Towards the end of 2010 I was experiencing some minor pain in my side that was intermittent and barely noticeable. The only reason I took note was because I have a history with a kidney stone that pretty much derailed an entire summer of my life. Soon after that I had blood in my urine so off to the doctor I went. The doc seemed completely unconcerned by the small amount of pain as it truly was a small amount of pain. Anyone with any first-hand knowledge of kidney stones can tell you "small amount of pain" is not a phrase one would ever use during the process of having a kidney stone. Instead the doc thought it was most likely some kind of prostate infection (It was, in fact, a kidney stone that I passed December 26, 2010 whilst in the middle of a cross-country trip to visit family, sorry guys!). An entirely unexpected and unpleasant anal probe later we found ourselves chatting about the prostate and the possible problems an infection can cause. I asked whether or not that can mess with two people's ability to get pregnant (we had already been trying for a year at this point, which is the magic number for most doctors and insurance people to start figuring out if anything is wrong). And so began my quest.
The doc's instructions of collecting a sample of sperm were thorough and basically stressed that it is a time sensitive and procedurally sensitive process. Get it to the hospital in 30 minutes and for god's sake don't miss. We're talking about your standard pissing cup they hand out at the hospital mind you so right away you are questioning how it's even possible to fill this thing and if you don't, what is wrong with you. It's essentially set up to make you feel like a failure even after you have successfully completed the procedure and delivered your sperm on time. The best part is walking through the hospital with a clear plastic bag in which a clear plastic bottle with a sample of your sperm resides. I wasn't shaking any hands or giving out high-fives. My mission was simple: keep my eyes forward, walk fast and make it to the lab with as little fanfare as possible. Thankfully this first time was relatively painless. When the doc called a week or two later with the results he was sounding appropriately concerned and delivered the news that my analysis came back with some issues and he was referring me to a specialist. Apparently, along with some lower than normal numbers my sperm are fond of swimming in circles and doing a whole lot of nothing. Which is to say, they are about as stupid as thinking this whole business really is a quest to become a man.
Round two with the urologist for talking about my sperm came with another surprising anal probe (apparently even mentioning the fact that a previous doctor thought there was something wrong with my prostate, however incorrect, was an open invitation for him to make sure) and a request from the doc that I give a second sample for him so he can have some comparative data to talk about when next we meet. Round two sperm collection did not go as smoothly as round one, of course, because that would require me to exist in an alternate universe in which I was not required to experience the more embarrassing things in life.
After a fair amount of runaround by the hospital as to where I was supposed to be delivering my sperm after collection I enjoyed the pleasure of being able to deliver said sperm in the company of others. The nurse was with a few other people, one of which was an impressionable young girl; a situation in which my superbly honed instincts told me I would surely be waiting until this child was done getting blood drawn and out of sight before the nurse took care of my sperm. Nope. Instead she brought me into the next "room" (read: behind a mobile partition) and proceeded to ask me in a less than discrete manner a number of questions that made it more than obvious what I was there for. My favorite was something along the lines of, "Did you collect this sample through masturbation without the use of any lubricants, spermicides, or condoms and were you able to collect all of your ejaculate in this vial." She emphasized the words, masturbation, spermicides and ejaculate which puzzled me greatly but there I was. After completing the questionnaire and signing the paper (because, ya know, signatures make everything official and more professional) I exited the "room" to realize that it wasn't just the young girl getting blood drawn. Every seat was filled and every eye was on me. I felt like I should say something or apologize or something. Instead I just flashed an assuredly creepy looking smile and exited to go take care of some paperwork. It was then I noticed the unfortunate shirt choice of the day bearing this wonderful logo:
To a lesser observer, one might immediately think, "Yes! Ghostbusters!" Unfortunately, at that moment, it was just a confused looking sperm with a no sign over it. Thus concluded Part two of my quest in which the moral of the story is two-fold: everything they told you in high school about getting pregnant being easy is false and males, never mention your prostate while talking to your doctor lest s/he use it as an excuse to shove her/his hand unceremoniously up your rectum.
