It was THAT day. The day of the semen analysis. The day we've been awaiting (or at least hubby has been waiting for) for months. He's been quite persistent. He wanted one before we even started trying because his logic was "Why waste time? We may as well know ahead of time if everything's working right." Soooooo wish I would've gone with his logic on that. But deep down underneath all of my cynicism and sarcasm there must be a real optimist hanging on.
***Remember this point***I called last week to ask when they accept samples at this particular RE office. They told me you could 'walk-in' from 8am to 9:30pm or you could make an appointment to jack-off IN the office from 9:30-11:30. They gave me no other information.
He gave the sample (sounds so clean and easy that way) at home. Why was this so awkward for me? He didn't seem to care. Yet I <--ME, had recurrent dreams about it ALL night. He wasn't able to finish. He missed the cup. He dropped the cup. He decided he wasn't 'in the mood' and asked to reschedule. I felt awkward. It was just strange knowing that while I was in the shower he was in the bathroom across the hall nonchalantly masturbating into a cup so that we could see if his sperm are functioning correctly. Just weird. I dunno. I'm not usually weird about stuff.
I place the sample between my boobs for safe and warm transport and he says to me, "You can't drive with that there, the seat belt will be against it and if you get in a wreck it could crush a hole in your chest" <---can't tell we work in the ER can you? This was at least funny. My worst fear was arriving in my place of business after a wreck with SEMEN all over my face. (and I thought the collection was awkward).
Did I mention it was pouring down rain this morning? Pouring. I arrive 45 minutes later at the office, which is on the campus of the hospital I work in. Convenient at least. I approach the desk and a receptionist asks why I'm there. I tell her I have a semen sample and show her the order. She walks away and another lady returns. She comes from around the corner with papers in her hand and it went a little something like this...
Sperm Lady: "Oh, Hi...Is this for Frank?"
Me: "Frank?" Ohhhh shit. Who's Frank? Was I supposed to have an appointment?
Sperm Lady: "Who are you? Do you have an appointment?"
Me: "I don't have an appointment, I'm just here to drop this off during the walk-in hours."
Sperm Lady: "Well you have to have an appointment. We only do three a morning."
Me: "But I called and was told I could walk in between 8 and 9:30" <---desperation.
Sperm Lady: "Sorry. We can't help you. You'll have to make an appointment."
Me: *stares sadly at brown bag that holds the sample**tears are welling up at the thought of re-living this morning* *then looks around office at who else is there* *then thinks to self: If I end up needing tens of thousands of dollars of IF treatments, these people will NOT be the ones getting my cash goddammit*
Sperm Lady: "**BIG SIGH (as if I ruined her whole day)** Okay, let me see what I can do."
5 minutes pass--during which I can hear the sperm screaming out "we're dying in here!"
Sperm Lady: *returns with nice smile on her face, and a suddenly sweet and compassionate personality. "Okay, just come around the corner and fill out this paperwork. I'm sorry for the miscommunication. I know how hard it is to get them to do it once, much less twice. We'll just add you on to the schedule."
I mean seriously. At 150 BUCKS a pop you'd think it wouldn't be that HARD to SQUEEZE me in. And next time give the right information over the phone. B.I.T.C.H.