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Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Is it in yet? (A tale of TMI)

So, as my dear wife has told you, I went off to the west-end doctor's office to make my little contribution to our project preparation. On the way, as we often do during the day, I am BB-ing (messaging on the crackberry) back and forth with her as to what I am doing, when I was leaving the office and when I was getting there, essentially. During this conversation she says, "Think of me. :)" in hopes of motivating the right frame of mind for the task at "hand", pardon the pun. my response was, edited, "Right after Halle, Sela, and the blonde that does DP with a BJ chaser." This is why my wife loves me so much; my wit.

So, speaking to my fellow male compatriots, it simply does not get any easier. I mean, let's be totally honest here and admit that almost every man on the planet has done it at one point or another for pleasure, need or protection against possible unwanted offspring when no other method was available. However, in all that time (except for some of you freaks out there) no one has ever asked us to make a command performance and I think that is where the difficulty and effort lies. Anyone that says the end result does not produce those mighty endorphins we all love would be lying. That said, it is simply not a conducive environment when ladies who would rather kill a male than have them touch them after all the crap they have to go through are the last faces you see before entering the room with the most sorrowful collection of pr0n on the planet, you simply are not as "up" to the task as you would normally be given a roomful of ladies with the single purpose of helping you get to that state.

Now, speaking strictly to this office, they need some help. Let's face it, Playboy is a nice empire run by a nice guy and his daughter that has a bevy of nice girls who happen to take some (Tricia Hilfer) or all (Pamela Anderson, for a nickel and dime) of their clothes off. Titillating? Sure. Curious? Sure. So hot you want to drive nails in? Uhm, er, no. Ladies, feel free to mark this down. Most of us love you because you are the nic girls who happen to be willing to take your clothes off for us. When we have to make a command performance, we need all you nice girls to step aside and let the "others" in. You know the ones we are talking about: that girl in the office you heard about, the divorcee down the street the mailman smiles at, the teacher with the leather fetish. No, not the stripper we saw at the club last Friday; her sister who is a closet freak needing to get out every full moon. Ok, now we are operating on full power.

Unfortunately, none of that imagery helped and nothing in the provided "reading materials" was much use because the best ones were, uhm, heavily used, beaten, ripped and, er, stuck together. Next. Lots of Playboy. Next. UHM? You're kidding right? Sports Illustrated with Beyonce on the cover?!?!? Uhm, you all need some lessons in what is good pr0n and what is a waste of a fellas good feelings and time. Sigh, alas, I did not produce my best work; a C- in my books but I do have an excuse.

I was more than a little distracted due to poor L's inability to find my vein. Normally, I am quite the good bleeder. just stick it in me and out it flows. Ok, that did sound wrong and maybe we can deal with that later please. Thank you, I will continue now. So, he stuck the needle in and got one vial. Replace the vial and nothing happened. The body is an amazing thing because she was in and out, back and forth, to and fro, and I did not feel pain until she hit a muscle; still, no blood. She tried the other arm and that was worse. Not sure why, but my veins collapsed out of the normal area. After some more trying on the left arm, L. led me down into another room so I can lie down in the hopes the veins would relax and pop back into normal position. I did, they did and she was finally able to get it in and get the rest of the vials filled for the tests; five in all I think.

Of course, both arms now had taped cotton balls in the inside of my elbows. Balls on my arms. Mind giggle. Great. Imagery I did not need. Wrong anatomy homer. Think. THINK. Balls. FRIG!!!! Ok, go read something. No, not SI.

V.

2 comments:

Ellen K. said...

I laughed my ass off while reading this! D. has had about 10 SAs and always comes back to the waiting room looking grim and pissy. I really do feel badly for him.

I think a lot of guys are unnecessarily worried about sample volume. WHO standards are just 2 mL for normal volume. It looks like absolutely nothing in the cup, but it's enough.

Good luck!

Dtrini said...

Hmm. The WHO. While there are many jokes that come to mind tying them in with the rock group, I must say this does not give me warm and fuzzies. The WHO is the same organization that messed up the assessment of overall impact with Mad Cow, SARS and Avian Flu, just to mention three of the recent heavy hitters.

Based on their propensity to understate the actual numbers, that tells me I would need 4 to 6 times their stated amount; 8 to 12ml of fresh genetic material. I'm just not my former, young, hit the bullseye from twenty paces, regenerative self anymore.

I'm sure you are right Ellen, and I do jest for the sake of blog levity, but we guys still worry because it is the only part we truly play in the whole process and we just want to do our best to give you ladies the best possible chance at success.

In no way would we deem to say it is more pressure than what you all face, but for us, at the moment of truth, it is the world on our shoulders. Now how is a fella supposed to concentrate with the blood flowing to the wrong place thinking about all that? :)