, we called the pharmacy and the IVF nurses in a panic and they assured us that it was no big deal, but I am still worried. Has this ever happened to anyone else? Mrs. Beans, who incidentally would have made a fantastic Civil War doctor based on her medical theories (Headache soldier? Must be too much blood in your head, let's bleed it out!), has decided that her body, specifically her ass, is filled up like a giant progesterone water balloon, and the needle is simply springing a leak, cartoon character style.

Finally, I wanted to share this resource that I happened upon earlier this week while googling "IVF pregnancy tests, how soon is too soon?" This site gives the IVF success rates of the majority of the country's clinics. The data is from 2005 and obviously dependent upon a variety of different factors, but we still wish that we would have had this centralized info at our fingertips a few months ago. It even comes with a handy map! I will add it to my sidebar as well. Enjoy!

Please keep your fingers crossed!

Two Beans in the Oven

2007-10-22T11:07:00.000-04:00

Well, our transfer is complete and as of Saturday morning we have two little beans hanging out in the oven.

I must admit, there were several surprises in store for us this weekend. Somehow we had convinced ourselves that we were going to have a five day transfer, so we were in a pretty relaxed mood on Saturday morning. We were supposed to call in at 8:3o to see if we were on for Saturday or Monday, but much to our surprise the phone rang at 8:28. It was one of the nurses telling Mrs. Beans to go pee, pop a Valium, start drinking water, and get to the office by 9:30 for a 10:00 transfer.

Mind you, we had convinced ourselves that we were going to have a 5 day transfer, so we morning preparations consisted of laying in bed eating cinnamon rolls and watching DVDs.

Holy Shit! Thank god for the Valium because it was a not a low stress morning. We showered up, threw on some clothes, and raced to the clinic (all the while Mrs. Beans was downing her 32 oz. of liquid). We breathlessly arrived at the office at 9:33, but of course we were just told to take a seat.

10 o'clock came and went and we didn't hear a single word for any of the staff. All the while, Mrs. Beans is becoming increasingly uncomfortable because she is not allowed to use the facilities. She is on the verge of breaking down and heading to the can, when one of the nurses comes to get us at 10:10. I tell the nurse how uncomfortable Mrs. Beans is and point out that they are running late (despite the fact that we are the only ones there), but the nurse encourages her to hold on for just a bit longer because they are going to start any minute.

At this point Mrs. Beans is starting to actually sweat as a result of the effort that it is taking to "hold it." I put on the haz-mat suit that they use to make husbands feel important and we are ready to go, but still no doctor and still no embryologist. Finally, at 10:25, Mrs. Beans cannot take it anymore and she has to use that bathroom. The nurse, who now is being very sympathetic and has placed a threatening phone call to the doctor, tells Mrs. Beans to do a "five-count" pee. I had never really thought about this, but it is much harder for women to "hold it," than for men. After all, there is not really an "it" that you can hold to keep it in. But I digress. Mrs. Beans relieved herself (she later told me that she did a "10 count") and the doctor finally arrived.

We immediately went into the room and the embryologist joined us. They said that of the five remaining embryos, one had arrested at 3 cells, two were at 6 cells and needed further development, and that we had two 8 cell, grade A embies that they were going to transfer today. Now this was not exactly the consult that was described in the literature. So, much to their chagrin, I actually stopped them.

"Wait a minute, you have been telling us all along that one was the preferred number to transfer for someone under the age of 35. Is there something wrong with the embryos?"

"No, no, we generally transfer one on a five day transfer, because we have a better idea of the viability of a blastocyst. Since you are down to two embryos, we don't want to wait for the 5 day and we want to put them in right away."

All of this was fine, but it certainly came as a surprise to the both of us. We have basically memorized the IVF literature at our clinic and can quote sections chapter and verse. "And on the 3rd day, thou shall not transfer more that two embryos into a patient under the age of 35! Can I get an Amen!?!? Hallelujah!"

Anyway, they showed us the pictures of the embryos (I am calling them Mary-Kate and Ashley), and prepared Mrs. Beans. The doctor was brazen enough to comment, "my your bladder certainly is full!" Yeah, no kidding?

So, Mrs. Beans was pretty focused on not peeing in the doctor's face, but I got to witness the transfer and it was pretty awesome. There was a little flash and you could see them (or at least some small bubbles) being shot into the uterus (And that Tommy is how babies are made!).

We were obviously the only couple with a procedure that morning, as the nurse gave us our final instructions and asked us if we knew the way out!?!?

Umm, yeah, do you want us to get the lights and log off the computers too?

Anyway, we came home and all of a sudden the Valium kicked in (better late than never), so Mrs. Beans took a brisk 6 hour nap! She refused to be roused, even when I came into the room to inform her that J.K. Rowling announced that Dumbledore is gay. Under normal circumstances she would have shot out of bed at such explosive news, but on Saturday she simply said, "Howzistisns.... snooort... hasdsdu... gay?" and rolled back over.

The rest of the weekend was spent trying to convince Mary-Kate and Ashley to attach ASAP. My sister brought over a wide variety of magazines for Mrs. Beans, some friends made some homemade soup, I whipped up a batch of homemade meatballs, and my SIL and BIL brought over some fantastic Indian food on Sunday. Hopefully, plying them with gifts and home cooked meals will do the trick. So that's were we are at for the moment. The pregnancy test is set for November 3rd which seems impossibly far away, so we are trying to stay busy. Thanks for all of your positive thoughts! They really do make a difference!

IVF: A Week in Review

2007-10-19T09:52:00.000-04:00

A very busy week at Casa de Beans.

The HcG shot went off without a hitch on Monday night (I might have gone a little low, so Mrs. Beans was a little sore), but the nurses drew some new circles so the progesterone has gone much better.

Since we are doing ICSI we were the first couple on the docket for Wednesday morning. The nurses explained that I would "do my business" at 7 am (cause who doesn't want to do that first thing in the morning). And the retrieval would take place at 8 o'clock. This made a little more sense with regard to the possibility that Mrs. Beans could assist me. It lead to the following exchange:

FNB: So, I guess that you could come into the room with me.

Mrs. Beans: Yeah, well, it seems strange, I've never watched you masturbate before, not sure that I want to start now.

FNB: Watch? I think the idea is that you are supposed to "lend a hand." (me making 'air quotes' with my fingers)

Mrs. Beans: (laughing) Oh right.

FNB: Are you kidding me? What were you going to stand in the corner with your arms crossed and shout out instructions?

Mrs. Beans: (still laughing) It was the Lupron talking.

FNB: Seriously, what are you like a coxswain, "Stroke... Stroke.... Stroke.... "

Mrs. Beans: Okay. Stop.
So obviously Mrs. Beans was not going to be a lot of help in this department.

Tuesday night we both had a restless sleep, Mrs. Beans being haunted by visions of a needle in her va-jay-jay, and I put the following cycle of dreams on repeat.

1. Frank can't get it up to make the deposit and ruins $14,000 dollar cycle.
2. Frank over shoots the cup, ends up on hands and knees trying to rescue sample and ruins $14,000 dollar cycle.
3. Frank can't finish the deal and has to sweatily march back into a waiting room full or people (like nightclub full) to get Mrs. Beans.

Good Times.

So, neither one of us was feeling one hundred percent on Wednesday morning. I knew that I need to break up the sour mood, so on the drive to the doctor's office, I took out the i-pod and blared the Theme Music from Superman. I drove with one hand and thrust out my right fist in the Superman "flying pose" as we cruised through the early morning empty streets. On the way I snapped off salutes to the dog walkers and commuters and with a deep voice shouted "Good Morning, citizen!"

It was good for a few laughs from Mrs. Beans (but I think she grew a little tired of it).

We arrived at the office and I went into the "spunkatorium." There on the "nightstand" was a pile of movies and I kid you not, on top was a DVD entitled Asian Take-Out 5. Yet, I persevered. I discovered that the trick for me was to not touch anything in the gross little closet and to not utilize any of the visual aids. I felt like much less of a deviant. I finished up rather quickly, but waited an additional 3 to 5 minutes, "cause I ain't no one minute man."

It was Mrs. Beans turn next and she was a champ. After assuring that anesthesiologist that she was not on any "street drugs" they knocked her out and did the retrieval. I came back into the room as she was waking up. ME: "How did it go?" HER: "I think I bit my lip."

They retrieved 7 eggs which we thought was a little low, especially since they were raving about her ovaries and how well she was responding. This is where being an avid blog reader can be a bit of a detriment because I knew that many women were well into the double digits. Still, I didn't want to worry Mrs. Beans, so when the doctors said that it was a "good number," I let it slide. Later we casually asked the nurse why there were so many follicles and so few eggs. She explained that they triggered based on the most mature follies and the others didn't have time to catch up. So why didn't they wait for the stragglers? We are not sure, but we think it is because Mrs. Beans was on a protocol for women with high risk for OHSS.

Anyway, we declared to one another that it is quality, not quantity that counts and headed home. I set Mrs. Beans up with some Grey's Anatomy DVDs and snacks in the bedroom and I worked from home.

We didn't need to wait too long on Thursday for the fertilization call. Of the seven eggs all were mature, 1 failed to fertilize and another developed abnormally, leaving us with 5 strong looking embies. The nurse said that there was a chance that they would want to do a 5 day transfer with us, so we have an appointment for a 3 day on Saturday, but we need to call and we may get bumped to Monday. The nurse said that 3 vs. 5 is neither a good or bad sign, but we consulted with Dr. Google and determined that you can choose better embies if all of them continue to develop up through day 5.

So, we are pretty excited and nervous. It was quite a relief to know that the eggs fertilized and we have something to work with. We are patiently waiting (sans wine, I asked and it was a no go) for Saturday morning's call.

