Desperate To Have A Baby, We Tried Everything


male infertility
A couple's difficult journey towards having a baby: Part 3.

Once we were in the IVF Zone, sex between us was no longer required for attempted baby-making—or even much recommended. It was as if the whole process was created in a manner to drive a wedge into our relationship—distorting our ability to communicate and connect. We became more desperate to have a child, but it was as if our own relationship had to be put on hold during the interim.

All one could do was wait for the storm to pass. But when it did, we were not pregnant, and an even greater sadness settled in.


But then we were. Amy missed her period. She took one, two, three pregnancy tests.

It seemed incredible, impossible.

We told ourselves that it was all worth it, that everything had led to this moment.

We sat in the doctor's office with his technician holding the magic wand, the ultrasound. There on the screen was a smudge—our smudge. She hit a button, and like a Polaroid, a photo printed. Sex During Pregnancy

For three weeks, we walked on air in a state of life-changing possibility. And then we got the phone call.

We stood in the mall, between J. Crew and Talbots. The numbers were going down: Amy would miscarry. It was devastating. We held each other and cried—right there in public.  I can tell you that the only thing worse than not being pregnant is getting pregnant and then not being pregnant.

Once recovered, knowing that we could get pregnant, we went back to our procreation board of directors saying: "Give us everything you got."

Dr. Mellow suggested that we could try something else to improve our odds.

"What's that?" I asked. 

"Donor sperm." He said, casually. Which is what Dr. Blunt had suggested at the beginning of our journey in New York.

The mere mention of donor sperm was yet another test of what I was willing to do to have a child. "Not everyone needs to be parent," a voice in my brain argued.

I told myself that I had come this far and I was not backing down, so I boldly went where I never imagined I would: a sperm bank on Westwood Boulevard. (In what seemed like he was working both sides of the street, I discovered that Pappy was one of its founders.)

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