In Fertility
Chapter Eight, Part Two: Shots and Loads
[NOTE: This is Part Two of Chapter Eight. If you haven't yet read Part One, please do so first, or you will be missing some context. Also, though not vulgar, this piece includes mature content and may not be suitable for some audiences. You have been warned.]
The night before our first insemination, I administer the ovu-shot, in about as unmanly a fashion as is conceivable. I flinch. I grimace. I forget completely that my wife has no sensation where I’m sticking her. I’m really not that good at this body stuff and I, once again, realize I made the right choice in not being smart enough for med school.
In Fertility
Chapter Eight, Part One: Round Three
[NOTE: This piece includes mature content and may not be suitable for some readers. You have been warned.]
The time has come for us to learn the results of my sperm test, so we head down to Dr. VaJayjay's office. He sits us down and proceeds to explain much more about sperm than I ever really wanted to know. I’m 37 years old but don’t really feel that much more comfortable now than I did when I first learned about sperm in grade school. The Doc even has visual aids: pictures of little spermy tails with two heads; pictures of little spermy heads with two tails; pictures of little spermy tails with giant heads. All kinds of strange-looking, but apparently fairly common abnormalities. Up to this point, I’ve imagined my sperm as being little Michael Phelpses complete with Speedo LZR Racer suits, but now I find myself conjuring things much more out of the Island of Dr. Moreau.
Chapter Eight, Part One: Round Three
[NOTE: This piece includes mature content and may not be suitable for some readers. You have been warned.]
The time has come for us to learn the results of my sperm test, so we head down to Dr. VaJayjay's office. He sits us down and proceeds to explain much more about sperm than I ever really wanted to know. I’m 37 years old but don’t really feel that much more comfortable now than I did when I first learned about sperm in grade school. The Doc even has visual aids: pictures of little spermy tails with two heads; pictures of little spermy heads with two tails; pictures of little spermy tails with giant heads. All kinds of strange-looking, but apparently fairly common abnormalities. Up to this point, I’ve imagined my sperm as being little Michael Phelpses complete with Speedo LZR Racer suits, but now I find myself conjuring things much more out of the Island of Dr. Moreau.
In Fertility
Chapter Seven, Part Two: On Pirates and Porn
[NOTE: This is Part Two of Chapter Seven. If you haven't yet read Part One, please do so first, or you will be missing a great deal of important context. Also, though not vulgar, this piece includes mature content and may not be suitable for some audiences. You have been warned.]
This is just as awkward as I thought, feared, and probably secretly hoped.
Deciding I’ve procrastinated long enough, I sit down and look around. I flip through the magazines: Playboy, Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, Hustler, Juggs – the usual college-dorm fare. Not that interesting. I turn to the DVD player. Hmmmmm. Slowly, I extend my finger and hit the play button.
Chapter Seven, Part Two: On Pirates and Porn
[NOTE: This is Part Two of Chapter Seven. If you haven't yet read Part One, please do so first, or you will be missing a great deal of important context. Also, though not vulgar, this piece includes mature content and may not be suitable for some audiences. You have been warned.]
This is just as awkward as I thought, feared, and probably secretly hoped.
Deciding I’ve procrastinated long enough, I sit down and look around. I flip through the magazines: Playboy, Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, Hustler, Juggs – the usual college-dorm fare. Not that interesting. I turn to the DVD player. Hmmmmm. Slowly, I extend my finger and hit the play button.
In Fertility
Chapter Seven, Part One: Door of the Unknown
[NOTE: This piece, though not vulgar, includes mature content and may not be suitable for some audiences. You have been warned.]
This is going to be awkward. After a couple of medically-assisted attempts without a pregnancy, it is now my turn to get tested and make sure the problem isn’t with my “swim team.” There isn’t any particular reason to think it is – I have no genetic or physical history to suggest it would be – but after what Lyena has had to go through, it seems only fair that I should go through the one big test us guys can do to make sure. What can I say? I’m a giver.
Chapter Seven, Part One: Door of the Unknown
[NOTE: This piece, though not vulgar, includes mature content and may not be suitable for some audiences. You have been warned.]
This is going to be awkward. After a couple of medically-assisted attempts without a pregnancy, it is now my turn to get tested and make sure the problem isn’t with my “swim team.” There isn’t any particular reason to think it is – I have no genetic or physical history to suggest it would be – but after what Lyena has had to go through, it seems only fair that I should go through the one big test us guys can do to make sure. What can I say? I’m a giver.
In Fertility
Chapter Six: Is It Me?
Despite our best efforts, which were many and often, we are, alas, still not pregnant.
As soon as I find out we’re not, I do what any mature, level-headed man would do – I immediately start to question my virility. Actually, question may be the wrong word. Slander may be a better one. Impugn, perhaps. In fact, I become convinced that I’m sterile. Not just sterile; I begin to believe it’s possible my sperm may have lethal qualities. That they may be little, deadly ninjas assassinating any eggs they find. I have an immense capacity for self-flagellating imagination and I utilize every bit of it as I imagine my deadly ninja sperm attacking my wife’s uterus. Soon they have evolved in my mind into sentient beings hell bent on rendering my wife completely, inexorably sterile. “Why would they do this to me,” I ask. “What have I done to them?” “Is it revenge for my previous negligence of their brethren?” “What,” I demand … “WHAT?!”
Chapter Six: Is It Me?
Despite our best efforts, which were many and often, we are, alas, still not pregnant.