I leave you with this video that I have been saving for this day (show your husbands or significant others because this is how boys think)!

Ovaries are fully loaded... it's time to STRUT!

2007-10-15T10:16:00.001-04:00

Have you noticed a young woman struting through downtown? It may be Mrs. Beans.

Mrs. Beans had a kick-ass weekend, her follies are large and in charge and as a result they have moved up our retrieval day by 48 hours! Pending results from the blood test, the trigger shot will be tonight and we will be back in on Wednesday morning. Woo-hoo! The RE's have been gushing over Mrs. Beans ovaries. It's almost embarrassing, we think they might have a pin-up calendar of Miss Righty in their office.

It has made for a hectic weekend as we were in for an ultrasound on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Mrs. Beans commented that it feels like the movie Groundhog's Day, where Bill Murray keeps reliving the same day over and over. We (especially she) is not an early riser on the weekend, so two 6:30 am wake-up calls have made for some long days.

We are also going to ask the doctor if we can have a final glass of wine in between the retrieval and the transfer. We haven't had a drink in 6 weeks and hopefully we (she) will be on the wagon for another 10 months! On the other hand, everything is going so well that we don't want to jinx anything. This is how our neurotic minds work.

I am psyching myself up for the big shot tonight. I have taken over the Gonal/Repron shots so I am feeling confident. The only part that scares me is when I need to draw back a little to check for blood (to make sure that I didn't hit a vein or anything). However, I know that it goes much better when I am confident, quick, and efficient so I will be reviewing the videos this afternoon.

Okay, thanks for all of the support, I have been keeping up with everyone, even if I have been slacking on the comments.

Wish us luck!

Crazy Train

2007-10-10T18:50:00.000-04:00

Shhh! whisper! she hears everything.

i can't blog for long... she'll be home soon.

Mrs. Beans is 5 days deep in a Gonal-F/Repron fog... i've... i've noticed some changes.

it usually starts with a headache...

Wait! Did you hear something? Stay absolutely still. It can sense your fear...

Whew, okay, just the neighbors cat. Easy Frank.

Anyway, it started with the headaches, then she started forgetting things... stopping mid-sentence, going into rooms, but not knowing why...

Next it was... well the destruction. The drugs seem to have wreaked havoc with her equilibrium. Running into tables, knives being dropped, a bottle of nail polish on our carpet (I am calling it a Pollock).

But it's the emotions that scare me the most. The laughing jags for no apparent reason. Not a lilting girlish laugh mind you, but a deep guttural laugh... like the laugh of a scary, murderous clown out on parole.

Am I in danger? Yes, I think so.

For now I am fending her off with pints of Ben and Jerry's but my supply is running low. I am not sure how much longer I can last.

p.s. these shots are a real bitch. We are encountering a lot of resistance when we push down on the plunger of the syringe. In the video it looks like a smooth continuous motion, but in our experience it is more a series of jerky stops and starts. Are we doing something wrong?

The Pressure Cooker

2007-10-05T10:37:00.000-04:00

*** WARNING Very graphic and crass blog entry to follow!***

This morning we went in for our baseline ultrasound. Mrs. Beans ovaries are looking "robust," so we are on to the Gonal-F and Repronex tomorrow evening. The RE recommended mixing the Gonal and Repron together to make one shot. It's been years since we shut down our meth lab, so we are a little nervous about mixing up the drugs. Has anyone out there done this? Is it easy?

After the ultrasound we were able to sit down with the IVF nurse and asked a few questions. First, thanks to a tip that we learned from that treasure trove "the IVF Shoot Em' Up," we asked for and were given 1 inch needles instead of 1 1/2 inch needles for the progesterone shots, Yippee! As the designated "shooter" I was pretty excited about the reduction in length, as I was worried about making a Beans-ka-bob, out of my rather petite wife. We also got a better idea of when the retrieval and transfers will take place. They do coincide with some interesting football and baseball games, but I wisely kept this to myself.

Next, we asked if I needed to produce my sample at the doctor's office or if I could do it at home and bring it in. The back story being that I HATE going into the "spankatorium" and I have done my last two samples in the cozy confines of "Casa de Beans."

I have to admit that I am more than a little nervous about this final deposit, especially considering that there is now an element of timing involved. I feel like I am back in Little League. "Bases loaded, two outs, bottom of the ninth.... okay, Beans it's up to you. Drive in that run and win the game." I usually operate pretty well under pressure, but the nature of this particular situation is turning into a source of great angst.

Anyway, the IVF nurse said that I could do it at home as a last resort, but that it was strongly encouraged that I do it in the lab to provide the "freshest" possible sample. She knows that we are self pay and added, "it is quite an investment (emotionally, physically, financially) to get to this point, so you want to consider all of you options carefully."

Oh really? Thanks for clearing that up, I feel much more relaxed now!

The nurse went on to say, that Mrs. Beans could provide an assist, but frankly we are a little confused as to how that works and were too embarrassed to ask. Well, we understand how it works, but I mean with the timing and everything. Our understanding is that A. Mrs. Beans will pop some Valium beforehand and B. there will be some discomfort after the retrieval. We have talked about it, and envision Mrs. Beans, all groggy from the medication, slipping off the table and staggering over to the spunkatorium.

Mrs. Beans purrs, "Oh yeah, you like that, don't you Frankie?"

Frank replies, "Umm, that's a lamp. I'm over here."

A few minutes later we are in the Beansmobile going to work and we had the following conversation:

FNB: So, they really want me to come into the office for the sample.

Mrs. B: Yeah, well, you just gotta get in there and do it. Don't think about, just get it done. In and out!

FNB: But, that's the problem.

Mrs. B: What is?

FNB: Your looking at this like giving blood or having some other medical procedure done, but it's more mental than anything. You can't just grit your teeth and get through it. Imagine if the tables were turned. The doctor comes in and says, "Okay Mrs. Beans, now we would like you to bring yourself to a state of arousal and then climax. You can do it in this closet right over here." ***Banging on door*** "Hey, is everything okay in there? No pressure, but we need you to do this in the next ten minutes.... try small circles! Oh, and we have a TigerBeat and an US Weekly if you need it..."

Mrs. B: (laughing) Okay, stop. I get it.

Now, this entry is not a plea for sympathy, I am VERY aware that I am shouldering little of the burden in this process, that I have the easy part of the job, and that I have been practicing for this moment since the day I was thirteen and Cheryl Tiegs first graced the cover of Sports Illustrated. But I AM nervous, it is uncomfortable, and men do worry about these things! As much as we might like to project the "frat boy" image that we are ready "to go" at a moments notice, that we would love to have sex twice a day, every day, and that we don't need romance, when you are in a committed relationship you come to appreciate the candles and clean sheets.
Alas, Fac fortia et patere.

The Con is on....

2007-09-28T09:28:00.000-04:00

I find it quite discomfiting that we have not had any contact with our RE since late July. Wait. I take that back. We have received a number of bills.

Is it too much to ask them to pick up the phone? "How are the shots going?" "Do you have any questions?" "Thank you for the 14 grand." I know that we can call them, but it makes me feel like we are the only ones putting any effort in this relationship. We have needs damn it!

Honestly, there is a small part of me that thinks we could be the victims of an elaborate con. I imagine us anxiously riding up the elevator for our first ultrasound, the doors open and... nothing but an empty warehouse!

No ornery desk clerk, no "wand" machine, no fake ficus plants, no spunkatorium. Just acres of cold gray concrete.

Our footsteps echo across the room as we step out of the elevator, looking around in disbelief.

"But it was here" Mrs. Beans stammers as she absentmindedly rubs her most recent injection spot. "I know it was."

There on the floor a lone brochure. "Baby Not on Board: Coping with Infertility."

We fall to our knees, "NoooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOO!

Cut to Leer Jet flying over tropical waters. Inside are our RE, urologist, and IVF nurses, laughing maniacally and sipping Cristal. "Like taking candy from a baby! Muuwahhhhaahahahahaha!"

Yeah, so apparently it is possible for men to get the sympathy "Crazies" when their wives are on Lupron?

Beans is Back!

2007-09-25T11:34:00.000-04:00

It has been awhile since I have posted. There are two main reasons for this.
1. An absolute avalanche of work (back to school and all).
2. I promised a posting entitled "Are you there God? It's me Frank N. Beans."

I wrote about three versions, but it wasn't coming out right. I think the main issue is that I am having a difficult time distinguishing my thoughts between God and the Church and the roles that have played in our struggles with IF. Plus, I am always wary of the following:

The post still might come, but it may take awhile.

So what have we been up to? In celebration of my 32nd birthday I completed a "Fat Man" Race this weekend. The race was 4.8 miles and included 3 "aid stations." At each station each contestant had to consume a hot dog and a beer. I assumed that many of the other racers would be a little rotund, and in turn help my self-esteem, but alas, most of my competitors were tall and athletic helping them achieve the requisite 190 lbs. for official "Clydesdale" status. Still, I hung in there, and I did manage to finish the race in a respectable time, but I did not "finish strong", as Mrs. Beans pointed out when I chugged across the finish line.

I think that this is partly due to the fact that I haven't had a drink in almost a month as a part of out IVF training regimen. As a result I have rapidly dropped 8 lbs. and lost my capacity for devouring sodium enriched hot dogs and poor quality beer. I have not received much sympathy from Mrs. Beans (who is already in incredible shape) for my rapid weight loss. Still, I think that I could have performed much better and plan to tackle the race again next year. Hopefully, with a baby jogger!

In other news, Mrs. Beans did her first Lupron shot this morning and I couldn't be more proud. I had an early morning hockey game this morning that I offered to skip (in fact I wanted to skip), but Mrs. Beans said that it might be easier if I wasn't there to stress her out. I was very relieved when I received a text informing me that it went great and that it wasn't painful at all.

