Husband here making an unusual appearance at mybrokenuterus. Now I thought about creating a brother site (cos I'm a dude of course) entitled mybrokentestes, but I thought it wouldn't get the kind of traffic I'd like....and well, I'm emasculated enough without reading the comments a site with that kind of name would get.
Now let us go onwards to the point of this post. God has a fantastic sense of humor. One need only look at some of the fantastically ugly things in this world to realize that. For example duck-billed platypi (I'm sure I pluralized that wrong), Patrick Ewing, and the whole state of Nevada are all things only a mother could love. In Nevada's case that would be a drunken abusive mother, but I digress.
For me personally this whole infertility thing has been a revelation of divine humor, what follows will show this fact in clear and probably too vivid detail.
Now let me get it out of the way first by stating that I'm fine. Our first fertility doctor even told me that I'd be an ideal donor candidate, if you know what I mean. The nurses and doctor in this round of treatment were not quite as effulgent in praise of my man seed. They said my volume and shape was average, but....
Now anytime you're in fertility treatment and a doctor or nurse utters the word "but" you know the other shoe is about to drop. In this case the shoe was made of lead and it was aimed directly at my groin. But they said, I'm a bit on the low side of average in terms of testosterone.
So evidently I've got an ample sample but they'd all rather sit around watching the Lifetime Movie Network than swim to the goal. That's fine though I can deal with that. The treatment obviously would be something to boost my T-levels, like hunting, or watching Nascar, or enjoying a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie marathon right? Nope. Instead they did the most obvious medical thing, they put me on Clomid.
(I pause in this account for you to recover yourself and possible change your pants if you've wet yourself)
Over the years we've had many friends (always female) who have needed to go on Clomid to conceive. One of these friends I believe threatened her husband with a steak knife while on the drug. If you know me personally you also know that I have the emotional range of a 15 year old house cat. Yeah I know emotions are out there, but seriously I'd much rather nap in the sun than express my feelings.
So it was with much trepidation that I began my Clomid regiment. The first 27 days or so were fine. I didn't pull a knife on my wife, I didn't rent any more Hugh Grant movies than normal, and I certainly didn't express my emotions more than usual. Then came day 28.
I'm not sure what set it off but all of the sudden my emotions went out of control. I was convinced Wife was against me. I was sad, angry, happy, frustrated all simultaneously. Not to mention the fact that I had an insatiable desire for ice cream.
By the morning things were back to normal, but let this be a lesson to all you women out there. If you want your husband to know what a period is like, just put him on a monthly cycle of clomid. Seriously honey any time you want we can stay at home and watch Oprah.
Epilogue:
The most amusing part of this whole event is that after they took the additional blood work following my Clomid cycle, they never gave me any results to tell me if it made me more of a man. At least it didn't get me pregnant!
