You Blew It: The Untold Guy's Perspective on Severe Male Factor Infertility

Guest Post from Mr. Unnaturally Knocked Up himself, on behalf of MFI Dudes Everywhere. 

Hope you enjoy this different, and very candid perspective :) Xx Rachael

Conduct a Google search on infertility and you'll agree that telling the devastating tale of infertility has been, for the most part, reserved for the ladies. And there are an increasing number of digital communities for brave women to seek advice, information and support for infertility. 

To be totally clear, infertility, of course, is a couples dilemma and not a personal battle.  But nearly 30% of today's infertility cases are attributed to the male partner (source: ivf.com). Maybe we're stubborn, or maybe it's due to our nature, but most guys turn inward rather than outward to confront the emotions that come with a shocking infertility diagnosis. So we rarely have the opportunity to talk with other men suffering from male-factor infertility. Heck, we probably don't even talk about it openly with you!

In this guest post I aim to share a little bit of the untold male perspective, and to hopefully give voice to the strong, often quiet men who also suffer from male-factor infertility. For you, my inbox is always open. 

Here are four things your husband wants to tell you about his infertility problems but probably won't say out loud... 

1. I'm sorry.

I know that babies grow inside of your body. It's your realm of expertise. Your domain. So when we started this infertility journey together I sort of figured it would be something wrong with your body. It's so freaking complicated, after all. 

And as a husband I try to support you in every way I can. I've been here for the shoulder to cry on. I'm the guy giving you the daily pep talk. You might even say that I'm overly optimistic. Or "annoying". It's hard for me to make you feel better about the situation, so I shut down when our emotions make hard conversations even more troublesome.

And now that the tables have been flipped and I realize that I AM the infertility factor, I'm devastated. Because now I can't "give" you the baby we've been talking about as a couple for weeks/months/years.

But mostly, I'm sad for you. I'm burdened daily by the realization that no matter the outcome, ultimately you will be the one who has to carry this entire gigantic thing on your shoulders. No awkward masturbation sessions in a sterile doctor's office can compare to what I know you have endured, and what you will continue to endure, both mentally and physically. 

It breaks my heart to know that you have to go through this because of me. And I'm sorry. 

2. I feel guilty. Really, really guilty.

Because after supporting you for several months/years under the premise that this infertility story we've been writing together is a woman's issue, the narrative suddenly gets an M. Night Shyamalan plot twist. 

After all the emotionally escalating months of tracking your cycle, scheduled baby making sessions, bathroom floors littered with pee sticks, tear-filled period mornings, awkward trips to different specialists, vaginal probing, blood tests, genetic tests, and sperm tests.....suddenly, I've become the villain. 

The immense relief we expected from finally "finding" the problem was overshadowed by the shocking surprise we received. Now I just feel really guilty about the last [insert time frame here] we've been trying to have a baby. And because our story has been closely followed by our dearest friends and family, the need to explain this little discovery to others leads to overwhelming embarrassment. 

3. I feel invisible in your shadow.

I hope you don't think I'm coming off as selfish, because that isn't my intention. But I can't help but feel like I'm hiding in the giant shadow cast by your own infertility story. To be totally honest, you're my hero after all you've gone through. I'm not sure that I've told you that, at least not as often as I should. But now that I've come to terms with my inability to impregnate you without science and/or magic, I need some support, too. 

Infertility has the amazing ability to inject awkward silence into any conversation. But I can't help but notice how people rally to comfort and support you:

Vs. Me:

Make no mistake, this is your burden to bear and you should get the support, love, and compassion that you need and deserve. Even though I don't want to talk about it (see #4 below), and I'm supposed to be a big strong man, I still need to know this struggle is ours, together. 

4. Let me be eerily optimistic for now.

Suffering from severe oligozoospermia really cripples my ego and has left me feeling oddly empty inside - same as when you thought you were the infertility factor. I'm not really sure how I feel about it, honestly, or how I'm supposed to feel. I'm kind of in between emotions. 

But what I do know is we have a good chance of having a baby with IVF. And for that, I feel very optimistic! I won't give up until the battle is won ("Congratulations, it's a boy/girl!") or lost ("We've done all we can do, consider adoption.").

If there's just one more pathetic little sperm available (and money) for IVF treatments, I will continue to be optimistic! 

Let me do what I need to do to cope, because I need to keep the dream alive - if not for myself, then certainly for you. Believe it or not, I sort of need to be the rock in this situation. 

-Mr. Unnaturally Knocked Up