Hope springs eternal

Spring. As far as seasons go, it is my favorite. It wasn't always though. There was a time when Spring was down on my list. It was near the bottom in fact, behind Summer and Fall. Allergies. I have them real hard. That made me not all peachy keen on Spring. Then, in 2001 spring sprang to the top of my pops. Number 1 with a bullet. Because Spring sprung Team Tinsley. It is when it all started. So now, when I think of Spring, I don't just think of my allergies. I think of new life, longer days, flowers, warm weather, and masturbation.

Yes, you read that right, but don't freak out and split on me just yet. This is still a family friendly BLOG, and even though it is hard to believe, my onanistic story is all about Team Tinsley.

You see, Dear Reader, getting pregnant the first time was not easy for me and my Lovely Bride. It was a bitch to be perfectly honest. Infertility. It sucks. For everyone that has gone (or is going) through it you have my deepest sympathies. Truly. The experience changes you in so many ways. Take me for instance. I'm about to tell you a funny story that involves me and masturbation. I have no guilt or shame in telling you this story. It seems minor in the scheme of things. Not at all taboo, because I know the end result was worth every indignity we suffered. Every set back. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. First, you might want to take a look see at Beat It for a bit of back story. Either way, the following story is 100% true. No embellishing. Whether you laugh at me, or with me, laugh. It truly is the best medicine. Dig this.

April 25, 2001 is the day my Lovely Bride got the IUI that knocked her up with Ethan. We actually didn't learn that the rabbit gone died, until early May when we got the confirmation. Damn near two years to the day we learned that Carter was knocked up the old fashioned way with Wyatt. So, you can see why I'm so fond of Spring. Our infertility story has a happy ending, for we were doubly blessed with two wonderful Boy(s). There was a time though, when we wondered if we would ever get there (which is now here.) In fact, one of the craziest things that has ever happened to me occurred at the very beginning of our quest to make a baby.

The first thing that they suggest you do when you realize that you are having fertility issues is to test the man's semen. The thinking is that the man is the easiest piece of the equation to diagnose and treat, so start with him. If there is nothing wrong with the semen, then the next step is to start on the woman. This is a lot more involved. I had it explained as such: Women have a lot more wiring. Amen.

With this knowledge, we decided to embark on the process of finding out why we could only copulate, and not procreate. It was time for my sperm test. A test that I wanted to both fail and pass. Conflicted was I. On one hand I didn't want to feel like a dud. On the other I realized by reading a lot on the subject that it was better for me to fail the test. Treatment for sperm issues was supposed to be easier and less expensive than treatment for the women. Hell, it could be as simple as me needing to wear lose underwear. If I was potent, we'd have a longer road to travel with My Lovely Bride. Again, more wiring.

Sperm test is comic fodder. Most of us have seen it portrayed on tv, or in the movies, always getting a big laugh. Sad to say, but my perception of how the test would go down was based on movies like She's Having a Baby. I expected a nice (hopefully clean, I'm germ phobic) room with a glut of reading material or better yet, video aids. I should have quickly realized my perception was pure fantasy when I learned that, due to the byzantine ways of my insurance company, the first stop on my sperm test trail was a visit to my general practitioner. I like Dr. McNally. He's a cool guy. I'd been going to him for years. So, it was somewhat reassuring to make an appointment with him to discuss our problems. I figured he would give me a fertility 101 speech and then a referral to a proper sperm doctor or clinic. He did give me the Fertility 101 speech, which is quintessential McNally. I was feeling pretty good at that point, it was going down as I had suspected. You can imagine my surprise though, when at the end, he told me that his office could coordinate my sperm analysis.

It was with an extreme sense of trepidation that I walked from the exam room to the Lab Tech area. I was slowly realizing that my sperm test wasn't going to be anything like the movies. The Lab Tech area in McNally's office is nothing more than an alcove where they take your blood and other simple tests. There is no door. It is no bigger than your average walk-in closet. Next to the Lab Tech alcove is the bathroom. There is a dumb waiter sort of thing on the wall that the alcove and bathroom share for urine tests to be passed through. Literally two feet or so, across from the bathroom door and the alcove entrance is a row of chairs where people wait for the Lab Tech. This is where I sat, with three others, as my monkey brain tried to figure out where in the hell they were going to have me produce my sample. Surely they didn't have a special room for that purpose. That meant I would have to..."Mr. Tinsely." It was my turn with the Lab Tech. Oh shit.

"Mr. Tinsley, please take a seat." She placed me in the chair they use to take your blood, as she read my chart. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only 20 seconds, she looked up, gave me a curious smile and said, "Oh." She then spun around and reached into a medical locker, and grabbed a specimen cup. "Here Mr. Tinsley, you can use this for your...sample."

Sweet mother of all that is good, this is NOT happening was all I could think. In a stupid attempt to make light of a very distressing situation, I told her, "I need a bigger cup" and gave her a smile. Thankfully she laughed, which eased my fear somewhat. It was not to last though, because she quickly went into a lengthy explanation on how I was supposed to give the sample.