I have to say, she prepared for this day like it was the Super Bowl. She has been studying more film than Tom Brady and had created a pretty comprehensive game plan. Some thanks are certainly due to Bea for her excellent resource "the IVF Roundup". Between these videos and the help of the pharmacy, Mrs. Beans felt pretty confident.

I was grateful since I know that Mrs. Beans is a little needle shy! I had already considered that we might have to make the shots a game, where I would hide in our apartment with a Lupron loaded Blow-gun, quietly waiting for a bleary-eyed and unsuspecting Mrs. Beans to get out of bed. I was even prepared for a possible chase scenario.

So the meds have officially started. We will keep ya posted!

Just one of the girls!

2007-09-13T09:51:00.000-04:00

Despite my external sexual organs, several of you have been kind enough to dub me a "Rockin' Girl Blogger." So a special thanks are in order for Top Cat, Sticky Bean, and Mrs. Spock.

In the spirit of the game, I wanted to acknowledge just a few of the blogs that I frequent. There are three in particular that I feel are very well written and entertaining (I also think that they haven't been recognized yet).

First, I really like "Maybe Baby" by Matt M.F. Miller. A much braver man than myself, Matt actually writes using his real name! I appreciate Matt's openness and honesty about his feelings regarding infertility, marriage, and life in general. I think he makes a good role model for obsessives like myself who only focus on IF. He manages to gently remind us that the rest of the world continues to turn as we try to procreate!

Second, I love to keep tabs on Flotsam's blog. Her writing is incredible and she consistently makes me laugh. She is also a few weeks ahead of us in the IVF game so her blog has been particularly terrifying and helpful. She always has the perfect adjective to describe whatever invasive procedure is being done.

Third, I have to recommend checking out Offsprung's blog. He hasn't written in months, but he is still well worth the visit. His writing is so good that I actually read his blog from the beginning and followed his entire story. It is worth noting that his mother-in-law works at the clinic that he and his wife use, so when he has to produce his "sample" she is in the next room! God bless this poor man.

Finally, I wanted to recognize several bloggers who go above and beyond the call of duty with regard to commenting (I also enjoy their blogs a great deal). I consistently see the names Sully, Samantha, Rachel, Chicklet and JJ in the comment sections of several blogs, including my own. I know that many people write for themselves, but it is always nice to know that someone else is listening and cares about what you think. These ladies have a knack for offering their compassion and support, they really are the glue that keeps the community together.

Stay tuned. Next week I plan to offend half of my readers with "Are you there God? It's me, Frank N. Beans."

Vegas Baby! Vegas!

2007-09-07T11:18:00.000-04:00

First of all, just a moment to say thanks for all of the kind thoughts and comments on the last post. Despite feelings of queasiness, we are really excited about the next steps.

I must say that the 26 days on the pill that the doctor has prescribed does take the wind out of your sails a bit. I liken it to the scene in the movie Swingers! where Mikey and Trent decide that they are going to Vegas.

They get dressed up in suits, and spend the first 30 minutes of the trip talking about all of the "beautiful babies" they are going to meet, the money that they will surely win, and the comps that they will receive when the Casino recognizes them as high rollers. Each sentence is punctuated with a heartfelt, "Vegas Baby!"

One hour into the trip their energy is lagging and they can barely muster a "Vegas."
Check out this classic scene for yourself:

Very similar to the Beans family dynamic, with Mrs. Beans playing the practical role of Mikey.

It is a strange situation in that you are trying to strike a delicate balance between confidence/excitement and fear/anxiety. It is very emotionally taxing and we are only on cd4!

So speaking of Vegas. Let's look at the odds shall we. Under 35, with ICSI, our chances based on the clinics success rate is roughly 50% for one embryo. If there are two embryos available and implanted the odds of success increase to 52%. Something that is not clear to us (and we need to ask) is if two are put back what are the odds of twins? I am assuming that the 52% is with regard to one successful embryo. Also, what exactly are the potential complications that come with twins for both the babies and Mrs. Beans. We get the sense that the doctor will encourage up to do one embryo, but since we are paying out of pocket the 2% increase in odds does seem appealing. Thoughts?

And so it begins...

2007-09-04T12:07:00.000-04:00

Today we begin our little $14,000 dollar experiment. The process feels very real now. No more brochures, videos, and web pages. We are actually in the process of an IVF cycle. Day 1.

We both feel sick to our stomachs.

I have to admit that I was still holding out hope that we would beat the odds and get pregnant naturally. Alas, we find ourselves starting down an unfamiliar path. Obviously we are feeling anxious, nervous, scared, excited, hopeful, etc. No jokes today. Just a deep breath as we take our first steps toward the future.

The Joy of the WTF Pregnancy

2007-08-27T09:30:00.001-04:00

When facing infertility it can seem as though the entire world is gestating except for you and your significant other. This leads to a broad range of emotions with anger, jealousy, and guilt at the top of the list. It becomes particularly difficult when friends and family are expecting (usually after trying for a few weeks), and your feelings of excitement and happiness for them are tempered by envy. Of course, this is immediately followed with feelings of guilt as you remember that these are often the same people who have supported you over the past few months or even years.

Unfortunately, every protruding belly is a reminder of your own personal struggle. In an effort to redirect our vitriol many of us turn to what I refer to as "What the FUCK!?!" pregnancies. We know that we shouldn't be angry with our 3rd cousin, but we can sure as hell get pissed off at some drug addled, "C-list" celebrity. The most recent and famous WTF pregnancy is Nicole Richie. Who among us didn't want to put their foot through the television set as a "showing" Nicole walked into the courthouse last week to face charges of drunk driving?

In part, this is what makes WTFs such attractive targets. In terms of their preparations for parenthood they are usually the exact opposite of us. While we are subjecting ourselves to acupuncture, daily injections, and choking down wheat-grass health shakes, WTFs are getting pregnant on a steady diet of Red Bull, vodka, and lines of coke. While we are peeing on sticks, "propping our hips up afterward," and timing our encounters to the minute, WTFs manage to get knocked up by grinding their bony pelvis into some 19 year old Calvin Klein model in the middle of a club at 4 in the morning.

Up until now, the focus of the WTFs has been on young women like Nicole or Britney (what I wouldn't give of K-Feds motility and morphology). Now, I think it is time to expand the WTF designation to include the male professional athletes and celebrities who are "fathering" children across the country. While I am beating off in a cup to 1980s porn, these guys are producing children during a 20 minute layover in Wichita! WTF!

I am sure that many of the men out there play fantasy football. Check out these eye popping stats.

1. K-FED - Rapper? Dancer?
Two kids with Shar Jackson (and a rumored 3rd on the way) and two with Britney Spears.

2. Shaw Kemp - Professional Basketball Player.
Rumored to have 12 to 13 children with seven different women!

3. Evander Hoyfield - Former Heavyweight Champion of the World - Dancing with the Stars Participant. Rumored to have 9 children with numerous women.

4. Matt Leinart - NFL Quarterback
1 child with former girlfriend and USC basketball star Brynn Cameron, but apparently he hasn't done much diaper duty (check the link)! Hopefully, Tom Brady will fare a little better in this department.

5. Krusty the Clown - Entertainer
Rumored to have up to 5 illegitimate children (one who was voiced by Drew Barrymore).

The list goes on and on! So the next time you are feeling low because your 2nd cousin is expecting ("we weren't even really trying!"), just open grab a copy of US Weekly or Sports Illustrated and say, "What the FUCK!?!?"

Neither rain nor sleet nor gloom of night....

2007-08-22T14:58:00.000-04:00

shall keep your postal worker from delivering fertility drugs in a timely manner.

With the date of our first IVF cycle rapidly approaching, I just realized that our drugs are being delivered by the U.S. postal service. Perhaps I am a little naive, but have pharmacies always been allowed to ship drugs to local residences? I guess I have heard of baseball players ordering steroids from Mexico and the elderly ordering drugs from Canada, but I had no idea that you could get a prescription filled and delivered via mail in the U.S.

Frankly, I am a little concerned. We live in an apartment building in an urban area and our packages are frequently left unattended on the stoop. What if our shipment falls into the wrong hands? Imagine a poor groups of teens all strung out on Lupron and Repronex, ovulating left and right, spitting out triplets like slot machine.s Before you know it kids will be dropping out of school and stealing car stereos to support their "L" & "R" habits. Mrs. Beans and I can't have a population spike on our consciences! Furthermore, are they really going to send us a huge bag of syringes? Seriously, how are we supposed to dispose of 30 "dirty" needles?

Maybe we can just mail them back?

Minnesota! Land of 10,000 bad fashion trends!

2007-08-17T10:34:00.001-04:00

Motivated by Mel at SQ & SPJ I have decided to tackle the horror that was my middle school wardrobe. Unfortunately, a mere comment section cannot contain the atrocious fashions that I sported in the 80s, so I have dedicated a whole post to the topic.

First of all, in my defense, I had the unfortunate luck of attending middle school in a suburb of Minneapolis. Equidistant from the cultural capitals of Los Angeles and New York, fashion in Minnesota was a strange mix of dying fads from the East and West coasts, sprinkled with some independent trends inspired by the Nordic lifestyle (e.g. moon boots). Let's face it, when your local cultural icon is Prince (with his purple cars, motorcycles, and mansions) you are pretty much screwed. Especially, when you're a blond, white kid named Derrick or Angie. My fashion efforts in middle school where further thwarted my heroine addict-like frame. In eighth grade, at 4 foot 10 and 86 pounds, I looked like a more feminine version of Kate Moss, but with a larger head. My big sister lovingly referred to me as E.T. during this very difficult time. Obviously, I could be America's Top Model now with those measurements, but in a land of corn fed farm boys, my slight physique did little to enhance my social status.

