By now it’s obviously no secret that my wife and I are trying to get pregnant, but I'll stop there in terms of where we are in the process. But, from the story that follows it's fairly obvious, and I'm not really sure why I'd bother keeping anything else private after this anyway, but so be it. While unfortunately this is just the first recount of what came to be many turns "doing my part" (at least on the tangible, technical side), I can assure you that it never got any easier or any less awkward thereafter.
With the insemination date looming, my wife's hormones primed, and her "oven" being brought to ideal baking condition, it now became my turn to offer up a simple specimen after she has endured more than I ever could do. So it is hard for me to complain much about something she sees as a free pass to go watch porn and pleasure myself - using the term "pleasure" very lightly, despite ultimate outcome, there is nothing pleasurable it. Once the appointment is scheduled they send out some guidelines and parameters to ensure, my "sample" is of top-notch, grade-A quality. Among these, I am told to hold off on drinking alcohol, smoking tobacco/weed/crack/etc, or inhaling any household products for at least 72 hours before submitting a sample. Not that I have a problem adhering to these, except for the alcohol and an occasional sniff of glue of course, but I do find it ironic since countless babies are the direct byproducts of over use of all these products in excess and/or combination. But whatever, I do want my ‘boys’ to be in pre-Beijing Olympics Michael Phelps shape and not post Olympics, bong-hitting, college frat party crashing condition.
Not to sound like a sex addict or circus freak, but given my experience performing the actual act involved since about the age of 14, I didn't think I'd have a problem with and I knew it would be a little awkward, but I can't overstate just how awkward it really was, it least for me. Feeling from the moment I walk in like I have a big sign on my forehead than says, "I'm here to jerk off," everything that ensues thereafter only goes to support this notion, and then some - to the point it feels like like that sign above my heading is lit in big, bold letters and blinking lights. Oh well, with head down and on a mission, I open the doors of the clinic and march straight to the check-in desk and wait to be acknowledged by the receptionist…
"Sir can I help you?" she asks.
"Um, yeah I'm here for an appointment," I whisper, trying to remain incognito to the rest of the waiting room.
"Ok, are you here to see a doctor?" she asks.
Unsure of how to properly answer the question without blowing my cover, I respond, "Well no, more like a lab work." As I say this I honestly thought about accompanying this with a wink and a wry smile to get the point across so she'd stop asking questions, but I didn't want Chris Hansen, the Dateline NBC - To Catch a Predator guy, to appear from around the corner, because that was how creepy I was feeling at the time.
But then, as if she takes daily pleasure in exposing and embarrassing guys like me, she announces, "Oh, you're here to submit a sperm sample." Upon hearing this I experienced one of those classic moments like when you walk into a bar and feel like all the music comes to a screeching halt and everyone turns and looks at you. I didn't turn around, but I felt the eyes of everyone in the room piercing the back of my head. It was all I could do to just mutter back, “Ah yeah, I think so." So she hands me some paperwork and I turn and find the most remote area of the waiting room to go sit down.
I don't think I'd ever been happier to get some medical paperwork to go fill out - they were just confirming that I had, in fact, remained free of toxins for the past 72 hours. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally get called back...Thankfully, by this point everyone that was in the waiting room when I arrived has already been called back so I'm now feeling like my anonymity has been somewhat restored.
On the stroll back to the "sampling room", the nurse actually attempts to make some small talk. I oblige her for the time being, but all the while I can't help but think about what her reaction would be if I replied to her line of questioning this way...
Nurse: "How are you today Mr. Walters?"
Me: "I'm OK, but fixing to be a lot better once I get this load off!"
Nurse: “Well how is the weather looking outside?”
Me: “It just started to rain a bit, but nothing like the way I’m about to make it rain in here, if you know what I mean?!?”
Nurse: “And have you abstained from intercourse the last three days?”
Me: “Are you kidding me? For one, I've been married over five years now and it’s a Wednesday! And two, you currently have my wife taking nightly suppository pills in her v-jay, so even if we wanted to, we couldn't...so what do you think?”
