Monday, 11 January 2010

a friend in need

I've got a favour to ask, but more on that in a moment.

First of all, I guess we need to discuss tomorrow. The trip to my "deposit box" in London.

For those that are out of the loop - let me explain.

Chemotherapy makes you infertile. As part of the process, I have been offered the opportunity to have some of my semen frozen and kept in a vault somewhere in London, until such a time it is needed.

Being infertile doesn't actually frighten me that much. For a start, I'm 37 and have had no real paternal feelings. Not since, er, ... well, "forever", if I'm being honest. Occasionally I feel like I should and I manage to convince myself that I do, but left alone to my own devices and thoughts, I don't think I've ever felt regretful of not having kids. Or if I do, I soon conclude that I'm far too emotionally unstable to be able to look after another human being. The responsibility of just bringing up a kid who doesn't talk with his mouth full scares me to hell, let alone standing by watching him end up in Feltham Young Offenders at the age of 11, having been crowned 'Lord of the Asbo's' by his many Asbo urchin crackden joyriding disciples.

So after spending a few minutes thinking about the many ways that a child born into Brown's Britain can go disastrously wrong, I turn on my Playstation 3 and decide that getting through Modern Warfare 2's 'Snow Sniping' level is all the challenge I need in my life right now, thanks all the same.

Yet, despite all this, somehow the bullying voices of the family, friends and nurses who say 'well, you might as well - you never know!' have ensured that tomorrow I'm going to place my mutant seed into a some plastic container to be frozen in some laboratory vault, awaiting the mythical day when my fairy tale princess shall take a trip to London with a bunser burner and a turkey baster, and fill her womb with my demon seed to make beautiful babies, just the way God intended.

Actually, the reality will be a little more difficult then that. Should some complete idiot woman decide that she wants my children, providing the authorities haven't captured her by then, then she shall need to go through a full IVF programe, which I shall have to pay for, apparently. I did hear you get 'one free spin' on the NHS, but after that, it's £5,000 a pop.

I cannot comprehend any situation where I would be willing to loan my unborn baby five thousand pound. How much pocket money is that? It's never going to get a decent start in life, if it's already owes me five grand. And then there's interest to discuss. Seriously, it's a bad deal for everyone all around really. Best leave it there.

Anyway, back to tomorrow. I'm quite looking forward to my 'videos and magazines' designed to aid me in my quest to fill my pot. I have three fears a) not being to finish the job b) missing the pot c) overfilling the pot (this is probably wishful thinking, but it has been a while).

Either way, I can pretty much guarantee you that no matter what 'visual aids' they lay on for me, I shall be poking my head around the door, pants around ankles, shouting 'for the love of God, this isn't pornography! Get me a laptop and an open firewall and I'll show you pornography!'. Some 1970's NHS-endorsed jazz-mag just isn't going to work for this sick puppy, folks. If this were Amsterdam, they'd provide two hookers, some lube, a horse, drill peep-holes in the door and charge people to watch. With the pay-per-view fee and the video sell-through profits, it's a solution to NHS funding issues that someone in power needs to seriously consider.

All joking aside, I imagine tomorrow is going to be a weird day. But I know I can count on my good friends for support, as usual. It's quite incredible how many people call and ask if I'm OK now.

A lot of people, mostly women it seems, say to me 'if there's anything I can do, just let me know'. I think it's the maternal instinct that's built into them. That maternal streak that come through in times of needs and brings out a willingness to cook, to clean, to fuss over, to tend to and mother.

I never really know what to say when I'm asked 'is there anything I can do?'. I've never been very good at accepting this kind of help, not wanting to see myself as a charity case, or not feeling quite 'pathetic' enough to warrant accepting having others do things for me. I've always been quite self-sufficient really. My own flat, living by myself, cooking and cleaning for myself. So I find asking for help difficult.

So, with that in mind, it takes some courage for me to come on here and publicly ask for help. But, to all those women who kindly did offer, then "yes", actually, there is something that perhaps you could do for me.

I'm almost ashamed to ask, but this trip to London tomorrow, girls ...

I don't suppose any of you fancy coming along and lending a hand, do you?


Anonymous said...

i'll catch the 9.45am train london euston pidge ;p fluffer kirsteen x

RC said...

From my experience of both IVF and pre-Chemo 'deposits' the standard of porn and room vary wildly.

I've had leather couch and new, proper porn but also seen grubby bed, paper sheet, and well thumbed shit porn augmented by a crappy VHS playing on a monitor.