Let's work from the bottom up. For footwear it was essential to wear a pair of Minnetonka Moccasins. I have been told that there has actually been a resurgence in the popularity of this trend. However, I have seen that the company has updated their style a bit to resemble the popular Ugg! boots. I owned the classic moccasins pictured on the left. Because they were so trendy, the moccasins were a bit expensive. My family did not have an abundance of means, but my parents did their best to allow my sister and I to keep up with some of the trends. However, in an effort to obtain a greater return on her investment, my mother insisted on "water proofing" my new moccasins, hence turning the soft suede into an impenetrable hard shell. Transformed into wooden clogs, my new moccasins did not afford me the level of coolness that I was so desperately seeking. Oh, and I would be remiss if I did not mention that under no circumstances were you allowed to wear socks with your "mocs." This was somewhat problematic in a state where the average wind chill is about 10 below zero!

For my pants I preferred acid washed Francois Girbaud jeans. I understand from my college friends that this trend came a little later (early 90s) to the East Coast, so I guess I was cutting edge. Many people will remember the pegged and rolled jeans, this was pretty cool, but I was also know to "pin" my jeans, achieving the same look, but with the help of safety pins. What can I say, Minnesotans are a practical people! When I wasn't wearing my pegged jeans, I could usually be found in a pair of Zubaz! (note: the exclamation point is a part of the brand name and not an expression of my excitement over the look). These baggy animal print pants came in cool neon colors; although, I preferred the far more subtle black and white prints. I guess I am just a really conservative guy when it comes to fashion. On the left is a picture of a handsome model sporting the classic red Zubaz! (and coincidently, my 80s haircut).

In an effort to mask my scrawniness I also attempted to "bulk up" by wearing extra large tees and sweatshirts. "Extra large relative to your small 4 foot 10 frame?" you ask. Oh no. I literally wore size extra-large. MEN's XL. Sadly I will occasionally run across an old sweatshirt and it is still a little too big for me. Except now I am 6 feet tall and 200 pounds! To make matters worse, I fell victim to one of the most ill-conceived trends of the 80s. The Gennera "Hyper-Color" phenomenon. Yes, that's right, I wore a color changing tee-shirt, sensitive to body heat. Do you have any idea what a bad idea this is for a middle school boy? The last thing I needed was to highlight my profuse sweating with huge yellow splotches on my blue tee-shirt.

As alluded to above I rocked a sweet mullet. That's right. Business in the front and party in the back. However, in Minnesota we did not recognize the mullet for what it really was and instead referred to the look as "hockey hair." The key was to keep your hair long enough so that it would hang out of the back of your helmet. The best "hockey hair" was somewhat curly (see pic of Jaromir Jagr to the right), mine of course was bone straight. To look at me in the 80s you might think that I owned a flat iron, but alas, I was simply genetically predisposed to very fine and straight hair. How did it look? Let's put it this way, I vividly remember attending mass one Sunday and having an elderly gentleman say to me, "Peace be with you, young lady." Son-of-a-bitch! To this day I hate old people.

Finally, for accessories I had a Swatch Watch where you could see the "inner workings" of the watch and a few shoddy friendship bracelets that I made for myself and then pretend that girls gave me. Don't worry, I was clever enough to make up fictional girls (Stacey and Chelsea), who I knew from fake summer camp (Camp Tall Pines). I am sure my friends never knew the truth.

So that is the sad truth of my adolescence. I will be in therapy if you need me.

Pass the syrup! It's Waffle Time!

2007-08-14T10:40:00.000-04:00

I remember clearly the first time we "pulled the goalie" and started TTC. It was way back in January '06. Things were different then. Paris, Nicole, and Lindsay were on the cover of US Weekly, the United States was embroiled in a bitter conflict in the Middle East, Pirates of the Caribbean, Harry Potter, and Spider-Man 2 dominated the box office, and American Idol was the most popular show on television. It was a simpler time. An age of innocence... well, except for Paris, Nicole, and Lindsay.

After making the momentous decision that we were finally ready for parenthood, we opened a bottle of chardonnay and let nature takes its course. Our immediate response in the aftermath of this cherished moment?

"Holy SHIT! What the hell did we just do!"

Of course we just assumed that we would automatically become pregnant and so we ran to the drug store to buy the first of many pregnancy tests (little did we know that we would eventually need a membership at Costco or BJs). The learning curve was pretty slow. It took a few months before we realized that timing played an essential role in the whole process, so we were pretty laid back. Ironically, for some time we were almost more nervous that it would work! We both knew that we wanted kids, but were we really ready to be parents? Friends kept telling us that you never really feel ready, so we just assumed that this was a natural reaction.

When we started to realize that something wasn't working quite right and once we had a diagnosis, I think it is safe to say that we officially realized just how badly we want children. We joked that at least now we knew that we were ready for parenthood and that we wouldn't be so nervous anymore. So, it has been something of a surprise that some of these feelings have started to creep back in over the past few weeks. We still know that we want to have children and we are doing everything possible to make this happen, but are we really ready for this?

I want to be clear that we are not waffling about our decisions. It is just that Mrs. Beans and I both have what I call, "snowball personalities." We can start with a simple idea and "snowball" it into a natural disaster in a matter of minutes. What might look like a cloud to most people can easily become a biblical flood in the Beans family imaginations. Will we be able to afford a new baby? Where will we live? How will we handle our jobs? What are we going to do about childcare? I think that the idea that we have our first real shot (no pun intended) at conceiving is starting to sink in. While we are definitely hopeful and excited, we are also allowing ourselves to play the "what if" game again. I guess on the upside we are playing the "what if" game with a positive conclusion, but I wonder if we are both a little bit crazy. Well, I know that we are both a little crazy, but I guess that I am just surprised to find ourselves in this state (emotionally, not geographically).

Paging Dr. Tony Robbins

2007-08-10T10:12:00.000-04:00

Our IVF protocol has been confirmed and we will be starting IVF in September. I don't know if it is because we are Spiffy (Self Paying In - F*cking - Fertiles), but I was expecting a little more guidance for 12,500 dollars. When we purchased our car a few years back the dealer took the time to explain all of the features and doo-dads, they even gave it a quick wash. Let's just say that we have not received the same level of concern at our clinic. For example, our phone call with the IVF nurse went like something like this.... "Hi, this is Nurse Ratchet from the Baby Bank Clinic. The doctors have determined your protocol and you will be taking Lupron and Repronex. Really Expensive Pharmacy will send you the supplies and you can watch the injection training video on their website. Let us know if you have any questions. Click"

Okay, I realize that we will be getting to know the clinic quite well in September, but at the moment September seems like a long way off. Mrs. Beans and I just want to feel like we have some measure of control over the situation and we want to be doing something productive now. Isn't there anything that we should be doing?

Ideally we would like a specific training regimen so that we can show up in September in unbelievable IVF shape. We want the doctors to gasp and exclaim, "because of your efforts you have doubled your odds for success!"

Cue "Beans Family IVF Training Montage." If you are unfamiliar with the "training montage" genre, it became popular in the 80s and generally involves a series of short clips backed up by cheesy music played on a synthesizer. Some of the best examples include Kevin Bacon teaching Chris Penn how to dance in Footloose, Daniel fighting his way to victory in The Karate Kid, and of course the classic scenes from Rocky (my favorites are the original Rocky and Rocky IV vs. the Russian).

Our montage would include shots of Mrs. Beans and I sprinting up sand dunes, banging out sets on the adductor machine in the gym, grimacing through acupuncture treatments, and solemnly pouring out bottles of Chardonnay into our kitchen sink, all dramatically culminating with Mrs. Beans jamming her first Lupron shot into her ass, a la Ivan Drago. Of course, this will all be set to Van Halen's Dreams.

I guess that we are just looking for a little direction to get us through the next few weeks. Perhaps a few motivational words from our doctor. Is that too much to ask?

*apologies for getting carried away with the links this week! I guess I am feeling nostalgic.

And now for something completely different...

2007-08-01T20:18:00.001-04:00

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry why I saw this video. Sadly, other than the annoying soundtrack, this is pretty much how Mrs. Beans and I imagine our reproduction systems at work. We regularly anthromoporphize our internal organs during conversations. Although, I must say, that I still prefer my "running of the bulls" analogy.

I really do wish that I had a definitive answer like "chemicals." The doctor's don't seem to care too much about the source of the problem. They are far more focused on the solution, but I would still like to know if "something" happened. Was if growing up next to that nuclear power plant? Too many hockey pucks to the groin? Too many beers in college? Was it that brief time in my life when I was hooked on smack (just kidding)? I guess we will never know.

Mrs. Beans and I are off for a small vacation, but please check back in next week, as I will continue to keep up with you.

Redefining "Fatherhood"

2007-07-31T09:54:00.000-04:00

Last night I was perusing some blogs and found a link to the post, "intolerance and infertility," which resides outside of the IF community on a blog called Thinking Girl. In essence the post was a plea for information (which I admire). The author was curious as to why infertile individuals are willing to face so many physical and emotional challenges in order to have biological children. In her opinion, this is a selfish and narcissistic act considering the number of children in the world who are without parents and could benefit from adoption. (Note: this is a gross oversimplification of the post, you should really check it out for yourself)

The post generated a few ignorant responses, but on the whole, it is an interesting and engaging discourse. Reading through the comments felt a bit like sitting in on a college seminar. There were those individuals (like the author of the blog), who seemed genuinely interested in learning from others. The "pseudo-intellects" who are engaged in the conversation and use all the right "buzz words," but really only skimmed the readings. The "zealots" who feel compelled to profess their (conservative or liberal) doctrinal beliefs, but lack any capacity for critical thought. The "pundits" who are quick to express their opinions as fact, but whose claims are unsubstantiated or based solely on circumstantial evidence. And finally, the "class clowns" who wake up briefly to relate the discussion to whatever they saw on T.V. last night, before drifting back to sleep. (FYI, I generally played the role of the "pseudo-intellect" during college, with a dash of punditism for good measure)

Overall, it was one of the most engaging threads that I have encountered on the net. This really is the internet at its' best.

