After a few months of peeing on sticks and being hopeful, then pissed, then dismayed when my period showed up, Charlie went back for his second round of semen analysis. A couple of weeks later, on a Thursday night, I went shopping with L (my 15 year old step-son) to get the ingredients for a Christmas tree-shaped cake. When I got home, as soon as I walked through the door, Charlie said, "I want you to come look at something" and took me to the bedroom.
I thought to myself, "Well, THIS is spontaneous!". As soon as we walked through the door, though, he closed it, and without turning around blurted out, "The urologist called and there was no sperm in the sample."
I wouldn't have been more surprised or confused if I had been hit in the face. I said, "NONE? It only takes one, you know." (Again, not super rational). I went numb with shock, then flooded with grief. We sat on the bed and talked and I cried and cried. The urologist said that there was most likely a blockage caused by scar tissue in the vas deferens that had built up since the last test, that it couldn't be corrected and that the surgery could not be repeated. Our only option was In Vitro Fertilization. We didn't know if we could even afford to do that. I was being cock-and baby-blocked by a bit of scar tissue. In my mind, I suddenly saw my whole life stretched out ahead of me. In place of all those fantasies about tiny feet and fingers and first words that I had been having for months, was a loooong, empty life, like a vacant house where a lively family had once lived. I felt desperate and lonely.
We had kids in the living room, though, and we weren't ready to discuss this with them (or anyone) yet. So I stopped crying and did the only thing that I could think to do...I went into the kitchen and ate my feelings in the form of a Christmas tree-shaped cake.