There are a number of things that I have done in my time on this earth that I do not wish to repeat.
Some I am proud of. Some I am not. Some have left me with an odd walk and conflicting feelings about Red Bull and belly dancers. Others have left me with a scar and an enduring fear of white chocolate mice.
My trip to Bourne Hall Sperm Bank today has left me with the knowledge that there are some things that I can’t do on demand in a room with a sticky floor*.
I was sent to the ‘bank’ to make a ‘deposit’ before my ‘funds’ are ‘withdrawn’ by the ‘chemotherapy’…er…chemotherapy. Sorry.
For the morbidly curious – No, I didn’t look in the ‘inspiration’ cupboard. I did, however, look in the other cupboard after wasting 20 minutes making faces in the mirror**. I actually found a Henry hoover. A number of things went through my mind at this point. Good old Henry
Anyway, 8 seconds of plastic jar lovin’ and 15 minutes of plastic jar cuddling later and the Harris dynasty was secured. I can honestly say that it was one of the most difficult things that I’ve ever done in my life and categorically state that posh decor does not make ‘depositing’ in a designated space any easier or classier.
Then it was just a case of hobbling through an old manor house singing ‘Every sperm is sacred’ until I delivered the package to the freezer room with a cry of ‘Beep! Genetic data transferred!’
At this precise moment I am watching a nurse prepare a pair of giant needles which she will stick into the new USB port in my chest. I’m going to have at least one needle in me for the next 72 hours while I have 27 hours of chemo and a lot of healthy stuff by IV to keep me alive.
Actually, at the time of publishing I now have two bags of stuff wired up to my chest. They can rebuild me. Better. Faster. Stronger. I am human 2.0. Delete. Delete. Delete.
El Chemdog
*To be fair the floor was pretty clean. In fact the whole place is pretty swanky inside and out, more like a posh hotel than a fertility clinic. Just goes to show that style is important when operating a giant freezer full of sperm.
** Why exactly is a mirror necessary? Are sperm donors that vain? Does the mirror lead to auto-voyeuristic-erotic-manipulation? I certainly benefitted from a quick pep talk from myself (once more into the breach dear sperm etc.) before I leant back and thought of England (specifically York). You’d have thought the whole ‘remain chaste for five days before depositing’ rule would have made life easier. Actually, it just made it harder (boom boom). I don’t think it’s a sign of paranoia that I took the mirror off the wall to check for secret cameras/windows.
List of rejected euphemisms:
Cash in hand
Internet banking (4M broadband + google images + external hard drive)
Student loan (Don’t you just love fresher’s week?)
Bounced Czech (wow, these eastern European chicks are hot. Mmm……Argh! Girlfriend in the room! Abort! Abort!)
Overdrawn (Sorry honey, I’m not in the mood. No, this doesn’t have anything do with those pictures I was looking at earlier, honest)
Flexible friend
Mortgage (spanking that monkey in a house belonging to someone else)
Unsecured Mortgage (as above with door unlocked)
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