Rural Sperm Banking

I had hardly recovered from the shock of being told I had just lost half of my masculinity to cancer when they told me that the second (lymph node) surgery might make me shoot blanks (i.e. have a retrograde ejaculation). Since we did not yet have children, I decided to donate some sperm in case I wanted to have any in the future. Our first appointment was at the sperm bank in downtown Chicago, where my wife and I went directly from Madison, Wisconsin, after my first surgery. At the clinic, the donation process was handled (sorry!) very discretely, though I must admit it was rather unusual to go into a room to do what had to be done with my wife and a strange man waiting outside the door! But heck, once you've had a whole class of nursing students examining your jewels, what ELSE could be embarrassing?

We returned to our home in Stevens Point, and between my first and second surgeries I had to "donate" sperm at our local one-runway, one-airline, two-flight-a-day airport! This was done so that I could get my deposit onto a commuter plane, and then to a waiting taxi which would rush it to the sperm bank in downtown Chicago ASAP. It was rather awkward to explain to the airline clerk, who of course was a woman, just what I needed to do, why I needed to know exactly when the plane would land and take off, since time was of the essence, and that the package needed to ride in the air-conditioned and pressurized passenger cabin, and not under the plane with the rest of the baggage. But heck, once you've had a whole class of nursing students examining your jewels, what ELSE could be embarrassing?

And so I found myself in the only (very quiet) toilet stall in the men's room, with the special hardened plastic condom the sperm bank sent home, with me rythmically going crinkle, crinkle, crinkle -- and someone walked in! I had forgotten to lock the door behind myself. There I was, frozen in place, stopped in "mid-crinkle", knowing that the plane would land in less than 3 minutes, and that it needed to take off almost immediately. There I sat, waiting for him to finish his business and get out. I was afraid to move for fear that the visual aid(!) I had brought with me might fall off of my knees onto the floor. I discovered that even the slightest move created a crinkle that resonated loudly off of the porcelain-lined bathroom walls. I remained frozen in fear, shades of being fifteen all over again! I'd always thought that once I'd had a whole class of nursing students examining my jewels, what ELSE could be embarrassing? Well, THIS WAS EMBARASSING! But I couldn't even see the man who it was that was embarassing me.

He must have been an older man with a prostate problem or just someone with impressive bladder capacity, because it seemed to take him forever to finish. And, wouldn't you know it, he was a hand washer! I had begun to fear that I would wilt during the waiting period, and had been staring hard at the smiling paper lady sitting on my knees, trying very hard to stay, well... very hard. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally left. I could hear the plane landing as I hurriedly finished my donation, wrapped up the package with it's large red "RUSH: MEDICAL SPECIMEN" tag, and ran it out to the woman at the passenger counter. She accepted the fruits of my labor (and loins), mercifully without the slightest hint of either amusement or of embarassment, of which I had more than enough for both of us. My deposit was the only thing that left the airport on that flight, but when all was said and done, I wondered if it would have been less embarassing to just fly to Chicago myself!

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