Jazz mags & pleather!
For those of you expecting a blog post that bestows the virtues of listening to Coltrane or Armstrong on vinyl, sorry to disappoint!
Hi, I'm S' other half, D. And this is my first entry (I just asked S how many posts she wants me to write, and suffice to say I'm not getting away lightly! So you'll be hearing from me again). Now, if you're all sitting comfortably, let's talk semen.
Ahhh, my turn... I can't complain, aside from a handful of blood tests (I'm terrified of blood tests, but that's another story) I've not had much to do up until this point.
We pull up to the clinic and my chauffeur (S) cracks some joke I can't recall to send me on my way. I get out of the car and head towards the building directly in front of me. Once inside I check in, then go and sit in the waiting area. I'm the only one here. A couple weeks back, while listening to an IVF podcast, S and I heard an account of someone who spent hours and hours trying to produce his sample, and in the end he couldn't do it (poor guy, that's horrible) - but strangely I wasn't nervous, I felt confident.
After a while the nurse comes to get me. She hands me my sample pot, a form and a pen. She's friendly enough and smiles as she's speaking to me, which I greatly appreciate. She leads me down a corridor to a private room.
As I approach the door my mind turns to what lies behind it... I imagine velvet, lots of velvet, suede and soft Italian leather, a day bed in the shape of a rose with silk curtains and drapery moving gently against a cool breeze... two nymphs holding palm leaves, circulating the scented air above me as I drift into an undisturbed ecstasy.
The reality was quite different!
The room: Small, beige, a sink, a bin, a black wipe-down armchair, a plastic box containing magazines, some tissues, and a cabinet on the wall for the samples.
Afterwards I said my goodbyes and walked back out into the carpark, half sheepish half triumphant... there was S, smiling as I got in the car. Cue more jokes I can't remember. She asked me what was in the room, my reply - 'Jazz mags and pleather.'