WARNING: Adult Content Ahead
If you have not read Fertility Futility: Part 1 yet,
I recommend doing so before reading this post.
Shame is all I felt. I held an empty specimen cup in my hand as I explained to a nurse that there were no specimen provided. This was terrible. I had never failed at this task before. In fact, it sometimes happened when I didn’t even want it to, like while I slept or 36 seconds into “business time.”
The nurse looked at me with absolutely no sympathy and said, “Well, you can take the cup home and try it there, if you would be more comfortable.”
Yes, home sounded like a great idea.
The nurse placed the specimen cup in a brown paper bag, handed it to me, and said, “After you collect the specimen, you have to keep it at body temperature, so hold it under your arm as you bring it back. Oh. and you have to get it back to us within thirty minutes”
I nodded and may have squeaked out, “ok.”
The nurse then looked at the clock. I could see by her facial expression that she was computing something in her head.
“We close at 4:30 today,” she said, “So can you be back by then?”
I looked at the clock. It was quarter-after-three. I quickly did my own calculation, which told me it would be close. If I hurried home, skipped the warm up stuff, and went right to the git-r-done material, I could probably make it back in time. My confidence was shaken, though, given my recent performance — or lack thereof. I wavered for a few seconds. Would I be able to bang this out under the pressure of a time constraint? Then, as if she were in my head, the nurse said the thing that made the decision easy.
“If you can’t make it today,” she said, “You’ll have to wait until Monday.”
It was Friday, so waiting until Monday meant three more days of abstinence. That would certainly result in injury, or perhaps even, death. My mission was now clear and I had no time to waste.
“I’ll see you in one hour,” I said and ran for the door paper bag and cup in hand.
The doctor’s office was a fifteen minute drive from our house. Due, in part, to fancy maneuvering but, more so, to a lack of traffic cops, I shaved three minutes off that time. I power-slid into the driveway, threw the car in park, turned off the engine, jumped out, and ran for the front door. That’s when I heard it.
“Hey neighbor,” the voice said, “I’m glad I caught you.”
I turned around to see my next door neighbor standing in my front yard. Normally, I loved chatting with him, but I had work to do. He proceeded to tell me that he planted daisies, or posies, or fucking hydrangeas, whatever it was.
“If you want some,” he said, “I got extra.”
“Uh, sure. That would be great,” I said just to end the conversation.
“OK. I’ll put them in your backyard. Make sure you water them every day. They need partial shade in the morning, full sun at night, and every other Tuesday you should spritz them with unicorn piss.”
I may have gotten some of that wrong. The bottom line was that I needed to get in the house and produce a specimen. I couldn’t say that, though. Instead, I said the only thing I could think of that wasn’t as embarrassing.
“That’s great, Frank. I gotta go take a shit,” I said and went in the house.
I rushed to the computer, took the cup out of the bag, removed the lid, and fired up a web browser. I typed in http://www.big-ol-ti– you know what, you probably don’t want the details and to be honest they are not essential to the story. Let’s just skip ahead to the part where my body informed me that specimen production would commence in —
I grabbed the cup.
Accounted for wind velocity.
Positioned the cup.
It is worth reminding you at this point that I had gone several days without release. A lot of pressure was, therefore, built up. When release finally did come, I was not prepared for the force with which the specimen was ejected. Had I been prepared, I would have held the cup at a more appropriate distance. Instead, I watched as the specimen rocketed over the cup and plummeted to the floor where it pooled into a puddle of lost pride and vanished dignity.