Infertile Me, Incomplete Me- The Final Episode Of Story On Male Infertility

This is a three part story on male infertility from a woman’s perspective who suffered immense stress in her life caused by feudal, patriarchal and egoistic Indian mindset. After she completed writing this series and I thanked her for so bravely putting up her story in public she said that she wanted to thank me instead because writing helped her vent out. The anger that was seething deep inside even years later, the frustration, the depression and all that emotions finally got released. Thus, I decided not to edit this at all. This story is sure to touch your heart in a way that no other story ever did as this is story of real life and real emotions. She prefers to publish anonymously under the pen name of SilentCry.

Sharing My Infertility Story: The Pain of Feeling Incomplete [Final Part]

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Infertile Me, Incomplete Me – Part 1

Infertile Me, Incomplete Me-Part 2

Few months passed away with a strange heaviness. There was hardly any conversation and the “alone time” was killed trying to escape from each other. The so called couple time was getting too much for us. So, I decided to seek refuge to Google Baba. On searching the web, I came to know about endocrinologist and urologist. I gathered my guts and fixed an appointment with urologist. After a lot of coaxing and blackmailing, finally the man gave his nod. Our turn came and we entered the pale green chamber, the doctor ran his eyes through the sperm test reports. While fixing the spectacles on his nose, he declared that testicular biopsy needs to be conducted to check the remote presence of sperm inside.

It was a surgery and a painful one not only physically but emotionally too.  For a man to go under the knife to validate his masculinity was not that easy. The day arrived and we reached the hospital in hush-hush manner. Surrendering his balls to some other male was difficult. A week of healing and rest went off peacefully. Hoping against hope, sperm count result showed 2 per cent sertoli cells. Well that was Latin to me but Captain was pretty relieved that it wasn’t zero either. The sperm test had badged him as azoospermic or no sperm.

While settling down in the city, my cousin who was in pharmaceuticals business suggested me to visit the hospital that specialises infertility. The hospital was famous for 100 per cent success in IVF and IUI cases. I went alone to look around first and came back with loads of hope about our parenthood. I shared the experience with hubby. He was a bit reluctant but agreed to proceed for the meeting with the doctor couple.

We went to meet them on Saturday and after going through my husband’s report, the gynecologist suggested a series of test of which I was a champion. The doctor duo suggested carrying out tests spanning from LSH, FSH, TSH to Blue dye test.

The tests were conducted but with every test, I was praying harder as I didn’t want the tag of PCOD patient. Due to heavy weight, the doctors declared that I may have thyroid issue.  I got the tests done and it was below the danger level. The doctors after 2 weeks decided that I should get hysteroscopy done.

The doctor made it simple for me…its like manicuring your lawn. I was filled with hope that post hysteroscopy, my IVF cycle would sure shot help me in getting pregnant. The cycle started with numerous injections and medications.

The final day of embryo transfer was like’ I am gonna be a mom soon’ feeling. Those few weeks were great bonding wise. I could feel the twitch and a nip inside my tummy. But it was all fake and unreal. The reports arrived and there was a sinking feeling. I opened the report and it was negative. I cried and cried over the report. After an hour and so, my hubby said that you should join gym and get those flabs out. Cycle one failure was blamed after my flab.

I joined the gym for 3 months and followed a strict diet of fibre and no wine drinking. Post three months, I was again standing before the same doctor couple. The same lines and the same expressions, my second cycle started and it ended up the same way. I was again sent to gym, this time for 4 months. I couldn’t share with my parents what I was undergoing. In-laws made me feel like a piece of shit who has caused curse in their dear son’s life. They never spoke to me and avoided my parents. If they spoke then it would create a burning hole inside the heart.

Though hubby was aware about the realities of life but he pretended to be the supporting husband whose wife is suffering from some “haarmone” problem. Thanks to the inquisitive people, they question of “So, when is the good news”, never ceased to be asked. Hubby would always get away with it casually. It was killing me slowly from inside when I saw him talking about my weight and infertility issues with outsiders completely at ease. I hated his sight, smell and murdered him mentally a thousand times. I tried to speak to my parents about his behaviour but they refused to hold my hands too. Maybe, I shouldn’t have gone against them for marrying my now hubby.

Anyways, the third cycle was a bigger disaster, six embryo transfers and result was nadir. By that time, we had started to pack our bags for our new destination. Again a new place, the same trauma of explaining new people what was wrong with us – I could bear to go in loop mode.

I decided to stop by Delhi’s famous infertility hospital and the gynae yelled at me that after getting 3 failed IVFs, you decided to bless us with your visit. Well that didn’t go down well with me. My hubby acted like a supporting husband before the nursing assistants.

Within two months of settling down, I had to get laparoscopy done. My hubby decided that IVF didn’t worked so there was no other way but IUI with donor sperm. He would be deciding the donor profile as he didn’t wanted anyone to suspect that it wasn’t his.

For the first time, I fought back with him. I asked him that how can you decide on your own. It was no doubt a huge thing for me, accepting someone else’s sperm inside my body. Maybe I was old school; I always wanted a love child. A baby born who would resemble me but destiny had other plans. The fights and arguments graduated into physical assault. My hubby won’t stop behaving like a poor husband somehow bearing with his barren wife. Was I barren? Why can’t he accept that it was because of him I had to undergo everything? The relationship was never the same and the crook inside him now stood exposed. In our society, no matter whatever profile a man holds, he wants his wife to hide his ass or guard his ego. I have been saving his ass since 2007. And, the struggle against hypocrisy continues.

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Infertile Me, Incomplete Me – Part 1

Infertile Me, Incomplete Me-Part 2