Before we could invite women to the party, Paolo and I had to confirm that our manly parts were up to snuff with a semen analysis. At the London Andrology Centre, we gave blood and urine samples before entering our respective “happy rooms,” as Circle called them, or “masturbation stations,” as I called them: small hospital rooms containing a sealed plastic cup, a consent form, and a single page of instructions, laminated to survive sticky fingers.
The nurse only asked one question: “When was your last ejaculation?”
They had told us to abstain for two to five days.
“Two days ago,” I replied, and I swear she gave me a look that said, The bare minimum, eh?
They had also told us to avoid hot tubs, saunas, alcohol, drugs, and placing laptops on our laps. I’d always thought that last one was an urban legend—that a computer above your penis reduces sperm count. Fortunately, I believe most urban legends, so I’d been typing atop a cushioned crotch for years.
The nurse left me to my own devices. And to my own literal device, but cell service in that subterranean lair wasn’t good enough to stream, so I settled for photos. (Of Paolo, obviously!)
Given that he and I entered our masturbation stations at the same time, I expected to leave at about the same time. I therefore found it strange when he wasn’t in the lobby after several minutes.
I texted, I’m outside
Paolo: Already?
Me: Yeah. It had been two days…
Paolo: But the instructions said to spread it out for at least 15 minutes for best results
Me: What?!? I thought it said to FINISH within 15 minutes. I rushed!!
Paolo: I thought so too at first. It wasn’t clearly written
Me: Bahhhh + spraying water emoji + clock emoji + facepalm emoji
It really wasn’t clearly written. And I get very groggy giving blood. In any case, I raced as if competing for the Guinness Record while Paolo enjoyed a leisurely stroke.
We waited a week to hear back, an anxious period made even more so by Paolo’s longstanding conviction that he was infertile, a baseless self-diagnosis.
When the results finally appeared in our inbox, they were incomprehensible, full of headings like Antisperm Antibodies and Motility [% spermatozoa].
My semen was—drumroll please—“normal” in Appearance and Viscosity, “complete” in Liquefaction, a “+” sign for Debris, “none seen” for Agglutination, and 95% “abnormal” for Morphology, broken down into Head Defects, Midpiece Defects, and Tail Defects.
Granted, we were talking millions per milliliter as the unit in question, and it would only take one healthy swimmer, but still, I freaked out when I read that a measly 5% of my semen had normal morphology.
I only semi-relaxed when seeing the same ratio in Paolo’s report. We were either both fine or both sterile.
We’d find out in step two…
