Firstly, let me apologise for the lack of entries over the last month or so. I put it down to the distractions of the annual family holiday. So where were we...?
Around the beginning of September, I received the anonymous-looking padded envelope through the post, containing some instructions, two multi-part forms (completed), and two labelled 50ml screwtop plastic pots. Ah! My officially sanctioned self-abuse kit! On 14th September and 12th October, I was to produce a semen sample, by the usual means, and deliver them to the hospital's pathology lab within 2 hours "for technical reasons".
Since we were due to be some 280 miles away, in Cornwall, from 10th to 24th of September, I was able to persuade them to accept the first specimen a week early, on the 7th September. Came the morning, and I must say I found this to be the oddest part of the whole vasectomy experience to date. For a start, it's clearly not practical to deposit the... deposit... in another vessel, then decant it into the sterilised pot. So the only option is to aim into the 4cm diameter aperture of the pot, and hope you don't miss. After all, at my age it would be quite a wait before I could have another go (ah, for those youthful days of giving it ten minutes and then ready for action again!). Anyway, the deed was done, and off to the hospital we set. Now, I'm cursed with a mind that finds the absurd in any situation, so I found it very peculiar indeed to be handing over a little bottle of my semen to a total stranger - did the pot *really* have to be transparent?, I wondered. I couldn't help playing it in my mind as some kind of comedy sketch:
Me (gurning ludicrously, in a Village Idiot voice): "I've brought you a PRESENT!"
Lab Assistant: "Oh, you shouldn't have! Let me see!"
Me (handing it over): "Here you are."
Lab Asst.: (not really looking) "Oh, lovely, a little pot of..." (looks more closely) "...of, ohmigod, ewwww!"
See what I mean? Strange thing, the mind.
Then off we went on holiday. Now, if you recall, I'd been experiencing a lot of dull aching in the groin, though far fewer of the sharper shooting pains. These had thankfully subsided before the long drive to Cornwall. The first few days of the holiday, there was very little aching, and no shooting pains. Then we drove down to Lizard Point, which involves some steep paths down to and up from the shingle beach that is the Southernmost point of mainland Britain. Whilst walking back up, I started getting quite a few of the shooting pains in my groin. Not painful enough to make me stop, but certainly making their presence felt. But from the next day onwards, right up to the present day, I've had no further shooting pains, and no dull aches, either. Which bodes well for my review appointment next Thursday. Perhaps my appallingly sedentary lifestyle, and almost total lack of exercise, was slowing the healing process, and the relatively large amount of walking I did on holiday (several miles each day) sorted things out?
Anyway, the second specimen was duly delivered this morning, so I'm hoping that I get a double-zero result next Thursday. If that's the case, then, combined with the disappearance of all post-vas pains, I'll be all set for a happily blanks-shooting future. But let's not count those chickens just yet, eh?
More next Thursday evening.
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