After we weave our way to the far corner of the clinic – which I don’t blame them and actually appreciate them placing the sampling rooms there – she hands me off to another nurse who it appears her sole job is to be the hostess of the sampling rooms. I'm not sure if this happens to be the entry-level nursing gig at fertility clinics, like writing obituaries is for a newspaper, or if maybe this is an actual concentration of study in nursing school, but I really wanted to ask. If so, just imagine, her job description would consist of the following requirements:
With the insemination date looming, my wife's hormones primed, and her "oven" being brought to ideal baking condition, it now became my turn to offer up a simple specimen after she has endured more than I ever could do. So it is hard for me to complain much about something she sees as a free pass to go watch porn and pleasure myself - using the term "pleasure" very lightly, despite ultimate outcome, there is nothing pleasurable it. Once the appointment is scheduled they send out some guidelines and parameters to ensure, my "sample" is of top-notch, grade-A quality. Among these, I am told to hold off on drinking alcohol, smoking tobacco/weed/crack/etc, or inhaling any household products for at least 72 hours before submitting a sample. Not that I have a problem adhering to these, except for the alcohol and an occasional sniff of glue of course, but I do find it ironic since countless babies are the direct byproducts of over use of all these products in excess and/or combination. But whatever, I do want my ‘boys’ to be in pre-Beijing Olympics Michael Phelps shape and not post Olympics, bong-hitting, college frat party crashing condition.
Not to sound like a sex addict or circus freak, but given my experience performing the actual act involved since about the age of 14, I didn't think I'd have a problem with and I knew it would be a little awkward, but I can't overstate just how awkward it really was, it least for me. Feeling from the moment I walk in like I have a big sign on my forehead than says, "I'm here to jerk off," everything that ensues thereafter only goes to support this notion, and then some - to the point it feels like like that sign above my heading is lit in big, bold letters and blinking lights. Oh well, with head down and on a mission, I open the doors of the clinic and march straight to the check-in desk and wait to be acknowledged by the receptionist…
"Sir can I help you?" she asks.
"Um, yeah I'm here for an appointment," I whisper, trying to remain incognito to the rest of the waiting room.
"Ok, are you here to see a doctor?" she asks.
Unsure of how to properly answer the question without blowing my cover, I respond, "Well no, more like a lab work." As I say this I honestly thought about accompanying this with a wink and a wry smile to get the point across so she'd stop asking questions, but I didn't want Chris Hansen, the Dateline NBC - To Catch a Predator guy, to appear from around the corner, because that was how creepy I was feeling at the time.
But then, as if she takes daily pleasure in exposing and embarrassing guys like me, she announces, "Oh, you're here to submit a sperm sample." Upon hearing this I experienced one of those classic moments like when you walk into a bar and feel like all the music comes to a screeching halt and everyone turns and looks at you. I didn't turn around, but I felt the eyes of everyone in the room piercing the back of my head. It was all I could do to just mutter back, “Ah yeah, I think so." So she hands me some paperwork and I turn and find the most remote area of the waiting room to go sit down.
I don't think I'd ever been happier to get some medical paperwork to go fill out - they were just confirming that I had, in fact, remained free of toxins for the past 72 hours. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally get called back...Thankfully, by this point everyone that was in the waiting room when I arrived has already been called back so I'm now feeling like my anonymity has been somewhat restored.
On the stroll back to the "sampling room", the nurse actually attempts to make some small talk. I oblige her for the time being, but all the while I can't help but think about what her reaction would be if I replied to her line of questioning this way...
Nurse: "How are you today Mr. Walters?"
Me: "I'm OK, but fixing to be a lot better once I get this load off!"
Nurse: “Well how is the weather looking outside?”
Me: “It just started to rain a bit, but nothing like the way I’m about to make it rain in here, if you know what I mean?!?”
Nurse: “And have you abstained from intercourse the last three days?”
Me: “Are you kidding me? For one, I've been married over five years now and it’s a Wednesday! And two, you currently have my wife taking nightly suppository pills in her v-jay, so even if we wanted to, we couldn't...so what do you think?”
