If you think watching movies with sex scenes in them with your parents is awkward…

Before my treatments began, I had to sit through an awkward conference from my oncologists nurse about the effects of chemotherapy on human beings. Eventually, we arrived at the point in which my nurse explained that the side effects of chemotherapy on the reproductive organs are unknown, and perhaps I should consider cryogenically memorializing my genetics. She suggested some places in the area that come with a good referral. In any event we made an appointment at a sperm lab in midtown Manhattan on the east side.

Inconspicuous would be my description of my first appointment. The day seemed rather uneventful. I went to the hospital and had the doctor give me some results of my tests. Then, we took a cab ride to the east side and stood outside what we were told was our destination. The funny thing about places in New York, as I’m sure many of you know, is that the outside appearance of a place in no way indicates what lay behind the entrance. Two discrete doors can actually turn into a swanky, upscale Korean restaurant that takes up over 10,000 square feet over two floors. Repro Lab, Incorporated appeared to be as unnoticeable as the other thirty some-odd apartment buildings on the same block. Behind door number one, however, was a land of opportunity. It was a building from which babies, and baby making materials would be extracted, maintained, and cultivated. It was a baby factory. Against my wishes, Katie and my mom accompanied me to location. I told them I didn’t need that much moral support.

I went to the desk and retrieved the necessary paperwork needed for me to make a deposit. I joked with the lady at the desk whether this bank had a competitive CD rate or not. I figured I could make a deposit and gain interest over time. Let my investment mature over time. She was not of the humorous type. I think she was a Russian babushka, a throwback to the old Soviet Union. Short, stout, fat women who do nothing but look at you funny and make you feel like you’re the one who speaks awful English. I took my clipboard and read over the papers. Across the top of each page is what I can only surmise to be the slogan or tagline of Repro Lab Incorporated: “Repro Lab Inc. – The Semen Cryobanking Center that Cares.” I pondered about what it might take for a spank bank to differentiate itself as caring. Premium priced magazines? The Playboy channel? Deposit assistants? Security guarding the sperm vault?

So, I fill out my name, age, and address and give my social security number, meanwhile, I’m trying to understand in what way RLI will show me they care. I wonder if they hire people to sit inside the spermatorium and read Dr. Seuss books and Mother Goose tails to all the future children. I would suggest “Hop on Pop” and Humpty Dumpty. I assessed my sperm proxy care individual. I decided that if I were to die that the best way to repay my father for all the hard-earned cash he spent on me was to give him my special men. My imagination created the scenario in the fashion of putting ashes in an urn and resting it on the mantle… I gave my paperwork to our Russian KGB and sat down.

The whole place made your skin crawl. Common stains on the floor became much more distasteful in my mind. At last, Galina Ulanova called my name and brought me to my room. Quick room inventory: ten-by-ten (at most); one counter, soap dispenser and sink included; one paper towel dispenser; long table placed against the wall, various (low-end) pornographic movies and magazines included; one surprisingly comfortable looking lazy boy chair, with recline capability; one ten-inch television/VCR unit.

I tried to become comfortable in this room. I tested the comfort of the lazy boy chair. The rustling of the medical protective paper as I sat startled me and I jumped up afraid that I could be heard outside of my room. So I waited a bit, I realized that I could hear everything going on in the hallway. I could hear Oxana Baiul figure skating clients into their rooms and then performing a salchow into a triple axel back behind her iron curtain counter. As if the situation were not awkward enough, the gentleman in room 4 had the volume on his television/VCR unit entirely way to high. I turned my back to the door to look over the landscape in front of me. My eyes scanned the room and in that moment I considered exactly how important to me it was to have children. That plastic cup was just staring at me from the counter. It burned a hole through my forehead, man! There he was just sitting, judging, as if to say, “Yup, this is what your life has become.” I hated that room.

After three visits, I began my treatment. For reference, I went there alone each time after. I gave you this lurid story because it was exactly two and a half years ago that I took my first treatment. I just thought that you might want to really know what I was doing before treatment. And I ask you, “Please, it’s tough to write this stuff down sometimes – don’t make fun of me the next time you see me!”

Take care. I’ll be back.