Balls (the other kind)..

Tomorrow I get to masturbate into a cup. I'm going to drive to Ann Arbor, sign in, provide my insurance card (and hopefully identification, just imagine if anybody could pretend to be me and do it instead!), and then be taken into a back room somewhere, shown to a collection of pornography, and then left alone to do my business. While everyone knows exactly what business I am doing.

Weird.

And who pays for the pornography? Is it something that the university has in their budget? Does it get donated? Should I bring something in for the pot. Do they have gay porn for all the gay guys who want to donate their specimen for other people? Do they do fetish stuff? I mean, on the one hand I understand how it seems that I might be being a bit childish about all of these questions. Especially when you consider that I am currently being disallowed to so much as shake more than three times so I won't actually need the visual aids. But on the other hand, these are the sorts of things that I've always wondered about fertility clinics. Excuse me, "Reproductive Services."

I'm someone who typically tries to put myself into other people's shoes. So, over a lfietime of growing up where a great many television shows have covered the experience of fertility treatment, I have often imagined what it must be like to go through it all. What will it be like to know that someone is looking at my little soldiers (and soldierettes) in a microscope? I mean, that's what tomorrow is all about. Tomorrow's donation isn't even meant to make any kind of babies. Tomorrow's warriors give their lives for science. Tomorrow is just an exercise, wherein they ensure that the guys are fit to fight, so that we don't waste time harvesting from Sara if we can't win the war (I don't know why I'm making this all military analogy. SPERM. I'm talking about sperm. And fertilizing an egg. There will be no conquering (well, sort of)).

Provided that my semen is good, we will go through this all over again in a few weeks. This time in what the military would call "real world." Hopefully the second time around I'll be a little more prepared. More comfortable, anyway. Because, believe me, I'm prepared.

So yeah, this was the sperm episode. I'm sorry for the crastness, but we had to get through it (also, apparently crastness isn't a word. Oh well).