As soon as I find out we’re not, I do what any mature, level-headed man would do – I immediately start to question my virility. Actually, question may be the wrong word. Slander may be a better one. Impugn, perhaps. In fact, I become convinced that I’m sterile. Not just sterile; I begin to believe it’s possible my sperm may have lethal qualities. That they may be little, deadly ninjas assassinating any eggs they find. I have an immense capacity for self-flagellating imagination and I utilize every bit of it as I imagine my deadly ninja sperm attacking my wife’s uterus. Soon they have evolved in my mind into sentient beings hell bent on rendering my wife completely, inexorably sterile. “Why would they do this to me,” I ask. “What have I done to them?” “Is it revenge for my previous negligence of their brethren?” “What,” I demand … “WHAT?!”
In Fertility
Chapter Five: You Have 15 Minutes…GO!
It’s been said that sex is kind of like pizza … even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good. I think there are other ways in which the analogy fits as well, though. For example, there are many different kinds. There’s complex, multi-layered Chicago deep-dish; and there’s satisfyingly shallow New York thin-crust. There’s the kind that’s all about the extras, the little toppings necessary to mask the blandness underneath; and there’s the kind that are all about what’s below, where any additions must be carefully considered, lest they detract from the simple joys of substance deeper-down. There’s slow baked, time honored, forged in fire; and there’s pop it in, get it out and get it done. There’s order in, take out and, in some states, delivery.
Chapter Five: You Have 15 Minutes…GO!
It’s been said that sex is kind of like pizza … even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good. I think there are other ways in which the analogy fits as well, though. For example, there are many different kinds. There’s complex, multi-layered Chicago deep-dish; and there’s satisfyingly shallow New York thin-crust. There’s the kind that’s all about the extras, the little toppings necessary to mask the blandness underneath; and there’s the kind that are all about what’s below, where any additions must be carefully considered, lest they detract from the simple joys of substance deeper-down. There’s slow baked, time honored, forged in fire; and there’s pop it in, get it out and get it done. There’s order in, take out and, in some states, delivery.
In Fertility
Chapter Four: The Return of the VaJedi
Not pregnant. Period.
In doing a little research for this piece, I have to say I am amazed at the number and variety of terms society has for a woman’s period. There are the common ones I’ve heard during my lifetime – “menses,” “Aunt Flo,” “that time,” “monthlies,” “the rag,” etc. Then there is a whole other far more creative class (or crass) of terminology that I had never heard before, but that seems to be in fairly common use. These include:
Chapter Four: The Return of the VaJedi
Not pregnant. Period.
In doing a little research for this piece, I have to say I am amazed at the number and variety of terms society has for a woman’s period. There are the common ones I’ve heard during my lifetime – “menses,” “Aunt Flo,” “that time,” “monthlies,” “the rag,” etc. Then there is a whole other far more creative class (or crass) of terminology that I had never heard before, but that seems to be in fairly common use. These include:
In Fertility
Chapter Three: Prescription Sex
This is it. The moment I have been waiting for. Doctor ordered sex!
I’ve never been ordered to have sex before, but I have a sense I’m going to enjoy it. In the process of having a baby, sex is, in my opinion, the single best part. We leave the doctor’s office and I start counting the miles until we get home. At one point, I even suggest we simply pull into an alley and crawl into the back seat, but the radio must be up too loud, because no matter how often I offer, Lyena doesn’t seem to hear me.
Chapter Three: Prescription Sex
This is it. The moment I have been waiting for. Doctor ordered sex!
I’ve never been ordered to have sex before, but I have a sense I’m going to enjoy it. In the process of having a baby, sex is, in my opinion, the single best part. We leave the doctor’s office and I start counting the miles until we get home. At one point, I even suggest we simply pull into an alley and crawl into the back seat, but the radio must be up too loud, because no matter how often I offer, Lyena doesn’t seem to hear me.
In Fertility
Chapter Two: Money Shot
Two days have gone by since our first visit to the fertility center and it’s time for us to return to Dr. VaJayjay’s office. This is the last pre-go-have-sex visit, and today we will do another ultrasound and Lyena will get a shot that is supposed to boost her into ovulation overdrive (which I think would make a great name for a band).
Chapter Two: Money Shot
Two days have gone by since our first visit to the fertility center and it’s time for us to return to Dr. VaJayjay’s office. This is the last pre-go-have-sex visit, and today we will do another ultrasound and Lyena will get a shot that is supposed to boost her into ovulation overdrive (which I think would make a great name for a band).
In Fertility
Chapter One: Foreplay
The first thing I notice is the scrubs. We walk into the lobby of the fertility clinic and are greeted by a smiling receptionist clad in bright green scrubs. As I look around I notice all the workers I can see are decked out the same way – bright green scrubs with a little coordinated candy striping at the bottom of the v-neck collar. I’m thinking they look like nurses for the lollipop guild when I notice one of the employees with an actual lollipop in her mouth. In fact, sitting on the counter in front of us is a dish loaded with the suckers. Somewhere not-too-deep inside, a Pavlovian chord strikes and my primal child calls out for one, but I let my slightly-more-measured adult prevail. I wonder if we have just entered some strange cult, where they engineer designer babies for their bright-green-wearing, candy-striped, lollipop-wielding religion.
Chapter One: Foreplay
The first thing I notice is the scrubs. We walk into the lobby of the fertility clinic and are greeted by a smiling receptionist clad in bright green scrubs. As I look around I notice all the workers I can see are decked out the same way – bright green scrubs with a little coordinated candy striping at the bottom of the v-neck collar. I’m thinking they look like nurses for the lollipop guild when I notice one of the employees with an actual lollipop in her mouth. In fact, sitting on the counter in front of us is a dish loaded with the suckers. Somewhere not-too-deep inside, a Pavlovian chord strikes and my primal child calls out for one, but I let my slightly-more-measured adult prevail. I wonder if we have just entered some strange cult, where they engineer designer babies for their bright-green-wearing, candy-striped, lollipop-wielding religion.
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