Part 10: The Awkward Part

Let's just say Paul wasn't exactly thrilled about his test. I must admit, I wasn't inclined to be sympathetic. I mean, I had to lay on a cold table with my nether regions exposed while stuff was pumped up my va-jay-jay. Oh, and there were pictures involved. By comparison, he was getting off (ahem - no pun intended) MUCH easier. I could sense his discomfort though, so we talked about it ahead of time. Neither of us were very keen on the whole dirty magazine thing. But I could see where it might be, well... difficult to get the job done in a strange place where everyone knew what was happening behind the closed door. So I offered a compromise. Camera phone = GREAT invention. Just sayin'. And that's enough about that.

Anyway, off we went to the andrology lab the following week. I made sure he got checked in okay, and then headed down to the coffee shop on the first floor. About 30 minutes later, Paul had survived and we were enjoying a celebratory breakfast. Two tests down, one to go!

About a week or so later, one of the nurses from Kathy's office called to give us the results. In addition to the number of sperm, a semen analysis also looks at their shape and motility, and the overall volume and composition of the semen. Who knew? The nurse went through each of the components and for each one, Paul's results came back just fine.

Paul, of course, was relieved to know his swimmers were up for the task. I, on the other hand, was probably even more relieved. For whatever reason, I had gotten it into my head that it would be better if the "issue" turned out to be me rather than him. On the one hand, I didn't know how he would handle the guilt if turned out to be him. At the same time, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that if I was the issue, I should offer to let him go. He could go on and find someone else with whom to have the family he'd always wanted. It was a terrible thing to think, and deep down I knew he would never in a million years even think about leaving me. But that was my (less than healthy) way of processing the guilt I was feeling. After all, hadn't I always known that I was broken?