I mentioned in a former post that after my one experience with the fertility doctor in Georgia I never went back. Well, my better half did return for a semen analysis (you know, to check the old baby batter). A week or so after the test, they called him to give results. The verdict? “Good but not great.” Being the typical caveman that he is, he let that ride without further question. For a while, I did too. When I started blogging about our fertility ventures, however, I became increasingly curious and asked him to get the Semen Analysis Report so my investigative reporter alter ego could Google every aspect and get a more specific prognosis (if you want it done right…).
In order to get the report, he had to call the fertility doctor’s office and get a release form faxed to him, complete it and fax it back, and they faxed him the report. Unfortunately, after he faxed the release back, he was called out to work on the flight line, far, far, away from the fax machine. Whilst he was working away, his report came in without a cover sheet. The title, “SEMEN ANALYSIS REPORT” flashed across the top of the page, bolded in all capital letters. His name was further down, across from the heading, “Collection Method: Masturbation.” One of his female superiors politely rescued it off the fax machine (probably after some other cavemen got a few chuckles out of it), placed it in an envelope and scribbled a reassuring note across the front (something to the effect of “This looked like personal medical information, so I put it in an envelope. P.S. I didn’t read it”).
I have to say he was an awesome sport about the whole thing! I think if it were me I would still be avoiding eye contact with that person. I guess that makes my caveman a little more mature than me. Hmmm… go figure.
The report basically analyzes several main aspects of the semen: general characteristics (such as color, volume, viscosity, odor (!) and round cells), motility, morphology and viability. According to the key, or reference range, provided on the test all of his numbers fall into the normal ranges, with the exception of morphology. Out of 100 sperm, 6% were of normal morphology (it appears the other 94 either had too many Krispy Kremes or need to work on increasing their vocabularies). This sounds like a low percentage, but it really isn’t too far off. The normal range is above 14%, and between 4% and 14% is “good prognosis/ sub-fertile.” Thus, the genius doctor’s categorization of “good, but not great.”
The test was “administered” last October, and according to my book on natural conception, people fluctuate between periods of fertility and sub-fertility. Hopefully the warm, summer weather will get those little tadpoles back in action. Now, if we can both align our fertile periods, we’ll be good (but not great) to go!
Showing posts with label fertility specialist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fertility specialist. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Soap Box
Last October Eric and I drove across state lines to Savannah Reproductive Center to meet with a fertility specialist for consultation. The moment the doctor found out my age he acted as if it were doomsday. You would have thought my uterus would turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight on my thirty-fifth birthday (Up yours, buddy, I’m hott (which can likely be attributed to NOT having children, thank you very much)). To my surprise, less than ten minutes into the appointment visions of laparoscopy, Clomid, and IVF were dancing around in his gigantic head.
This over-eagerness to push pills and perform procedures is all too typical in this era of the medicalization of society. Frankly, it ticked me off. I imagined he would analyze our diets, chart my cycle, ask in-depth questions about our medical histories-- perhaps suggest a few “positions” (bom chicka wah wah). Rather, he skipped right to the money-makers. I left that office having agreed to things I wasn’t comfortable with…things I knew nothing about.
Those of you who know me would concur that this is strikingly uncharacteristic of me. I get this inquisitiveness from my father (shout out to dad on Father’s Day), who my mother has recently limited to asking only 3 questions on any particular subject. Just today Eric noted that I missed my calling as an investigative journalist. Move over, Becky Oliver, here comes Annie Boerm.
With a smidgen of probing, I stumbled upon the following statistics: A healthy, fertile couple stands only a 20% chance of conceiving each month, 5 million Americans experience periods of “sub-fertility” and half of those eventually go on to get pregnant and have healthy babies. Experts say that a woman’s fertility peaks in her twenties, but many women in their forties continue to remain fertile.
It is my personal belief that Dr. Bighead was attempting to perpetrate a fraud against this 34 year old woman. Yet another way our culture aims to make women feel “less than.” We’re not skinny enough, tall enough, nose isn’t thin enough, nails aren’t manicured enough, hair isn’t silky enough, teeth aren’t white enough, skin isn’t glowing enough, bikini area isn’t hairless enough, clothes aren’t stylish enough, purse isn’t expensive enough, and let’s not forget --bOObs aren’t big enough. The quest to be “enough girl”, all glamour-pussed and supermodeled out is utterly exhausting.
I’d be a hypocrite if I said I didn’t buy into some of these lies, but let it be documented that I resent them. Similarly, my antipathy toward this doctor, his injections, and implantations swelled over time. Perhaps my expectations of his services were somewhat grandiose. I recognize that fertility doctors truly help many couples who have actual medical conditions that prevent them from conceiving naturally, and for that, they should be appreciated. But in our case, it just seemed like another instance of fast food pharmacology.
Needless to say, I never returned to Savannah Reproductive Center, and don’t intend to. As for me and my man, we prefer the holistic approach-- vitamins, herbs, acupuncture, massage, and a miracle!
This over-eagerness to push pills and perform procedures is all too typical in this era of the medicalization of society. Frankly, it ticked me off. I imagined he would analyze our diets, chart my cycle, ask in-depth questions about our medical histories-- perhaps suggest a few “positions” (bom chicka wah wah). Rather, he skipped right to the money-makers. I left that office having agreed to things I wasn’t comfortable with…things I knew nothing about.
Those of you who know me would concur that this is strikingly uncharacteristic of me. I get this inquisitiveness from my father (shout out to dad on Father’s Day), who my mother has recently limited to asking only 3 questions on any particular subject. Just today Eric noted that I missed my calling as an investigative journalist. Move over, Becky Oliver, here comes Annie Boerm.
With a smidgen of probing, I stumbled upon the following statistics: A healthy, fertile couple stands only a 20% chance of conceiving each month, 5 million Americans experience periods of “sub-fertility” and half of those eventually go on to get pregnant and have healthy babies. Experts say that a woman’s fertility peaks in her twenties, but many women in their forties continue to remain fertile.
It is my personal belief that Dr. Bighead was attempting to perpetrate a fraud against this 34 year old woman. Yet another way our culture aims to make women feel “less than.” We’re not skinny enough, tall enough, nose isn’t thin enough, nails aren’t manicured enough, hair isn’t silky enough, teeth aren’t white enough, skin isn’t glowing enough, bikini area isn’t hairless enough, clothes aren’t stylish enough, purse isn’t expensive enough, and let’s not forget --bOObs aren’t big enough. The quest to be “enough girl”, all glamour-pussed and supermodeled out is utterly exhausting.
I’d be a hypocrite if I said I didn’t buy into some of these lies, but let it be documented that I resent them. Similarly, my antipathy toward this doctor, his injections, and implantations swelled over time. Perhaps my expectations of his services were somewhat grandiose. I recognize that fertility doctors truly help many couples who have actual medical conditions that prevent them from conceiving naturally, and for that, they should be appreciated. But in our case, it just seemed like another instance of fast food pharmacology.
Needless to say, I never returned to Savannah Reproductive Center, and don’t intend to. As for me and my man, we prefer the holistic approach-- vitamins, herbs, acupuncture, massage, and a miracle!
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