The things you learn from watching the seedy and gritty, but wonderful Mad Men. I watched an old episode on a flight this week that dealt with one of the couple's challenges (Pete and Trudy) with infertility. You'd think with all the sex those men are having there would be as many pregnant bellies as there are ashtrays and highballs.
Anyway, Pete went and had his sperm counted and had stellar results (plus, he fathered a kid by one of the women in his office, but he didn't know that yet). After hearing his positive prognosis, he strutted around his apartment like a proud peacock, plummage in full. When his wife's face fell, he just said, "Well, at least we know it isn't me."
After his wife broke down, he said he never wanted to talk about it again, and stormed out. The nerve!
This is indicitive of the show's male chauvenistic nature, but it made me think about my own infertility (heck, I could relate a Golden Girl's episode to my infertility. Who needs menapause when they can't conceive anyway? See just did it) and the blame game. Something that no couple should ever play.
My husband, also known as Super Sperm, has a count that is literally off the charts. It's ABOVE average. I can produce almost two dozen eggs when on a follistim cycle, and yet no babies.
Not once, in the more than five years of trying, has either one of us ever blamed the other for our baby-making challenges. In our case, there is clearly something about embryos not wanting to stick in my uterus, and as much as it sucks, I will not blame myself for that. And, neither will Jack Bauer. He has been the most supportive hubby anyone could ever dream of.
So regardless of your lazy ovaries, slow mobility swimmers, or PCOS, don't play the blame game. Unfortunately, for many of us, there is no explanation for our infertility. It's hard to let go of not knowing why it won't work, but is harder if we don't.