November 15, 2006
When we woke up today, it really didn't seem like the kind of day that could forever change our lives for the better. In fact, it seemed like yet another day of the same old same old - grey sky, rain, and yet another appointment with a medical specialist.
We've had many such days over the years, eking through the seasons going to doctor after doctor in hopes of finding one who could diagnose and treat Ross' medical condition. Internists, endocrinologists, urologists, reproductive endocrinologists... We've been to every kind of ologist and none were able to figure out why Ross has low testosterone. They'd all do the same procedures - blood tests, physical exams, sperm counts, hormone tests, MRIs to rule out brain tumors, cat scans to look for pituitary problems. The tests were endless and all with the same result. Ross was told he has an "idiopathic" medical condition, which our regular doctor told us is just medical jargon doctors use to say "we're too prideful to admit we don't know what's wrong."
So we've spent years going to specialists, paying a fortune for Ross to endure embarrassing and painful medical tests, all to no avail. No one could figure out what's wrong, but every doctor said the same about treatment. Ross would need testosterone replacement therapy for the rest of his life, weekly hormone injections to treat the debilitating effects of low testosterone - low libido, low sperm count, depression, exhaustion, mood disturbance, muscle loss, osteoporosis, and a long list of other problems. But there was one catch. Testosterone therapy reduces a man's sperm count to zero, which makes it a wee bit difficult to have kids, so we either needed to have kids before Ross started testosterone therapy or have Ross make use of a sperm bank.
Since fertility treatment is astronomically expensive and our insurance won't cover it, we postponed testosterone therapy and tried to get pregnant on our own, even though the odds were against us. We tried for years, tracking my cycle, using ovulation tests, timing sex... None of it worked and we finally had to admit defeat so, back in August, we went to our doctor for a referral to a fertility specialist, but our doctor wanted Ross to try one last urologist. We rolled our eyes. We'd gone that route before and the urologists was the rudest, most insulting doctor we'd ever met. Apparently dealing with human waste for a living rubs off on your personality. But our doctor said this was different. She'd found a urologist who specializes in male fertility and she really wanted Ross to see him. So we agreed, if only to appease our doctor.
Of course, right after that appointment we found out I was pregnant and couldn't help but laugh. Ross called to make the appointment with the urologist and, four days later, I found out I was pregnant. "That's one hell of a urologist!" I told my doctor when I went in for the blood test to confirm my pregnancy. "All we had to do was call his office and I got pregnant!" My doctor, who was nearly as happy as we were over the pregnancy, laughed and said, "I told you he was good!" And all seemed right with the world until October 18th, the day I lost the pregnancy. "I guess it's a good thing we still have an appointment with the urologist," I told Ross as we left the hospital that day, and then went home to cry, fearing we'd just lost the only chance we'd ever have to be parents, but hoping for a miracle all the same.
So we trudged through the grey November morning over to OHSU today, dreading another appointment in which Ross would have his privates poked, his brain scanned, and his blood drawn, only to be told the problem was undiagnosable, but that didn't happen. This time was different. There were no blood draws, cat scans, or hormone tests. Instead, the doctor had already gone over Ross' previous tests and knew what was wrong. He breezed into the room and promptly explained the problem (a miscommunication between brain and testes) and how to treat it. It was amazing enough that he knew what was wrong, but when he told us that treatment is as simple as Ross taking a pill every day, we just sat there dumbfounded.
Looking amused by our stunned expressions, and perhaps sensing our disbelief, the doctor went on to explain that the medication will restore Ross' testosterone level and sperm count to a normal, healthy level and that all the adverse symptoms of low testosterone will go away as well. "You'll feel like your old self again," he told Ross. "Your energy level, libido, and mood will improve and you certainly won't need the anti-depressant anymore."
Healthy testosterone level and sperm count? No more low libido, depression, and exhaustion? No more muscle loss or risk of osteoporosis? He'll feel like his old self again? It felt like we'd just won the lottery and we could barely refrain from doing the happy happy-joy joy dance all over the doctor's office. Finally, after all these years, Ross had a diagnosis and treatment plan, and not only will it make him feel better, it might solve our fertility issues as well.
Ross has suffered from the devastating effects of low testosterone for years and its had awful effects on his life. When I met him 11 years ago, Ross was a happy, optimistic, outgoing guy but, over the course of time, the increasing severity of the low testosterone turned him into an exhausted, depressed, and pessimistic person whose love of life all but disappeared and our inability to find a doctor who could treat the problem just made it all the worse. To be diagnosed with a severe medical condition that has ruinous effects is bad enough, but then to be told that there's no treatment... !
The whole experience has been traumatic and we were afraid Ross might not ever be healthy or feel well again, which is an extremely difficult thing to face. There's nothing worse than watching someone you love change and suffer so much, which is why today feels so euphoric and miraculous, like we were just handed salvation on a silver plater. Granted, we realize that the treatment might not work and we are keeping that in mind, but when you're handed the first true ray of hope that you've had in years you can't help but celebrate and dream of the possibilities.
So tonight I raise my glass to hope, a great urologist, and my beautiful long-suffering husband who hopefully will suffer no more.
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