After we weave our way to the far corner of the clinic – which I don’t blame them and actually appreciate them placing the sampling rooms there – she hands me off to another nurse who it appears her sole job is to be the hostess of the sampling rooms. I'm not sure if this happens to be the entry-level nursing gig at fertility clinics, like writing obituaries is for a newspaper, or if maybe this is an actual concentration of study in nursing school, but I really wanted to ask. If so, just imagine, her job description would consist of the following requirements:
- Proficient technical skills with audio/video equipment
- Up-to-date working knowledge of the porn industry, both print and video
- Ability to deal with customers who would rather be anywhere else in the world than in your presence
- High-level of concentration among rather distracting work environment
Many more come to mind, but I'll trying to keep this above a certain line of respectability (it’s a sliding scale)
In regards to the placement of the sampling rooms, in hindsight, I would say it’s probably not a good idea for these to share thin office walls with the ultrasound rooms. The dynamic this creates is similar to, but so much worse than, when staying in a hotel and you can hear the couple in the room beside you or, even worse, the lone guy watching porn with the volume up too loud. Now apply this to a fertility/reproductive clinic, where at the same time a young couple finds out they’re having a sweet, adorable baby girl they hear the moans and screams of a not-so-sweet and innocent girl coming from the TV in the next room!
Now for those that have never had the pleasure of offering up a sperm sample, let me take a moment to set the scene inside one of these designated ‘sampling' rooms...First and foremost, it all starts with the TV/DVD player combo unit. It's doubtful this TV has ever been used for anything but porn, lots and lots of porn. Hell, it may not even have a cable connection on the back, it never has had a need for one. There may actually be a market for TV manufactures to sell these otherwise outdated combo units directly to fertility clinics.
Anyway, I digress…But while on the subject of the TV/DVD player, I'd be remiss if I didn't address the remote control. This might be the single, most disturbing item in the whole room. As sterile of an environment as they try to make it and as many ways as they can possibly facilitate that ‘samplers’ practice proper hygiene, there is no way to ensure that remote control is always clean.
Just think, what would be the one item in the room that patients touch right before, possibly during, and definitely right after their "session"? Right, the remote control! It may try to get sterilized after, but the fact that the remote receives such direct, dirty contact from about everyone that passes through there, it may gross me out the most.
For this reason (and the fact that I've never been a big porn guy), I try my best to summon a ‘sample’ from imagination rather than use any of the provided materials, video or print. Which brings me to the magazines, as much as the thought of a sticky "Fast Forward" button creeps me out, the notion of having to sift through a magazine with pages wrinkled up or stuck together might be even worse. Furthermore, another reason it’s hard for me to go with the porn video is because of the nurses and lab technicians just outside the room. This is too reminiscent of when you stumble across a late night skin flick while watching TV in bed and try to keep the volume low so your wife doesn't wake up and see what you're watching. If that rings a bell with some of you, then imagine trying to then 'take care of business' while she’s lying there…not happening!
Now for those that have never had the pleasure of offering up a sperm sample, let me take a moment to set the scene inside one of these designated ‘sampling' rooms...First and foremost, it all starts with the TV/DVD player combo unit. It's doubtful this TV has ever been used for anything but porn, lots and lots of porn. Hell, it may not even have a cable connection on the back, it never has had a need for one. There may actually be a market for TV manufactures to sell these otherwise outdated combo units directly to fertility clinics.
Anyway, I digress…But while on the subject of the TV/DVD player, I'd be remiss if I didn't address the remote control. This might be the single, most disturbing item in the whole room. As sterile of an environment as they try to make it and as many ways as they can possibly facilitate that ‘samplers’ practice proper hygiene, there is no way to ensure that remote control is always clean.
Just think, what would be the one item in the room that patients touch right before, possibly during, and definitely right after their "session"? Right, the remote control! It may try to get sterilized after, but the fact that the remote receives such direct, dirty contact from about everyone that passes through there, it may gross me out the most.
For this reason (and the fact that I've never been a big porn guy), I try my best to summon a ‘sample’ from imagination rather than use any of the provided materials, video or print. Which brings me to the magazines, as much as the thought of a sticky "Fast Forward" button creeps me out, the notion of having to sift through a magazine with pages wrinkled up or stuck together might be even worse. Furthermore, another reason it’s hard for me to go with the porn video is because of the nurses and lab technicians just outside the room. This is too reminiscent of when you stumble across a late night skin flick while watching TV in bed and try to keep the volume low so your wife doesn't wake up and see what you're watching. If that rings a bell with some of you, then imagine trying to then 'take care of business' while she’s lying there…not happening!