I did want to comment/expand upon one of the points that was made, but my thoughts don't really contribute to the thread so I have decided to do so here. Furthermore, the Thinking Girl blog is intended as a forum for, "women, feminists, and feminist allies." While I do consider myself to be in solidarity with feminists on most issues, I also recognize that I do represent a "privileged" voice and so I will respectfully refrain from participating on this particular blog.

In the thread, one of the readers challenged to author to explain what she meant when she said the the nature of infertility treatments "bugs" her. The author responding with the following.

what bugs me about the nature of fertility treatments is two-fold - that they are highly invasive, and that the woman bears the entire burden (unless you call watching some porn and jerking off into a cup a burden). It is the woman’s body that becomes medicalized, even when the fertility problem is low sperm count. It is her body that is subjected to daily injections, hormonal fluctuations, procedures to extract eggs, procedures to implant sperm, procedures to implant fertilized eggs, and sometimes procedures to minimize the number of fetuses she carries to term.

I agree with much of what the author has written here. The one caveat being the assumption that all fertility treatments are the solely the woman's burden. There are certainly a number of treatments (hormone therapy, varicocele repair) that are male oriented. Perhaps, she is only concerned with the IUI/IVF treatments? But I digress, I do think (based on zero evidence) that doctor's are too quick to push IVF/ICSI in the case of male infertility when other treatments may be viable options. I would imagine that this is done in the spirit of efficiency, but it raises some serious concerns regarding the way that women are treated in our society. Since society promotes an expectation of "woman as mother," the burden too frequently falls on their shoulders. I would be very curious to know how much money is spent on medical research regarding male infertility versus something like hair loss or erectile dysfunction? I am willing to bet that the latter two receive far more funding.

The author's point about the woman's body being "medicalized" is also an important one. One implication of attempting to "fix" infertility is that "motherhood" is normalized, excluding those who cannot or do not wish to reproduce. I would imagine that this leaves many women feeling like "damaged goods" (a feeling that I can relate to with regard to IF). I have certainly heard many stories from my wife where she felt that she was more "object" than "subject" during various exams.

All of that being said, I was a little taken aback by the quote, "unless you call watching some porn and jerking off into a cup a burden." Obviously, you cannot even begin to compare the experiences of men and women when it comes to reproduction. Men simply have no idea what it must feel like to sustain a life throughout the gestation period. However, I think that the way in which the role of the man is diminished in this process helps to reinforce patriarchal views that are damaging to the feminist cause. In a society where the burden of child care and other domestic responsibilities continues to be the domain of the woman, despite increased participation in the workforce, we must ask ourselves why some men feel that their contribution ends at orgasm? Yes, many men simply seek to maximize and take advantage of their "male privilege," but why do they do this? We need to consider how men are conditioned to see their role in child rearing. Too often, involved males are either portrayed as beleaguered martyrs or simply as jokes. When the role of the male in the reproduction process is diminished are we simply stating a biological fact, or might we be contributing to the reinforcement of social norms that are damaging to women.

While I have certainly made my fair share of "masturbation" jokes on this blog, I guess I never really considered the implications of these depictions on our definitions of "fatherhood." Personally, moving forward I am going to think about how I might become more involved during my wife's future pregnancy (fingers crossed) so that "parenting" is a truly shared venture from the start.

* note, I wanted to give credit to Kristen at The Sticky Bean (see blog roll) for her initial link to "Thinking Girl" and thank her for her post on that site regarding some important IF issues (including the burden of male IF).

Hey brother, can you spare a cycle?

2007-07-24T11:39:00.000-04:00

Today we paid our upfront IVF fee and now our case is heading into committee so the doctors can decide on a treatment protocol. Needless to say, tensions are running a little high at Casa de Beans! We are fortunate that we have enough savings to cover one cycle out of pocket, but as pragmatists we are also preparing for the possibility that we will need to scrape together some additional monies.

One close friend suggested a pot-luck dinner, where we pass a cup to raise funds (slogan - "Drop Some Coins, For the Fruit of their Loins!"). I thought this was ingenious and we have started to brainstorm some alternative funding strategies.

Here they are:

1. Win the lottery. Sadly, I am dead serious. Over the past few weeks we have been playing the Big Game where the odds are roughly 18 million to one... or roughly the equivalent of our chances of conceiving naturally.

2. We happen to live in a large city with an extensive subway system, so I perhaps we could become "buskers" during the evening. Unfortunately, we have zero musical talent, so I am thinking that our act will need to be centered on street theater. At the moment I am pushing for the development of an two person Chinese acrobat act, basically spinning and tossing Mrs. Beans through the air using only my feet. Do we have any acrobatic experience? No. Are we even flexible? Not at all, but I really want to perform under the moniker, "The Mexican Jumping Beans."

3. The local high school cheerleader squads seem to have a lot of success with car washes. I am not sure that a mid-thirties, infertile couple will have the same drawing power as a gaggle of scantly clad eighteen year olds, but I am prepared to "work it" on the corner. Potential advertising? "I need a sperm wash, so come to our car wash." (Note: sperm wash is a medical term for our non-IF readers).

4. Can collecting seems to be a rather robust industry in our neighborhood, but highly competitive. Rather than starting a turf war, our best bet may be to offer our services for odd jobs. For tax purposes our motto is, "Will Work for Lupron."

5. Finally, if we get desperate enough we are willing to consider a sophisticated "heist" a la Ocean's 11. Actually, if we are able to obtain the services of George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Matt Damon, then Mrs. Beans has requested that this be moved up to option #1. Frankly, I am a little worried about how excited she gets about this idea.

So there it is, out plan for financial stability. Who needs a certified planner!

All Hail the P.orn King of the IF Blogs!

2007-07-19T10:47:00.000-04:00

I just discovered that you can see how people find your blog using feedback from the stat counter software. This little trick may be obvious to everyone else, but I am a little slow on the learning curve.

Imagine my surprise when I realized that the many of the people discovering my site are not looking for information on male infertility, but instead are seeking more visceral pleasures in the form of internet p.ornography! It's true! I am the Larry Flint of infertility blogs.

We can also imagine the surprise of the individuals who googled "doctors office fantasy" and received a link to my blog. Personally, I am not a frequent consumer/user of p.orn (except when medically required), but I would imagine that it is quite a buzz kill to be searching for some naughty tidbits and find yourself reading about low sperm counts and ovulation tests.

Here are a few of my favorite "dirty" searches that led to my blog:

1. "semen analysis experience p.orn"
2. "doctor me to bear down lube"
3. "franks n beans something about mary"
4. "laid her pants across her lap"

Ironically, Mrs. Beans and I were just discussing how disturbing it is that you can trace a person's internet use and, thanks to IF, that we probably have some very unusual search terms associated with us.

Hopefully none of the people visiting my blog are running for Senate (although, they would probably fit right in!).

Thank You For Flying the Bitter Skies

2007-07-17T13:31:00.001-04:00

So, I just returned from a pretty crappy week. As you all know, we received the news that my "stock" is down and not likely to improve. To make matters worse my grandmother passed away so I had go out west for the memorial. When it rains, it pours, right? Mrs. Beans said that bad things happen in three's, so I am waiting to get hit by lightning... I am recommending that all people keep a minimum distance of 10 feet from me at all times! On the upside, perhaps this will "turbo-charge" my swimmers.

On Friday I had a very long layover in Denver and instead of doing work I passed the time with a little people watching. Denver is one of my favorite places to people watch because of the variety. As a hub you get equal representation of both coasts and the Midwest. This can occasionally be a dangerous mix. I am a small town guy, but having lived in an East Coast city for the past ten years, I have been forced to hone my urban survival skills. I need to remind myself of this when I pass through the Minneapolis and Denvers of the world. Where I am from it is essential to walk as quickly as possible, passing is encouraged, and one must never ever make eye contact. In Midwest airports, I usually find myself trampling the elderly and small children who have lingered to admire the Native American artifact displays along the moving walkways. I feel like the flight attendants should remind disembarking passengers of these important cultural changes.

Anyway, as I was watching people (and because I am a little crazy), I couldn't help but think that based on statistics, 15% of the people walking by were also infertile. This is one of the strange elements of IF, in most cases there are no outward physical signs. It reminded me of an article that I once read on The Onion about picking up girls in a bar (See link below).

Were there any warning signs? Should Mrs. Beans have known better? We met when we were only nineteen, so I think that I was probably doing my best to seem manly and virile... although the effect might have been skewed by the prodigious amounts of Natural Light (a.k.a. Natties) that I ingested. On the other hand, her judgment was similarly impaired, so most likely it was a wash. Regardless, henceforth, I am committed to maintaining a front of vigor and lustiness. From now on my wardrobe will consist entirely of NASCAR memorabilia and wrestling t-shirts... can't get much more manly than that!

That Female Looks Capable Of Passing On My Genetic Material

Welcome to the Vortex of Doom... population: ME

2007-07-09T17:32:00.000-04:00

Today was our big "summit" with the urologist. The blood work revealed very little, the 3rd SA was better (but still shitty in the big scheme of things), and I had multiple varicoceles on both sides (but they were all subclinical, which means that they are not worth repairing surgically). The major problem is with the morphology which is currently at a measly 1%. Thankfully my urologist is very upfront and she cleared up the following... 1. There is still a slim chance that we can become pregnant on our own. 2. It is unlikely that my "samples" will show any significant improvement in the future, in fact, it is more likely that they will get worse if the varicoceles grow. 3. I have probably always been like this so I could have had wild, irresponsible sex throughout my youth. 4. IVF/ICSI is our most viable option if we are looking to get pregnant in the near future.