Remember, there are three other people less than two feet away from where I'm sitting, with nothing better to do than watch what is going down in the Lab Tech area. Thankfully, she was pretty vague in her explanation, and they probably thought I was a dumbass who didn't know how to pee in a cup versus a guy that was being told hold to spunk in one. She was still explaining to me the proper way to take the lid off the cup so as to not contaminate the sterile inside when I decided to cut to the chase and ask, "Where am I going to, um, produce this sample? I can take it home, can't I?!? Or, there's a special room (still clutching to that stupid fantasy.)"

She gave me a sad, little, I can feel your pain type of a smile, and said. "Mr. Tinsley, we want to get true results from your analysis, and for that to happen, we need your specimen to be fresh. So, it really is best if you can produce it here at the office."

Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. I was stunned. "Where in the office would I have to, um, do it?" As soon as I asked that question I knew the answer as she slowly pivoted toward that dumb waiter thing toward the bathroom.

"You can use the bathroom Mr. Tinsley. Take as long as you need."

HOLY SHIT. Remember, there are three people (out of a possibly four) that would be sitting right in front of the bathroom door, while I'm in there trying to deliver my sample. As I've said above, I'd been going to McNally for years, I'd been in this bathroom before, many times in fact, and if memory served correct, there were no visual aids. Hell, I don't think they even kept magazines in that bathroom. Not only would I not have my movie fantasy sperm test reading list of porn, I wouldn't even have the benefit of a Better Homes and Garden, or hell, Time. Nothing!

HOLY SHIT. "I, um, I, don't feel comfortable doing that in there....um, there are people, right there. I don't think I can do it." She gave me that sad, I understand your pain smile again, and said, "How about the bathroom in the lobby of the building."

HOLY SHIT! This isn't real. I was dreaming. This lady wanted me to go into a public restoom in the lobby of a mid sized office building in Dallas Texas and deliver my sample. Who in the hell did she think I was...George Michael? More importantly, Isn't doing that illegal? HOLY SHIT!

Many would probably have left, running for the door. Remember though, I was not in my right mind, because I was on a quest to try and fix our infertility problem. I was prepared to do whatever it took in order to procreate. It was important to me, and probably more to the point, my Lovely Bride. I would do what I had to do for us. So I took the specimen cup, placed it in my pocket so as to be discreet, and took the long walk (through the busy main waiting room of the office) to the bathroom in the lobby.

The first thing I did when I got into the large bathroom (three urinals, four stalls), was check to see if anyone was in there besides me. Thankfully there was nobody else. I decided to go for the handicap stall, which was the very last one. Farthest from the door, and urinals. That was a good thing I figured. It was also bigger, which I actually thought might be a good thing, why, I have no idea. You think strange things trying to psyche yourself up to masturbate in a public restroom.

Sitting down, to the business at hand, so to speak, trying to get in the mood, and having no luck. Mind racing. Trying. Mind racing. Trying. I felt like I was in there for a day, but it had to be a few minutes when I heard a loud crash of what could only be the bathroom door flying open and slamming into the wall. If that wasn't startling enough for a man in my unique position, I heard the Lab Tech scream this.

"MR. TINSLEY STOP! If you can."
I froze. Hell, my penis probably sucked up into my body. I didn't say a peep. I was quiet as a church mouse in my stall. I couldn't reply, so freaked was I.

"Please come back to the Lab Tech area....um....when you can."
With that, the door closed, and she was gone. I was left by my lonesome.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror for what had to be 10 minutes, trying to decide if I should in fact, go back in there, or just leave and find a new Doctor. In the end, I decided to suck it up, and march back in there and to see what in the hell was going on with this crazy Lab Tech. Walking through the lobby, into the office and through the waiting area to the Lab Tech alcove was a walk of shame if ever there was. I felt as if everyone in the office knew what happened. Hell, I'm probably a famous funny story at their office Happy Hours or Holiday Party. But, on this day, no one else yet knew what had happened.

I was prepared to let the Lab Tech have it, but when I saw her, face ashen, I actually felt sort of sorry for her. She was freaked out bad. Tripping actually. She might have been near tears in fact. She apologized profusely, and thankfully, quietly. She then went on to tell me that it was her first day in the office. That at her old job, they did the semen testing on site. That McNally didn't do it on site. And then proceed to apolgoize over and over, until I cut to the chase and asked her what I had to do to be tested. Maybe, my movie fantasy of a sperm test would happen. Wrong.

I ended up having to produce the sample at home and then bum rush it (in Dallas traffic) to a lab in a strip mall. I dubbed it McSpunk. Had to hand over my cup 'o sperm through a window to a guy in a cage. He didn't even have surgical gloves on when I handed it to him. Gross and surreal. It was however, the first step on what was a strange, long, and at times painful trip. As time passed, my silly episode at McNally's office offered me some much needed levity.

Thinking back on it now, I'm amazed by how naive I was in regard to what the process would be like. By the fact that I was so eager in my quest, to agree to do something like that in a bathroom stall. I was crazy. You might think so too. However, don't judge me to harshly. It is hard to explain the emotions, the toll, from trying to get pregnant each and every month, learning that you missed it, trying again, missed it. Repeat that process for months. The hope, the let down. All the while, people around you are getting pregnant, the first try. Some by accident. Some unwanted even. Some happy surprises. Each and every instance making you feel like a failure, making you bitter. It is so very hard.

