Monthly Archives: October 2011
Be nice to the Urologist
Well if you can’t be good, be consistent. The results of the second test came back and the only difference is the date the test was taken. I was referred to a urologist to see if they can find out what the problem is.
The wife and I are sitting in the waiting room at the Urologist’s office and this one seems to collect antique urology tools. Lots of long rods with strange ends on them. I would swear these were torture devices if I saw them anyplace else. We go in to meet the doctor and he is a really nice guy. Has 3 boys that he is proud to show pictures of around the office. As I beat down the flame of jealous rage that flares up because clearly his equipment works just fine…he explains the possible causes and orders a blood test, a testicular ultrasound and another semen analysis. He thinks I took the second one too quickly after the first and wants me to wait 3 weeks before taking the next one. Folding chair in the bathroom, here I come sweetheart.
Then with my wife right there he wants to examine me. Guy dilemma moment. Do you admit you are more comfortable if the wife left the room, or do you MAN UP and say “don’t bother me, she can stay.” I chicken out and ended up sitting in a room with my wife while another man handles my junk. I know he is a doctor, but it is still just weird. As expected, he asks me to turn my head and cough. Then he proceeds to gently squeeze and massage the testicles with his thumb and forefinger. It is the most vulnerable position I’ve ever been in. I would have quickly been in a world of hurt if the Doctor had any malice intentions. To take my mind off the fact my wife was watching another man handle my equipment, who could easily make my eyeballs pop out of my head at any moment, then reach for one of his long rods…I considered who would make the perfect Urologist. For me it would have to be a plain-looking female. She couldn’t be hot enough to cause any embarrassing reactions, yet it would still have a natural feeling of a woman handling them and not some guy I just met. Luckily after a few seconds he let go declaring everything “felt” normal. I’ll just have to take his word on that as mine are the only ones I’ve ever felt.
You can only imaging my relief when he pushed his chair back saying “That’s done.” Thank God that is over. “Now turn around for a prostate exam.” Slowly I turn around to face my wife. Bent over, staring into my wife’s eyes, feeling the wash of red flow over my face…I was forced to reconsider my earlier assertion as to the most vulnerable position ever being in.
Thankfully the doctor had no malice in him and there is hope whatever is wrong with me can be fixed.
What does that mean?
The interesting thing about being the male partner going through fertility testing, is you are not the patient. The female is the patient. Well that is the reason the clinic gives for calling my wife with the test results of MY semen analysis instead of me. Basically I’m just an ejaculation machine, well don’t I feel special. The problem is that leaves me asking second hand questions that I know my wife doesn’t know the answer too, but I end up asking anyway because I’m not thinking in those terms.
Wife: “The doctor called and said your sperm count was very low. They want you to call and schedule another test.”
Me: “Very low…What does that mean?”
Wife: “I don’t know baby, they just said it was very low.”
Now after taking the test I did some research on what they are looking for in the sample I provided so I would not be in the dark when the results came back. I know they are expecting a sperm count of 20 million or more per milliliter. They check the motility (are they moving forward and at an active pace) expecting 50% or above. They check the morphology by checking 200 sperm and noting any defects they might have. Then they also check pH levels and white blood counts. Basically the test is more than just quantity, but also quality and concentration levels. Just saying a sperm count is low could mean any number of things. Then they had to qualify it with the word “very”. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?
I called the clinic to rekindle my affair with the folding chair in the bathroom, and to get some answers.
Nurse: “The good news is your pH level and white blood counts are normal. The motility is normal at 50%. The bad news is they only found 4.”
Me: “4 what? 4 million, 4 thousand, 4…”
Nurse: “No, just 4 period. Only 2 that were actively moving”
Me: “Is this because I masturbated too much as a teenager. I worked very hard proving it does not make you go blind.”
Nurse: “No sir, we just need you to come in for another test in a couple weeks. One test doesn’t not prove anything.”
So I’m off to see if I can duplicate my amazing feat of firing it into a cup once again.
An odd request
The wife did several tests and passed them all. Before going any further checking her out, they are requesting I come in for a semen analysis. Apparantly it is a solo operation that must be done at the office, not in the comfort of my home. What an odd situation.
The nice lady hands me a cup and asks when I last had sex. I guess them telling me not to have sex for 2 days prior to the test wasn’t good enough, they want me to verify it in writing. I’m told to ejaculate into this cup, put the lid on it and record the time. Easy enough. As we walk back to the room I can’t help but laugh. Even if I suspected someone was masturbating in the room next to me at work, that isn’t something I would really want to know. Yet all these people know exactly what I am going to be doing in the room next to them. Creepy. I guess they just focus on their job and not think about it.
She opens the door and points to the folding chair with a paper towel on it in the middle of a bathroom. Then kindly shows me the drawers containing magazines to help assist me in my task. Let me repeat that. It’s a bathroom with a folding chair in the middle of it. Now guys are not picky, but this is pushing it. A cot, or one of those examination beds where I can get a little comfortable would be a great help. She leaves me to my duty as I read the sign above a little door asking me to mark the time I finish on the lid, initialize it, then place the cup in the door and ring the bell. Easy. I turn and lock the door and prepare myself for the task at hand.
I thumb through the magazines provided, 8 different issues of Playboy. With the internet they are still in business? Huh. I flip through them and they are all young hot women way out of my league. Maybe if the setting was more comfortable they might help, but on a folding chair in the middle of a bathroom they just don’t do anything for me. Adding to the stuggle are the voices I hear through the walls. I can’t tell what they are saying but it better not be how long I’m taking, because I DON’T NEED ANY MORE PRESSURE! Which leads back to thoughts about them knowing what I’m doing in here. For some that might be a turn on, for me, not so much.
Frustrated I put the magazines neatly back in the drawer. The last thing I want is to be the guy who caused a big crease in the middle of Miss July for the next guy to try and ignore. I give the imagination trick a try. I finally settle on a fantasy with the wife that seems to be working very well. Of course it’s all the things I like to do. What’s great about the fantasy is she is asking me if she can do those things and not me asking her. Allowing me to be selfish without the guilt of asking to be selfish does the trick. If you thought peeing in a cup was difficult, that is cake compared to this. I don’t know about other guys, but I’m not a very good multitasker. Trying to ejaculate into a cup while pretending you are not ejaculating into a cup that I’m holding with one hand and aiming with the other…I was pretty pleased I didn’t spill a drop. Yet disappointed there was no award given for accomplishing such a feat. Providing a rubber which I could then place into a cup would make this operation a whole lot easier.
I marked the time on the lid, placed it in the little door and rang the bell. After washing up I took as a consolation prize the ability to walk out the door without having to face anybody. And rewarded myself with a donut on my way to work.