Sooooo, this leaves us with very low percentage odds for "the old fashioned way", adoption, or IVF/ICSI as our choices. We will continue to try "old school" methods, but I guess that IVF will be in our future. Unfortunately, IVF/IUI is not covered in our insurance policy. Now, just to clear something up, we happen to live in a state where coverage is required; however, the employer who provides us with our insurance is based in a different state so we don't actually enjoy this benefit. Uggh! If there is a silver lining, we are supposedly "good" candidates for IVF (younger, relatively healthy, etc.).

Thus ends the medical update portion of this posting.

I am new to the IF blog community, but I want to quickly share my personal opinion as to why there are so few men who write about their experiences. I think the quick answer is that it isn't "macho" for men to share their feelings and that they feel emasculated if they are infertile. The truth is any idiot can have a baby. I certainly don't feel like less of a man when compared to those biological dads who cannot commit to being a father. Masculine identity definitely may have something to do with it, but I also think that the reluctance to speak about male infertility goes much deeper.

I first stumbled upon the IF blogging community because I wanted to be as informed as possible about our options. While I have certainly benefited from the communal knowledge that is generated, I have quickly come to realize that these blogs serve a far greater purpose as sources of social and emotional support. I must admit that it is very difficult for me to read about the trials that women must face while undergoing treatment, not only because of the sympathy that I feel for each blogger, but also because it is a window to my future. It is hard to think that my wife may soon be dealing with many of these issues. It is even more painful to know that the trials that she could face are my fault. I am the one with the problem, so I should be the one missing work, going to the doctor everyday, injecting myself with medicines, and dealing with side effects. It is simply unbearable to know that there is something wrong with ME and as a result the person I love most in the world is going to suffer. This is why male infertility is so difficult to talk about.

The truth is, I was praying at today's visit that I would be identified as a candidate for varicocele repair surgery. There is mixed evidence regarding the effectiveness of this procedure, but I wanted to exhaust every alternative. I also think that there was also a small part of me that wanted to be physically punished (yes, I know I need therapy). Maybe, this was my way of trying to get "off the hook." If I am willing to allow a surgeon to cut into me, I will in someway legitimize the challenges that my wife will face. Maybe this is just my selfish way of allowing myself to go to sleep at night.... I don't know.

I wish that I could explain this better.... I guess that I feel a deep desire to protect Mrs. Beans at all costs. I wanted to go down fighting even if the battle is already lost. Yes, we argue and occasionally get on one another's nerves, but I know that when push comes to shove that we have one another's back. Overall we make a really good team. There isn't anything in the world that I wouldn't do for her and I think that she feels the same way about me. But, now I feel like I am failing to hold up my end of the partnership. The bulk of the burden is being placed on her and I feel helpless that I can only offer my love, support, and encouragement... I want to give more. I can't speak for all men, but I think that it is this feeling of inadequacy that makes men reluctant to talk about IF. We want to get into the game, but instead we have to wait and watch from the sidelines.

I guess I am coming to the realization that partnerships can't always be equal. She is going to have to carry me through the bulk of this journey and I need to be there to encourage and support her. It is a gift that I cannot repay... and those are the hardest gifts to accept.

Food Fight!

2007-07-07T14:57:00.002-04:00

Today I stumbled upon the "childfree" online community. There is a fairly entertaining exchange between "Breeders" and "Daters" over the etiquette of dining with children in fancy restaurants. It is definitely worth checking out the links to the National Post op-ed. As an "inept breeder" I forgot that these discussions take place. I can't wait to enter the fray! I think that we will probably avoid the fanciest restaurants with out future brood, but after everything that we are going through I am much less apt to roll my eyes at those who choose to bring their children along. Frankly, I would think that dining with the kids would be a a somewhat stressful endeavor. Very interested to hear others opinions on this.

Big Brother is Watching Us! Or at least he should be!

2007-07-05T10:03:00.001-04:00

Since IF has a tendency to dominate our thoughts, Mrs. Beans and I try to be mindful of how much we discuss our experiences with friends and family. We certainly don't want to become the couple that people avoid because "all they talk about is follicles and scrotums." After all, nothing spoils a cold beer and macaroni salad at a BBQ like ovary talk. We also want to make sure that we are not taking advantage of the small circle of friends and family who are "in the know." That being said, sometimes we have a little bit of trouble controlling ourselves. There are three primary reasons for this:

We get sick of talking to one another about IF.
We don't have a lot of other stuff going on in our lives.
Deep down inside we believe that if we explain what is going on with us enough times, we might actually begin to understand it ourselves!

So, after every friend and family gathering we have a "couple debrief" to make sure that we didn't cross any lines. Thus far people are still returning our phone calls and Mrs. Beans assures me that they want to know that is going on because they are genuinely concerned about us.

I have generally embraced this line of thinking, but recently I am starting to question Mrs. Beans authority on the topic. It began a few weeks ago when she was filing our receipts for our flexible spending account. "Christ, we spent $120.00 on ovulation kits over the past few months!" I rustled the sports page to indicate my disinterest. "You just know that the people at CVS (our regional drug store) are sitting there saying, 'Oh, looks like the Beans' are having some trouble getting pregnant,'" she continued. I slowly lowered the paper.

"What?"

"You know. They have that program where they swipe our CVS card and track our purchases for coupons and stuff."

"And so they know that we can't get pregnant?"

"Well, they certainly know that we aren't having much luck. Twelve ovulation kits? Ten pregnancy tests? They're not stupid."

"They?"

"CVS."

I let it go. But sure enough, one week later we get some coupons in the mail from CVS, one was for a dollar off the "NEW! Citrucel Fiber Smoothie" and the other was for personal lubricant. My wife laughed, "Uh, not gonna work fellas. Nice try!"

Suddenly Mrs. Beans rationale was a little suspect. On the surface it makes sense that friends and family would want to be updated on our IF status, but this is also from a woman who believes that large corporations have taken an active interest in our quest to procreate. Not only that, but apparently they are also trying to jazz up our sex life (or at least keep us regular)! I guess when something is so personally important you simply come to expect that it is equally important to others.

All we are asking for is that the entire world leave us alone, unless we need something in which case everyone needs to stop everything and pay attention to us.

Is that too much to ask?

Putting on the Ritz... at my scrotal exam

2007-07-02T10:21:00.000-04:00

We are one week away from an important appointment with my urologist. Since my last appointment, I have completed yet another SA, had extensive blood work and (cue ominous music) a scrotal ultrasound.

First, I must say that prior to IF, I never gave such extensive thought to my "doctor appointment wardrobe." Now, I find myself standing in front of my closet muttering, "functional, yet fabulous... " The rationale behind my madness? Well, I know that I will generally need to disrobe and following my last few visits I have been forced to clean up copious amounts of KY jelly from my naughty bits. These practical concerns clash with my desire to present a serious, sophisticated and even-keeled front to our doctors. Sweatpants might be comfortable, but I don't want the doctors thinking I am lazy (like my sperm). Indeed, while my seed is apparently up all night, drinking, gambling, and otherwise engaged in debauched behaviors, I am home and in bed at a sensible hour. "I simply don't know what to do with them doctor, they're incorrigible!" So I am left in a very serious fashion quandary. Why has there not been an episode of What Not to Wear addressing these concerns? Where is Carson Kressley when you need him? "Oh, honey, you're thinking, Dockers Khakis with Stain Defenders, but teflon just doesn't breathe! Let's try something more summery, perhaps linen?"

Once dressed and out the door, I make my way to the hospital and find the Department of Radiology. I am ushered right in and told to lose my pants. I tend to blabber when I am nervous, but I am quickly learning that it is best not to make "small talk" with those who are conducting invasive procedures.

ME: "So, this must be, like, the worst part of your day."

Radiologist: "Well, it's certainly not the best."

Hey, ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies, right? After all, what type of response was I really expecting here?

As I am nervously eying the ultrasound machine, I am given two towels. I am told to place one underneath the boys, and use the other to cover my chest and keep the "frank" out of the way, essentially forming what it known in the northwest as a "Montana tendergroin" sandwich. On the one hand, I appreciated this maneuver, in that, it affords me the opportunity to disassociate myself from the experience. On the other hand, "the boys" are feeling a little lost and confused. They have never been out on their own before and now they are about to be "interrogated." Their fears were confirmed when the transducer (see below, left) was pulled from it's "holster."

After applying liberal amounts of jelly, the technician applied about 150 psi of pressure and "the boys" started scrambling away like a greased pig at the state fair. She was eventually able to "nail them down" and click some money shots of the offending area. After a few minutes of looking over the pictures, she said, "I'll be right back. Don't get dressed" and left the room. Hmm. not exactly the encouraging words that I was hoping to hear. A few minutes later, she returned with the Head (no pun intended) Radiologist. In the history of medicine, has there ever been an recorded instance of a doctor/nurse/technician leaving the room for reinforcements where there has been a positive outcome? Sure enough, after looking at my "glamor shots" the doctor declared, "You're too relaxed. We need to take these standing up."

"Relaxed?" I replied, wiping the sweat from my eyes.

"Yes, we need to see you bear down."

Great, so there I am standing up, holding my frank in a towel hammock, while being given helpful instructions like, "Pretend you are going to the bathroom." She eventually got her pictures and said, "I'm sorry, your doctor will have to discuss the results with you." It was almost as though I wasn't in the room when she was saying, "There, get the one on the right side. Click. 2.7mm"

And to think that I got all dressed up for this.

Who's On First?