The other thing with the TV/DVD player is that some patients and/or the hostess of the donation room forget to stop or eject the DVD that was in there before. So this means that when you turn the unit on, it automatically reverts to playing what was on before! Thus, another reason going with the provided porn is a little too personal - not only do you immediately know what was 'working' for the last guy, but it's a creepy form sloppy seconds.
The next standard item in these rooms is the lounge chair (aka where everyone sits to jerk off)...In most cases, the lounge chair is covered with that medical 'butcher paper' or towels but it still leaves parts of the chair exposed like the head and arm rests. Plus, you never know how much prior ‘samplers’ decided to de-robe or how bad their aim is (which we’ll get to in a minute).
The other item that ranks a close third to the most disturbing item in the room (behind the remote and the magazines) is the writing pens. For those that aren't sure why there would be pens in the room, there is a 'recap' sticker you must fill out after the session. Now the hope would be that everyone washes their hands immediately after finishing their business, but knowing full well how the mental shot clock is always ticking and that you're wanting to get out of there as fast as possible so as not to look like a total circus freak, chances are that most don't wash their hands before picking up the pens to fill out the sticker. Not to mention that certain parts of the sticker can only be answered 'after the fact', meaning that people can't entirely use the pens beforehand.
And now that brings me to the ‘recap’ sticker itself...Other than name and date of birth that you fill out, the other fields of information are rather interesting and present some complex ramifications. The first question is in regards to how much of the total sample was lost in the process (if any) with possible answers of "little, some, or most". For those that have done this, I'd think you'd agree that almost always some of the sample is lost somewhere in the process. Without getting into too many details here, just trust me, it happens and there are many factors to blame. But the second question is much more difficult asking when in the process any of it was lost...beginning, middle, or end?
I’m not going to guess why this matters, must be something medical, but what I want to know is how they expect you to really answer this accurately? I have to think that this question was the work of a woman. I’m guessing they must equate this experience to nothing more than filling up a measuring cup by turning the water on full blast with the cup directly under the faucet…In which case, it may be easy to tell if some splashed out at the beginning or if some continued to drip after the cup was pulled was away. But what they fail to realize is that, HELLO!, there is an actual orgasm involved here – and unless I really am the circus freak that I feel like I am when I’m there – then that involves eyes being closed or in the back of your head, mild convulsions, and/or momentary loss of motor skills (i.e. hand-eye coordination). Anyway, I’ve probably divulged more than necessary or maybe I’m just a bad shot but either way, I haven't found a good way to accurately answer that question.
When it’s all said and done – between the hunting and pecking with the remote, writing with the pen by touching it as little as possible, sitting as compacted yet functional as possible on the chair so as to not cross the paper boundary – it is now time to pack up my ‘sample’ and deliver it to the lab desk. Unfortunately, these samples are not just put behind a double-sided trap door like urine samples with no nurse interaction. But instead, these samples are not only required to be dropped off in person, they then get pulled out of the brown bag they give you to put it in and briefly examined right in front of you! Other than fessing up to my parents for wrecking the car or an old girlfriend for cheating on her, I’ve never encountered a more difficult time to look someone in their eyes. I’m not sure what exactly she is looking for other than the fact that they did indeed get an adequate sample. I don't really look at her while she’s taking it out and inspecting it, I’m just standing there, head down, eagerly waiting for her to hand me back some paperwork and dismiss me.
Just as I'd thought about responding to the nurse’s small talk after being called back, I’ve had alter-ego thoughts on how I could handle this differently too…Suppose I emerge from the sampling room loud and proud? Better yet, what if I splashed water on my face to look like I’m sweating? And then, as she examines my ‘boys’ in front of me, I just stood there – chest out, nodding up and down with a big smile on my face. Might as well make the most of a bad situation, right? (Well, maybe not)
Although, if you think this entire scenario is bad, at our first fertility clinic the men's sampling room and women's blood drawing areas shared the same general waiting room (see diagram below)! This meant that guys had to not only wait among all the women before getting called in for what everyone knew they were about to do, but they had to return from the 'sampling' rooms (with specimen in hand) to the exact same waiting room! Even though that clinic could never pinpoint why we couldn’t get pregnant, I am convinced that the set up of the sampling room could not have helped. While the tests proved otherwise, I just don't think 'my boys' could really 'be themselves' with all that going on around them...
