Well, after several phonecalls and much background muttering from me, the NHS found the results of my husband’s sperm analysis, and sent them to our GP’s surgery. Excellent. And the GP even called H to tell him this.
And then the GP said it was probably best if H made an appointment to come in and discuss the results.
So H called me. ‘Oh, it’ll be because you were on a mobile phone in the middle of a shop when he called, and it’s personal information, and these things are a little sensitive, you know?’ I burbled cheerfully, and went back to work.
And today H sat stoically in the surgery waiting room for half-an-hour, all by himself, to hear what personal sensitive stuff the GP had come up with.
And then he texted me. The little green glowing screen said: ‘It’s not all good news regarding results…’
I think I may have even given a little scream. Damn damn damn. And I’m over the other side of town waiting for a bloody buggering bus. In the cold. Damn. Panic. Damn. Breathe, you silly woman. Let’s re-read this, shall we? Look, the message isn’t finished. Scroll down scroll down… Would it help if you took your gloves off so you can actually press the damn buttons?
‘…but not all bad either.’
Well what the hell does that mean?
We discussed it properly when I got home, of course. And indeed, it’s not all bad. Volume, 4.3 ml (above 2 ml is good), count 87 million per ml (over 20 is good). Motility 37% (over, err, 50% is good). Morphology 3% (over 15% is good). So, there’s plenty of them. Which is something. If only 3% of them are actually going to take their jobs seriously enough to show up in the right shape, it’s a good thing there are plenty of them. And anyway, it’s only one sample, and H is talking firmly about eating healthily and cycling to work (will that really help?). And we have two more SA’s to do. The lazy little blighters may have perked up by then.
You know what I think it is? I think it’s because I never ovulate. H’s sperm have nothing to aim for. They’re demotivated.