We were told we needed to wait 3 – 6 months after my husband’s varicocelectomy to see any possible improvements from the surgery. After exactly 3 months we repeated his SA and eagerly waited for the results, bracing to be disappointed, keeping our expectations low….
“This is the most dramatic improvement we could have hoped for,” the urologist told us.
The most beautiful sentence I’ve ever heard.
His numbers improved drastically across the board. Like, shot way up. As in, he now has super sperm.
I am fearful of letting myself get too excited or optimistic during this journey, but I couldn’t help but get a flicker of hope that things might start to look up.
Deciding to have the surgery was difficult, scary, stressful (read about our urology appointment here). We got conflicting advice from different doctors. More than one rolled their eyes and said it was unnecessary, we were getting pregnant. Surgery is a big deal, and we shouldn’t jump to go under the knife too quickly. Our urologist, and my own gut, told us differently. His varicocele was causing poor morphology, and slightly elevated levels of sperm DNA fragmentation. High levels of sperm DNA fragmentation have been linked to repeat pregnancy loss. And it remains somewhat controversial what role poor morphology has.
But, in two-thirds of men, the surgery will improve these parameters.
Two-thirds of men.
Statistics have been my enemy lately, offering me little solace, as we continue to fall into slimmest probabilities (your chance of miscarriage drops to 5% after you hear the heartbeat! the chance of having two miscarriages in a row is only 4%!). Anything less than 100% was going to give me nightmares.
But we knew we needed to stay to true to the vow we told ourselves. That we would test everything, and do anything we could to possibly lower our chance of miscarrying again. That we wouldn’t try again until we have turned every rock, pushed for every test, seen every kind of doctor. That we would be patient. I knew it was the only way to get the courage to try again.
And now I’m starting to get courage. I can breathe easy and at least know that nothing on my husband’s end will increase our odds of losing another one.
Pressure’s on, uterus…