This afternoon we’ll have our first post in our inaugural themed week on the blog. Saturday 17th November is World Prematurity Day and we’ll be doing our bit to raise awareness this week. Come back at 2pm when Ruth will be sharing her experience of her daughter arriving at just 25+1.
In the meantime, I’m delighted to bring the next instalment from Sammi, with the latest in her and A’s quest for a family. She tackles (ha!) a sensitive subject with her usual dry humour and I love the frank approach she always takes. Lunch boxes will never have the same innocence again.
Man’s Biggest Test.
His semen analysis. After all, it’s the ultimate test of masculinity*. Following our GP appointment, my husband A received a pot in the post. Not just any pot, it was a special, pre-weighed pot, with clear sides and white lid. It even had his name on. The instructions stated we needed to book a sample drop-off appointment, and it is vital the ‘sample’ is produced no more than an hour before. He also needed to abstain for two days prior to ‘sample collection,’ but have ejaculated with the previous seven days. Still with me? In summary, the instructions were quite a passion killer.
The drop-off appointment was scheduled for 10am on a Monday morning. I thought to myself that this is perhaps the least romantic time of the week to try and think ‘happy thoughts!’
Monday morning arrived. A woke up and I could sense he was a little apprehensive. After showering, dressing and eating breakfast, he rather seriously said, ‘I think it’s time,’ and then began rummaging in the kitchen cupboards. “What are you looking for?” I asked.
“A lunch box,” replied A
“To make sure I catch it all, the form says I need to make sure I get an entire sample, so I was going to use the lunch box behind the pot as back up.”
How it might have looked. Image via RetroJunk
At that moment I decided I was going to sit outside in the garden for a while (I just could not sit inside the house, knowing what A was trying to do in the bathroom, especially with my lunchbox). I also turned the TV on, loudly. A couple of minutes passed, then A shouted down if I can come and get the cat as she was chasing my dressing gown cord under the bathroom door and it was ‘putting him off.’ I retrieved the cat brought her out into the garden with me.
Whilst outside I began to collect the pegs off the line and put them into their basket. As the last peg dropped into the basket A appeared at the back door waggling a pot at me shouting “I caught it all! I didn’t even use your lunchbox.”
“That was fast!” I said
“You know me!” A replied.
We gathered up our work bags and drive the whole 7 minutes to the hospital. A was working there that morning so I gave him a big hug and told him I’m really lucky to have such a wonderful husband and I’m grateful for everything he has just done. He gave me a big grin and assured me it was the least he could do.
A took the whole experience in his stride; I’m a very proud wife. Sometimes I also feel like a hopeless wife, one that cannot produce offspring like any other fertile woman. If his results come back just fine, it is officially me that has the fertility problem. Just useless me. Luckily, A, being the fabulous man that he is, often reminds me that we are a team and neither of us can make a baby without the other, plus he knew of my problems way before he asked me to marry him. He is right of course. I couldn’t do this without him.
He should receive his results by the end of the week. In meantime, I am on the hunt for a new lunchbox I can no longer look at mine in the same way.
*It’s not. However, you’d be surprised at how nervous my husband was.