2007-06-29T09:38:00.001-04:00

What follows is a transcript of a lovely telephone conversation from a few days ago:

FNB = Frank N. Beans
SIG = Soulless Insurance Giant

Ringgg, click. "Thank you for calling Soulless Insurance Giant..."

FNB: Hi, my name is Frank and I...

...para Espanol, press 4. For account information press 5. For demoralizing billing department press 7...

FNB: Okay, "7"... beep.

SIG: Hello, Soulless Insurance Giant. How may we help you?

FNB: Hi, uh, I have some questions regarding a bill that you sent us for "hospital services."

SIG: Okay, just a moment while I pull up your account. What seems to be the problem?

FNB: Well, I know we don't have coverage for IUI/IVF, but all diagnostics should be covered, so I don't understand why we have a balance.

SIG: Let's see here... uh-huh... looks likes some of the tests ordered by your doctor aren't covered.

FNB: Well, why weren't the tests covered?

SIG: The doctor didn't provide a diagnosis.

FNB: There is no diagnosis yet. That's why he ordered the tests.

SIG: Yes, but without a diagnosis we can't cover the tests.

FNB: Okay, but without the tests there can't be a diagnosis.

SIG: Right, but we need to know why he ordered the test.

not-pregnant pause

FNB: He ordered the tests so he could make a diagnosis.

SIG: Sir, we need to know the rationale for why he ordered the test.

FNB: It's because we can't have children.

SIG: Okay, but the doctor needs to tell us that.

FNB: He's a doctor at an infertility clinic... isn't that implied? I mean, we aren't doing the tests just for the hell of it.

SIG: I am sorry sir. We need to receive the diagnostic codes.

FNB: Hmmm. Well, if our policy covers all diagnostics up to treatment, can't we assume that these will be covered, regardless of the codes?

SIG: No sir. Only certain codes will be accepted.

FNB: Can you tell me what those codes are?

SIG: It's a long list sir... and the language is very technical. Even I don't understand some of the terminology.

FNB: Oh. Okay, well thank you (click)... Hey! Wait a minute!

Beep, Bop, Beep, Bop

Ringgg, click. "Thank you for calling Soulless Insurance Giant, para Espanol...

IF via ESPN: Now you're speaking our language!

2007-06-25T22:51:00.000-04:00

While perusing some blogs, I came across several postings that I really enjoyed here and here. In each blog, the women quizzed their husbands regarding some commonly used IF blog abbreviations. To the credit of the husbands, they came up with some pretty creative answers, but their final scores left something to be desired. It got me to thinking, what if there were more male bloggers talking about IF? What might their posts look like? So, using the quiz that has been floating around out there, I looked up the real answers (I didn't know 80% of them) and then in the spirit of second language acquisition, I supplied some appropriate sporting metaphors to help facilitate the male learning curve. My suggestions are below, followed by a brief sample conversation about IF between a couple of regular guys.

ABR- TRANSLATON - MAN VERSION

AF – aunt flo/period - TIME OUT!/Delay of Game
IVF – in vitro fertilisation - Statue of Liberty Play/The Hidden Ball Trick/The Hail Mary
IUI – intra-uterine insemination -Alley-oop/Wraparound goal/called up from the minors/
IF – infertility - Injured Reserve/Disabled List/Undisclosed lower body injury
PG – pregnancy/pregnant - Do you believe in miracles!/Long Term Contract
TTC – trying to conceive - Studying the Playbook/Training Camp/Working the Body/Spring Training
DPO – days past ovulation - After Halftime/the 3rd Period/4th Quarter/Crunch Time
BFP – big fat positive - TOUCHDOWN!/He Shoots! He SCORES!/Hole in One!/Slam Dunk
BFN – big fat negative - Sacked! Stuffed at the Goal line! Blocked Kick! Fumble! TKO!
POAS – pee on a stick - (I've got nothing... maybe Barry Bonds or Floyd Landis since the get tested for steroids all the time?)
OPT – ovulation predictor test - The Combine/Draft Day/Huddle Up!
DI - donor insemination - Sign a Free Agent/Going to the bullpen
BD - baby dance/sex -SEE BFP ABOVE... We are simple creatures.

Door opens, Norm enters:

ALL: NORM!

Norm: Gentlemen.

Woody: How's it going Mr. Peterson?

Norm: Poor.

Woody: Sorry to hear that Mr. P.

Norm: No, I mean pour (sitting down).

Cliff: So how ya doing Norm? You uh, still on the Injured Reserve list?

Norm: 'Fraid so Cliffy. Thought I might of had a hole in one, but the quarter back was stuffed at the goal line. Looks like we are going to go back to training camp, we may need to start practicing the Hail Mary.

Cliff: Did you know that the white spotted bamboo shark can produce young without copulation through a process known as, eh uh, parthenogenesis.

Norm: That I did not.

Cliff: Oh yeah... amazing creatures (takes sip of beer).

Norm: So, what's up with Fraser and Lilith? Any word of a long term contract?

Cliff: No, ol' Frase said the hidden ball trick didn't work, so they may need to sign a free agent.

Norm: Well, there's always next month. Woody how 'bout that beer?

AND SCENE

Pavlov's Dog Wants a Puppy

2007-06-25T11:56:00.000-04:00

When you desperately want something, it is amazing how quickly you are willing to subvert your free will and simply follow orders.

This has been especially true in our battles with IF. Otherwise independent, free-thinking beings, my wife and I are transformed into mindless automatons when we cross the threshold of the Doctor's office. There is simply nothing that we will not do. I think that both of us are driven by the fear that if we don't follow directions to the letter we will ruin any chance that we may have of conceiving. The other part of the problem is that after being poked and prodded for so many months, we have simply come to expect that we are going to be uncomfortable and asked to do absurd things. "Camera up the cootch? No Problem." "Masturbate in a pickle jar? My pleasure." "Hop up and down on one leg, while whistling the 1812 Overture? Absolutely, an obvious next step."

But, we have grown suspicious. Sometimes we think that the nurses and doctors are simply amusing themselves by seeing how far they can push us. It's like curing the hiccups. One minute you are being told to hold your breath or drink a glass of water and the next thing you know you're on YouTube getting slapped across the face.

Our best example of blind obedience involves Mrs. Beans (used with permission). A few weeks ago she went in for an ultrasound. Luckily, or so she thought, it was the first appointment of the day. The nurses were gathered around a counter enjoying their Dunkin' Donuts coffees and one of them had to tear herself away to take Mrs. B's blood pressure, weight, and other vitals. The nurse finished, opened a door to one of the exam rooms and said brusquely over her shoulder, "Take off all of your clothes from the waist down, except for your socks and the doctor will see you shortly." Apparently, the coffee was getting cold. By now we both know the routine, so my wife takes off her clothes and... no johnnie! Shit. So, she's standing there naked, mind racing through her options. Does she get dressed again? Does she call out to the nursing station? Cover up with some paper towels? Lay her suit pants across her lap? In the spirit of blind obedience, she decides to "tough it out," and hops up on the exam table, exposed to the elements and naked as the day she was born.

Needless to say, when the doctor, nurse, and medical technician came into the room, they were a little startled at the site of my apparently immodest wife displaying her "goods and wares" like she was working a window in the red light district.

"Uhhh, Didn't they give you a sheet?" exclaimed the doctor.

"Something would be nice," said my wife.

"We did! We did! It's up at the top of the exam bed," protested the surly nurse.

Mrs. B slowly turned around. Sure enough, there at the top of the exam table was a neatly folded and slightly camouflaged robe.

As we commiserated about this most recent embarrassment later in the day , we concluded (as we always do) that we were not to blame. Honestly, we all know better that to go rifling through the drawers and cabinets of the exam room (no matter how much we might want to). And really, shouldn't the nurse have pointed out that that the robe was hidden! Besides she was just following orders!

Oh, I hear a bell ringing. Must be time for dinner.

The 700,000 Club (A Matter of Perspective)

2007-06-24T18:33:00.000-04:00

After a long bike ride, I was relaxing in the hot tub, smoking some cigarettes and enjoying a glass of gin while contemplating why I had such low numbers on my most recent semen analysis.

Conclusions? My body is incredibly ineffective. While my total count is over 50 million (not great, but okay), production has apparently been outsourced and the results are not good. By the time you take into account morphology, motility, etc. I am left with roughly 700,000 "good soldiers." I would imagine that it must be terribly frustrating to be a member of the 700,000 club. Something like the running of the bulls in Pamplona. Except, instead of being surrounded by well conditioned athletes, you are next to 49,300,000 slobbering drunks. They are weaving all over the place, slamming into walls, and generally creating havoc.

According to the doctor, based on these numbers, we currently have about a 3% chance of conceiving naturally. At first I was disheartened, then I remembered that even for a totally "normal" couple the odds are only 15-20% each month. 3% didn't seem that far off from 15%, until Mrs. Beans pointed out that even on the pill there is still a 1% chance you can get pregnant... crap.

Meet Your Friendly Neighborhood Urologist

2007-06-23T14:34:00.000-04:00

Despite the fact that roughly 35% of infertility issues are male based, I wasn't scheduled to see the urologist until 3 months into our infertility saga. I have to admit that I was not pleased to hear this news.

Why? Like most men, I don't like going to see the doctor. I prefer to wait until my illnesses or injuries reach such epic proportions that I am forced to report to the emergency room. At least this way you are in and out in 6 hours. My preferred medical course of action is as follows:

A. Rub some dirt on it

B. Put some ice on it.

C. Hope it goes away

Alas, with my expertise exhausted it was time to turn to the professionals.

