INFERTILITY

Infertility can be a heart-wrenching experience, as you long for a child to cradle in your arms, as you imagine helping nurture and develop a fine individual to carry forward your family traditions. And, you will go through any procedure that the medical community requires (and some others they just make up to amuse themselves)---but, that's if you're a woman. Men just mainly see it as embarrassing.

The medical community, in conspiracy with Freaknoid's wife, conspired to keep Freaknoid in the dark on probably THE single most important issue related to the process of becoming pregnant when it seems impossible to do so.

First, let's talk opening and frankly about how embarrassing it is for the poor, innocent man.

It is embarrassing because, even though it is the women that can't conceive, it is you who, who---how can I say this---it is you, who in the pet store of life can't get the little fishes to swim into that little castle inside the big aquarium. And you know those little fishes aren't so very smart because they just kind of swim around without realizing that you REALLY, REALLY, REALLY want them to swim into that castle. So, maybe if you would/could put more fishes in the aquarium, the chances that one of those little fishes would swim inside of that aquarium would be increased. Clear?

So, you big, strong, manly man, who on the man-o-meter rates over 100%, must provide a young little nurse (who looks like she is twelve, and who smiles at you each time she sees you like she is trying real hard not to be embarrassed, but really you both know she is) a sample of your most manly production in a little, plastic, wide mouthed bottle. Of course, you imagine that if you were so very manly, that bottle would be brimming with all that manly manhood. But there is only this puny little, vaguely noticeable, they will likely need a microscope to see it, gosh I'm sure there is usually a lot more than that, kinda whimpy, little white goo in the bottom of that plastic wide mouthed bottle. That's embarrassing!

Then, there is the time you are at work, slaving away under the meanest person God breathed life into, and the phone rings. It's your wife. She has taken her temperature and because her temperature is whatever it is, and because it is a certain time of the month, and because there is a high front on the eastern seaboard, and the rate of inflation is increasing because of the rates banks charge each other for overnight loans has risen, you must come home NOW and put more (many more, if you can) fishes into the aquarium and try (this time) to get them into the little castle. Did I mention you had to do it NOW?!!!

So, you turn off your computer, hoping you can somehow find that alt.binaries file again as you think about how you will break the news to your boss that you have to go home and put some fish in the aquarium. This is the person who popularized the word that starts with an "f". The word, whose mere mention causes your wife to recoil in horror and vow which to never talk to you again, which makes it a very useful word from time-to-time. This person, when you say, "Good morning" to him rants, "What the (insert word we just talked about here) is good about it?".

Plus, you know that by the time you get to your car, your "friends" at work will have the copy machine churning out the notice on why you went home early, for distribution to EVERYONE. That's embarrassing!

Now, let's talk about the evil plot by Freaknoid's wife and the ENTIRE medical community to keep vital information from him about the process of becoming pregnant.

When you have to give the nurse your manly sample in that wide mouthed plastic jar, it has to be fresh and it has to be kept warm. As an aside, this always reminds me of a crude joke, (which I can't tell here because I am trying really hard to keep this clean), about a guy who goes up to the nurses desk and he doesn't seem to have his sample. But, anyway, I can't tell the joke because it is probably too crude. However, I always laugh when I think about the punch line, which has this guy telling his wife to spit into the jar. But really, I shouldn't tell more.

Where were we? Okay, so your sample has to be warm and fresh. Most people ("most people: in this case meaning men who have to put fishes in the aquarium) go to the hospital or clinic and produce their manly sample right there, right then. That's embarrassing!

My wife---who will have to answer to God for this---had me going into the men's room. I would go in there and sit in a stall and pretend to be doing the thing you normally do when you are in the men's room and sit in a stall. But, I really wasn't doing that particular thing. When someone would come into the men's room I would stop the particular thing I was doing and wait for them to leave. This was okay except for the odd occasion when someone would occupy the other stall (small men's room) and you could hear them open a newspaper and light up a cigarette. This, of course, meant that they were on a work break and could take seemingly forever to finish the thing normal people do in a restroom stall So, you wait, and you wait. By the time they leave, you pretty much have to start the process all over again.

God help you all, when faced with the previous mentioned scenario a third person comes in wanting to use a stall---who REALLY had to use the stall, and you could see them standing outside your stall shifting nervously from foot to foot.

Weird, huh?

So, you can imagine hoe I felt months later after we finally adopt "Judy", (an 18 year old, Swedish girl), and I find out while talking to another guy that "vital" information was intentionally withheld from me. He said that this whole process was embarrassing. I agreed. He said he didn't like having to produce those manly samples. I agreed. He didn't like "doing it" on demand because of some temperature chart. I agreed. He didn't like going to the hospital and visiting that little room with all the erotic magazines and videos, which would help you produce your samples. What little room? What magazines? What videos?

This vital information was withheld from me. Perhaps the entire process would have ended differently, if I had known that these other resources were available. Apparently, that little, seemingly twelve-year-old nurse behind the desk was smiling because she knew, but was sworn to secrecy. She knew about the room, and she knew I was in the men's room.

They all knew!

Obviously, I asked why I was not given this information at the appropriate time. Apparently, there was a meeting of the staff of the hospital and based upon a review of certain materials previously written by myself, it was determined that, if I was allowed access to that room, I would likely never come out again. They apparently discussed the contingent use of S.W.A.T. (which stands for something, something, something, Team) to dislodge me from said room and the effect on the cardiac care unit located on the same floor. Although their conclusions were probably correct, I still don't think it is fair to not allow me access. It is discrimination based upon, upon, upon---let's see, based upon---well, it's discrimination plain and simple.

So, let this article stand as a shining light to all men who, when faced with the daunting tasks which faces them in the field of infertility, will from henceforth and forever know that they have certain inalienable rights. Those being: life, liberty, and the pursuit of the little room where you go to produce your manly sample. You shall know the truth and the truth shall sit you in the little room.