The Tinks in conversation
(@ approx. 2 months old)
For about five years, my wife and I tried to have children.
We tried everything.
The fun ways, and the not-so-fun ways.
When we finally arrived at the in vitro option - and having heard that
some couples try and fail with in vitro many times over -
we were certainly very concerned that this might be our last chance.
Not being in a financial situation to try in vitro much more than once,
there was some pressure and angst, and I tried regularly to alleviate
that pressure by waxing on about how incredible my 'swimmers' were
for a guy my age. Since our 'fertility doctor' had made a point of saying
as much, I thought I could use this information to keep our collective
confidence up, plus poke fun at myself at the same time.
I liked calling him the fertility doctor, by the way, because it created
an image for me of a crazy-eyed man with a huge smiling mask, feathers
sticking out of the headdress in all directions, his arms waving frantically
at times, and going between outstretched to akimbo, all the while dancing
to a wildly hypnotic drumbeat. Mick Jagger with a mask and body paint.
It may or may not surprise you to know he looked and acted almost nothing
like that, however. He's an upbeat, but quiet and unassuming Hispanic gentleman - with an office full of his wife's paintings - mostly of babies and young children.
The one thing that always astounded me upon entering his office was always how full it was. Obviously, many people needed help conceiving, which, in an odd way, was comforting knowledge.
Back to the testing.
In all, I think I had to be tested three different times, and each time
the results of the test were better than the time before…so the name 'Sperminator' was created, and the 'Ah-nuld' accent would be used to lighten the mood when discussing what was possibly our last attempt at creating our own children.
"Eye-um Spuurm-ah-nay-tuh, und vee vill hoff baybiss!"
Not that attempting to manufacture comedy was necessary when discussing the testing. It was pretty well built in to the process.
The mechanics of the testing procedure itself - the reality of having to
'produce' it, then bottle it, then bag that bottle - and let's not forget
the writing of the precise time this particular emission took place on the label of said bottle - and THEN the placing of the aforesaid bag
in your armpit (one of two places suggested in the accompanying print materials to keep it warm - you should maybe stop reading here if you can't fathom a guess as to what the other place might be) and then to carefully
navigate your way to its delivery point at the hospital's lab ten minutes
away, made for a lively enough story. Have you ever tried parking your car
in a typically cramped underground parking lot of a hospital while holding
a bottle of any of your precious bodily fluids in your armpit without dropping it? Scoff if you will, but it ain't easy. Not even with power steering.
Thank God I don't drive a standard anymore.
…and then to actually have to hand it over to someone. "Good afternoon, Bob. Here. Have some of my semen, and have a nice day."
I find myself wondering if I'll have similar feelings the first time I drop
the kids off at school. "I just want them to behave properly, and get good marks," I think to myself - just like my swimmers. Yet again, I digress.
Then, it's time to slink off into the rest of your afternoon, searching your
memory for any and all less embarrassing thoughts that might pop into your skull - rather than the nagging fact that some humourless guy in a hospital knows almost exactly what you did - not long ago this afternoon (you put the time on the label, don't forget) before arriving at his counter space - to have to produce the contents of that bottle...although his only thought is probably something about hoping that you took a moment to wash up before making the drive, but still…he knows.
The second and third testings were no less compromising of one's dignity,
but the final results make everything leading up to The Tinks' arrival
kinda fun to talk about now.
After spending the day yesterday celebrating their official half-birthday -
six months old, May 30, 2006 - I thought I'd send you a couple of pre-preemie Tink pictures, from an ultrasound performed on August 25, 2005.
(Liam is Twin A, Morgan is Twin B)
...and six months with twins means we've already got one full year of baby experience under our armpi - um - belts.