When forced to see the doctor, it is no secret that the worst part of the basic male exam (at least, for those of us under 40) is the "Turn your head and cough" element (after 40 it is the "bend over" part of the exam). Is there really such an epidemic of hernias, that this needs to be done at every appointment? The idea that I needed to see a doctor who specializes in the "turn your head and cough" maneuver was horrifying. In fact, I think that in terms of "ologists', the urologist is the second worst "ologist" that you would have to encounter, running a close second to proctologist (I am sure the if you have a terminal illness or some other malady, there are worse "ologists", but they are simply not as well known).

Still, after sitting with my wife through her gynecological exam during our first visit, I now know that we men have it easy. Frankly, I need a pocket map, compass, and flashlight to operate down there, but the doctor is cruising around like a car mechanic. "Yup, ovaries feel good, but your flux capacitor seem discombobulated. I can fix it, but its gonna cost ya." Simply awful. Even as a bystander, I found myself employing many of the same strategies that I use during "turn your head and cough." For example, rule number one is make NO eye contact. Count ceiling tiles, cotton balls, whatever, but under no circumstances should you look at the doctor. I decided to focus on the images on ultrasound machine. "Oh, this is a beauty. Is this stainless steel? Wow. What type of warranty do you get on something like this?"

With my wife setting such a brave example, I knew that I could handle the appointment, but I was determined to be prepared. I would research urological exams so that I would know exactly what to expect. Using my computer research skills that have been carefully honed through years of fantasy football, I came up with... nothing (Tip: Larry Johnson's holdout in Kansas City, could have a deleterious effect on the high flying Kansas City Chief's offense).

So here it is, for the benefit of all future patients, a rundown of what to expect at the urologist:

1. In the waiting room, I generally like to peruse the magazines, maybe play some solitaire on my ipod. Not at the urologist. I was asked to take a medical history survey, 3 pages, front and back of the most horrifyingly atrocious questions that you could imagine. It was like a demented game of "never have I ever" without the cheap keg beer (which would have been useful). It starts out slow and grows increasingly uncomfortable.

#1 Do you have a penis? (Yes! So far so good).
#12 How many sexual partners have you had? (Hmmm, do you employ the rule of 3 here? For the uninitiated, this is where you lie to you buddies and say 3xs the actual number... apparently, it works in reverse for women).
#17 Any burning sensations when you urinate? (Yikes!).
#67 Do you masturbate? (Here, we go!).
#68 How often?
#127 Does your wife reach orgasm during intercourse?
#128 Really? Are you sure she is having an orgasm?

And on and on go the questions. As an aside, I found the frequency questions to be particularly confusing and not applicable to the average couple trying to conceive. How many times a week/month is deceptive. During ovulation we are together all the time, but by the end of the week you need a serious break. So the answer might be 6 times a month, but 90% might have occurred during a span of 4 days. We need some clarification here.

2. Next, you are brought back to the second "mini-waiting room." Here they take your measurements, height, weight, etc. And of course, you sit and wait again.

3. Finally, the doctor comes in and we first adjourn to her (yes, "her") office. Here she proceeds to ask all of the questions that I just toiled over in the lobby (I am still clutching the survey, like it contains nuclear secrets). Let's just say that I am amazed at how quickly I became adept at throwing around the words penis, erection, and scrotum. Usually when discussing the unmentionables, I have two modes of communication. One is "locker room" talk, where I use words and references not appropriate for the blogging community. In the other, I communicate like a Dr. Suess. "The Whozits and wuzzles seem to be okay, but when we when floobhobber, it goes sneedlehopping." Huh?

4. Next, I am ushered into the exam room where I am told to remove all of my clothes; although, I may keep on my socks (thank goodness! I am very modest). I am giving one of the "Johnny" robes and told to keep it open in the front. At this point, I always feel confused about what to do with a chain that I wear around my neck and my wrist watch. I am sure that it is not necessary to remove these, but I kind of feel like a poor man's Tony Soprano, wearing nothing but an open robe and my watch. I opt to take it off. Here I would appreciate some assistance on the behalf of the doctor's office. Why not supply a little dish to store any wallet, watch, keys, or loose change that you may have? Like the ones you get at airport security.

5. At this point the terror really kicks in. I begin to sweat profusely, with the knowledge that I am about to be examined/fondled for the next ten minutes. Now, here women need to understand that most men have a deep seated fear that certain body parts will become "alert" during a doctor's exam. This starts around age 11 when we have very little control over the actions of our body. I mean you are talking about a body part that may decide to "stand at attention" for no discernible reason at all in your 7th grade geometry class. This is why most middle school boys walk around with books in front of their crotches. This fear starts to go away when you enter your 20s, but mine came back with a vengeance after learning from a doctor friend of mine that this actually does happen on occasion during exams! Yikes. Anyway, the complete opposite occurred during the urological exam. In fact, rarely has my penis gone to such lengths to try to hide itself. Ironically, I found myself wanting to shout out to the doctor and nurse, "I was in the pool! There's was shrinkage, I was in the pool" a la George Costanza.

6. The exam itself involves lots of pushing on your stomach and "turning your head to cough." Apparently, my general practitioner dislikes "turn your head and cough" as much as I do, because the urologist brought it to a whole new level. Let's just say that she had a firm grip and at one point I actually moaned in discomfort. The most awkward part was when she asked me to "bear down." What? Yes, bear down like you are going to the bathroom. Apparently this is to test for varioceles, which are swollen blood vessels in the scrotum.

7. After leaving no stone unturned we are done, right? Wrong! In some devious twist of fate, it turns out that the prostate may come into play, so I am told that I need to "turn around, bend over, and 'brace myself' for the a digital exam." At first, I was thinking digital, as in they were going to use a digital thermometer. Nope. Digits as in the fingers on your hands are digits. She lubes up her hand and in she goes. Yelp! The pain experienced is best represented in the movie "Fletch" starring Chevy Chase. "Say, doc, are you using the whole fist?" and "Aren't you going to buy my dinner first?" Honestly, I wasn't even sure what a prostate was, but I now know that I have one, as she grabbed it and squeezed it like a stress ball. The doctor and nurse (yes, there was a witness) left the room so that I could clean myself up. Meaning, I had to mop up the Vaseline that was now pouring out of me. I know, gross.

8. So, one final meeting with the doctor to discuss the exam. In my case she thought that she may have felt a palpable varicocele (found in roughly 40% of men struggling with infertility), so I was given an appointment for an ultrasound and asked to do another semen analysis.

So there it is. Your urological exam. It wasn't fun, but I know that my wife is dealing with much worse, which makes it a little more tolerable. Somehow, it helps when you know that you are going through something as a part of a team effort. Next, entry the ultrasound.

I'd Like to Make a "Deposit" Please

2007-06-22T18:33:00.000-04:00

As far as I am concerned, the semen analysis procedure has to be the worst part of the infertility testing process (from the male perspective). At this point I have produced 3 "samples" and am something of an expert. Plus, I have 20 years of practice under my belt, so with this in mind I would like to make a few suggestions for fertility clinics around the country.

1. For the love of God, get some decent porn! I am sorry, but what sickos are in charge or ordering this stuff? On my first visit I was confronted with everything from "Grannies Gone Wild" to "Farm Animal Delights."

Here are my recommendations:

A. Keep it Simple (I am sure that many clients have their fetishes, but we are working toward procreation here!). Stick with the "girl-next-door" classics like Playboy. In terms of video, there is no need for Dickman and Throbbin, perhaps just some tasteful classic film clips (e.g. Phoebe Cates in Fast Times at Ridgemont High).

B. Keep it Current. Honestly! I am dropping big money for this. The last thing I need is a wrinkled copy of Juggs from 1987. Plus feathered hair is a real turn-off (although leggings can be quite fetching).

C. Keep it Clean. Related to "B", I couldn't help but think of the previous clients when I saw the well worn magazine rack. What about a B.Y.O.P. policy? This way you never need to recoil in horror when you turn page 17 and end up on page 22.

2. The walls of the "spankatorium" should be at least 6 inches thick. The experience is already horrifying, the last thing I need is to hear is a conversation between two lab techs about last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy. Seriously, the paper thin walls add a "Motel 6" quality to the whole process, which does not enable production of a quality sample. What people need to understand is that masturbation is a "secret" activity, hearing a nurse in the next room is the equivalent of hearing your Mom's minivan pull up in the driveway when you are thirteen.

3. Can we talk about the collection cups? It is really difficult to "direct the flow" into those stupid cups. First of all you have to stop mid-stroke and try to aim into the Tupperware. If you want a full sample there has to be a way for us to reach our "conclusion" without stopping. Second, the physics are just all wrong. I mean the penis points up and gravity is working against us. Isn't there any way we can get an ergonomic assessment for this process? Finally, if the average male produces 2 to 5 ml. why am I being supplied with a 1 liter bottle? The ol' self esteem is already at an all time low. Do we really need to emphasize my inadequacies, by giving me a Big Gulp to jack-off in?

4. Please make if clear that we have options. Once I learned that I was allowed to "produce" at home, things went much better. The clinic should offer this option up front and supply you with the requisite cup and brown paper bag. My wife and I literally argued for two weeks over who had to swing by to pick up the "receptacle" (she won). However, kudos to the office for supplying a discrete brown paper bag. "Semen sample? Nope, just my lunch... P.B. & J. with a CapriSun." For those of you who choose this option please be aware that the sample needs to arrive in the lab within one hour. This does add a certain element of suspense. It feels a little like being Michael Knight of Knight Rider fame. "KITT, I've got the sample, meet me out back!" Remember, the sample needs to be kept at body temperature so it will be important to tuck it into you Members Only jacket.

5. Finally, I have read that the wife may assist in the sample collection. Who are these couples and is there an instructional video available? As far as I can tell, this would only ramp up the awkwardness scale to a 9 out of 10. Plus, in these matters I am a firm believer that "too many cooks spoil the broth." Better to make it a solo performance.