seedless gripes

The results are in!

In case you missed yesterday's blog - I took a trip to London to have my semen frozen, as chemotherapy will most likely make me infertile. Due to a bit of a 'timing' ballsup, I have already had one chemotherapy session prior to yesterday's 'sample taking'.

This morning I called the clinic to see what they found.

• The 'good news' is that they did freeze the sample, as some moving sperm were found
• *however* - the sample was (and I quote),  'a very, very poor' sample. I blamed the 'very, very poor' pornography on offer.
• The average sample will contain 20 million sperm per millilitre. Of which over 50% will be healthy and moving ...
• ... my somewhat pathetic attempt contained 4.6 million sperm per millilitre, of which only 32% were moving. Or, as I like to think of it, 68% were dead. Probably from hitting their little heads on the side of a plastic pot whilst travelling at about 32 mph. That would do it.
• I have a lot of respect for the guy in the lab who counted all of these yesterday. Very keen eyes.

So what does this mean?

Well, I'm buggered if I know really ... I asked the very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very hyporthetical question that should I meet Ms Right tomorrow and we took a trip to my little frozen deposit box, what are the odds of us being able to spawn our demon child. He said that it would depend on her and that there were some advanced treatments where only one sperm was needed. I think, shrouded in the answer, was the implication of 'how much money are you prepared to throw at this thing?'. What do I get for a fiver, would be my answer if pushed for one.

He did invite me back for free annual checks-up - they can't freeze any more but would be able to tell me if my count was any higher. But it's safe to say that if that's the drop-off after one chemo dose, by the end of the 8 or so months that lay ahead, I'm going to be as fertile as an allotment plot in the Sahara.

So that's it. I currently have 1.472 million swimming sperm in a pot being held at minus 191 degrees celsius in a freezer near Euston, ready to save the human race after everyone wakes up infertile on the Day Of The Jaffa Triffids - huge stalking, penis-shaped plants, that make clicking sounds whilst sucking your balls dry with their laser eyes ...

... armed with only a pippette, a steady hand and some willing open-legged females, we shall then break into London UCH and repopulate the earth with my breed of deeply sarcatic and bitter offspring, all with very limited maths and DIY skills and a genetic disposition to addictions and cancer. What can go wrong?

More chemo tomorrow.

*sigh*

tosspot

I've had more interest in this impending blog than anything else I've written, showing what a sick bunch of friends I have. No one cares about the technical details of my cancer, they just want to hear about me wanking into a jar.

To be honest, I'm tired. No, not because it took that long, but I've had quite a 'physical' day - lumping a load of goods for the office and trudging around on trains. I've just got in and I'm not feeling 'sharp', so this blog will be fairly short and to the point.

I went to the EGA building, a new part of the UCH ... I have no idea what EGA stands for, but it's a new, white, gleemingly bright building that reminded me of the kind of clinics you see on American television shows.

The department I went to was very quiet - thankfully I wasn't in a waiting room full of people waiting their turn - I only saw one other guy and very briefly.

I was taken into a consultation room and given a small mound of paperwork to do. The 'very nice man' then started to explain a few things to me. I'll bullet point what I can remember ...

• There is a good chance my sperm may be affected by the bout of chemo I had (DNA damage)
• If they have just one good 'swimmer', they will freeze it anyhow - as 'one' might be enough in the future, with the speed that this kind of technology changes
• I can get my results of how 'good' my sample is, tomorrow AM
• They will keep the sperm for 10 years (if it's worth keeping)
• The sperm is kept at minus 191 degrees C. That is very cold.
• If I was not on the NHS, it would cost £5,000 per YEAR to keep in storage (£50,000 for 10 years!)
• I can have a free 'sperm test' after 6-12 months after chemo has finished to see if I'm producing any good stuff

I think that's about all I can remember. Finally, I was led into a room to do the deed.

I'm not going to get too graphic - Yes, there was some magazines - standard UK top shelf stuff. No video ... but to be honest, it wasn't a joyful experience. It's just about the last thing in the world that you feel like doing after all that talk - plus there is a certain sadness that you're HERE, doing THIS, because of THAT.

After handing over the pot to a bloke whose day job is looking under a microscope at this stuff all day, I left.

Job done. Back to work.

I'll phone up tomorrow for the results and post the results here.

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?

Wank bank

I forgot about this one.

I've been offered, or rather my sperm has been offered, a place in a freezer in London, as my impending treatments are likely to make me infertile.

I've never really wanted children - although I've had periods where I thought I might - but they have been brief.

I think i'll take them up on the offer though - for a start it will make an interesting story - 'knocking one out' into a pot to be frozen until such a time that Mrs Right wants to take a trip to London with a Bunsen burner and a turkey baster.

I guess on the plus side, this will ensure that should I ever really wants kids, it won't be done on a whim or an 'accident'. Someone *may* have to jump through a lot of hoops to make babies with me. The whole IVF egg thingy ... not overly romantic, but it should ensure that nothing will be done without really thinking about it.

To be honest, if the whole world was built on this model, we wouldn't be in the overpopulated and overdrongoed mess we are in now. Maybe this is a global solution. All men toss into a pot at 16, followed by sterilization after. If you want a kid, proove you can look after and take care of it.

Right - that's the end of my rant. Stayed tuned for my blog about my trip to the Wank Bank in a future blog. Could be fun ...