Just to cover our bases we had a sperm analysis performed on Cloudy. This is just another of the many injustices in the world of men and women. All Cloudy had to do was get off and catch it in a cup. No one had to stick anything inside him or even watch him for the kind of faces he was making. Nope, just do what you do anyway and we’ll take the sample and run some tests on it. Well, if you ask him it was not this easy. We live more than 20 min from the hospital so the sample had to be collected there. We’ve seen in done on tv so we thought we knew what was coming. It was a little awkward, he had to go into a tiny bathroom and get it done. No leather couch, no mood lighting, no stack of dirty magazines or movies; just one bathroom with a florescent light. We took our lunch hour to go make it happen. Well it didn’t happen. I was slightly irritated that we couldn’t get his test run because the “mood” wasn’t right. Um hello! No one had to buy me dinner or a bottle of wine and there were certainly not any candles with my transvaginal ultrasound. I didn’t have to be happy or comfortable. In fact it was quite awful. But in order to get Cloudy tested it was going to take whining and dinning. Luckily we have a sweet camper van. So the next day we took our lunch hour again and this time we took the van and I wore pretty panties just to make sure we had success. We parked in the hospital parking lot and collected our sample! Then we walked in all nonchalant with the plastic cup hidden in Cloudy’s armpit to keep it warm. Sheez that was an ordeal, but it was also kind of fun. Well the test results came back with excellent count and mobility. Cloudy said “well of course, I AM Italian.” Ai Ai Ai.
I am glad that we aren’t up against multiple factors here but, part of me wishes I wasn’t the only one with a problem in this mess.