Again, my heart goes out to all of those that have ever suffered through it. For those that are currently going through the experience. Godspeed on your quest. I wish you success. Take it from me, you got to believe that in the end, it will all work out for you. You got to have faith...that your ending will be happy, and that your happy ending won't occur in a stall pulling a George Michael.

Until I BLOG again...STOP!

In memory far away

As dawn was breaking on the Messoplex, it was dawning on me that I had graduated Charles Page High School (Go Sandites!) 20 years ago this May. Holy Shit! Pretty obvious considering that I was in the CPHS Class of 1985, but in all honesty, I hadn't really thought about it. I guess I was in denial, having suppressed the reality that I had been out of high school for 20 years until, of all things I was watching Leave it to Beaver on TV Land the night before. How it all came bubbling up from my subconscious is a funny case study into how my crazy ass mind works. Dig this.

It all started with me in my bed. I was by myself on a Sunday night while my Lovely Bride watched Desperate Housewives in the den. Boy(s) were night night. Quiet time. Sunday night, shit on TV, I ended up watching Leave it to Beaver which isn't that unusual. Zoning out on the puerile Beaver circa 1957 my mind hopscotched onto the 1985 midlife version of the Beaver from (so bad it was good) Still The Beaver. At that point I started to play my peculiar age game, which I should add, drives my Lovely Bride nuts. I take a person (in this case Jerry Mathers) and remember them from something that I vividly recall. From there I cipher how old that made them in that year. I then compare that age with my current age. Then, I compare my thoughts of them and that age then, with my thoughts of them and that age now. The only problem with doing this in bed was that I didn't have a calculator handy. Admittedly, I'm a dumbass in regard to math. However, on the flip side of what would best be described an idiot savant coin, I'm a walking encyclopedia of all things trivia (history too.) Thus I innately knew that Jerry Mathers was born in 1948 and that Still The Beaver (the series, there was a 1983 made for TV Movie) started running in syndication in 1985, yet I was having one hell of a time ciphering how old that would have made Jerry Mathers in 1985.

Somewhere in the midst of trying to calculate his age, my mind gave up and did what it does best, made a joke out of the situation by hopping over to Sling Blade. The part where Vaughan is talking to Karl at the Tastee Shake.

Vaughan: You always seem to be deep in thought. Tell me, what are you thinking right now?
Karl: I was thinkin', I'm gonna take me some of these taters home with me.
Vaughan: How about before that?
Karl: Well, let me think... I was thinkin' I could use me another couple cans'o that potted meat if ya got any extree.

The complete absurdness of the problem I was having with such an easy math problem was funny enough, but the fact that my mind was making introspective jokes on the subject made me laugh out loud at myself. I didn't laugh for long though, because I finally got the answer (probably took you two seconds) that Jerry Mathers was 37 years old in 1985. Holy Shit!

I guess at some level, I knew he would be around my age in 1985, but the fact that he was my current age was a shock. You see, Dear Reader, because of my strange self image in regard to age , I don't only play my goofy little comparative age game, I almost always think of myself as being younger than I actually am. Thus, when I realized that I was the same age as Jerry Mathers in 1985, I remembered him from the point of view of the 1985 version of Stu. That version of me thought he looked old. Sad too. The Beav was back in his hometown, two kids, divorced, living at home. Remembering 1985 Stu commiserating Beav's sad state of affairs made 2005 Stu remember 1985 Stu's state of affairs. The big milestone of course was my graduating High School which is what was running through my Monkey Brain as dawn dawned on the Messoplex. So, one more time with feeling. HOLY SHIT! Has it really been 20 years? Would there be a reunion, and If so, would I attend?

I have had, what could best be described as a strained relationship with my home town of Sand Springs for some time. Whatever the reason, those feelings led to me being vehemently opposed to attending my 10 year high school reunion. I wanted no part of it.

Now, with another decade under my belt, fast approaching my 38th lap around el sol on mother earth, I know that I was wrong to not attend my 10 year reunion. I regret my decision. I think it is because, as I've gotten older I catch myself looking back to my school days, growing up in Oklahoma, well, wistfully is the only way to put it. Perhaps it is a midlife thing? Or, being married with children? I'm not sure to be honest. What I am certain of is that I want to attend my 20 year high school reunion. So much so that I've been prowling sites like Classmates to see if anything was scheduled. Turns out there is a reunion planned, and it is soon. June 17 and 18th to be exact. I've made up my mind that I'm going, because, I truly want to see people I haven't seen in twenty years. Hell, in some cases, I haven't even thought about them for twenty years. Still, I suspect (maybe hope) that when we all gather we'll be friends united for a common cause. Shared experiences of a time and place. Because (to borrow a line from a Don Henley song) somewhere back there in the dust, that same small town is in each of us.

Until I BLOG again...Spirit Stick.