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Day 185

Updated: Jun 26, 2019

A couple of years ago, I went to a reproductive specialist to bank my eggs. The doctor was confused by my application. She shook her head as she read it, then got out a pen and said, “Why don’t I help this along here. Why are you banking your eggs?”

“In case I ever meet the sperm of my dreams,” I quipped. She closed one eye as if by focusing on me she could make me a more serious person.

“Will your partner be providing sperm so we can store embryos or would you just like to store your unfertilized eggs?” the doctor questioned.

“I’ve asked him and he said no. He claimed fear of a dystopian future where the government is so desperate for sperm they use his without his permission. Not much of a patriot if you ask me, but no, I don’t have his sperm... also, he doesn't want any more kids.”

The doctor stared at me blankly for what might have been seconds but felt like years. Then she scribbled something illegible in the line for marital status.

Picking up the conversation, she said, “Is there someone else in your life whose sperm you might foresee creating an embryo with?” “If not, I know a lot of great gay sperm I think I can get my hands on.” The doctor capped her pen and said, “Gay sperm?” “Yeah, I know several really smart, great gay guys who I think I can talk into donating their sperm to me if I need it. Plus, they’re gay so there is little chance of a Greek tragedy where the kid falls in love with a half-sibling by accident.” “Ahhh, we just call that donor sperm here.” “Donor sperm it is then,” I said with a giant smile on my face as if I’d learned a new word. “So, at this point, you are definitely just storing your eggs. That’s great then.”

Moving to the line about children, the doctor asked, “You mentioned before that your partner doesn’t want another child. You have one, can you tell me about that child.” “Sure! Constance is an avid reader. We enjoy eating potato chips and reading in bed on the weekends. She swims like a fish. What else, she’s a really happy child. Always in a good mood and finding things to be excited about.”

“That’s nice, but I meant, her age and any medical conditions I should be aware of,” she corrected. “Oh, she’s five and she’s been diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder.” This was before Candace’s additional diagnosis of epilepsy two years later.

Continuing on the first page of the form, the doctor asked, “What are you currently using for birth control?” “Well like I said, I’m married so mostly absence.”

Searching for a more clinical answer, she asked, “What did you use before that?” “Before that, I was an undergraduate so condoms and prayer.” “You know that prayer is not a form of birth control, right?” “It was a joke,” I explained.

She waved her pen in warning and said, “While you are on fertility hormones, you will have to use condoms.” I laughed and said, “I couldn’t convince him to have sex with me with a trail of money leading to my bed. I am surely not going to convince him to do it through a Ziplock bag.” “Another joke, I presume,” the doctor said while putting condoms from her desk drawer directly into my purse. I smiled and nodded.

Three days later, I was emptying my purse on my table while searching for something and a dozen condoms poured out. Constance’s father saw them and looked at me quizzically. With an overdramatic wink I said, “I have big plans for the weekend.” “You’ve always been an optimist,” he replied. We laughed.

As my friend, Cherisse, pointed out, “At least you still have a sense of humor.” As no one said ever, “I like a woman with a biting wit.”


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Unknown member
Sep 18, 2018

When this was initially posted the introductory paragraph somehow got lost behind the photo when I pasted it in. I apologize for the confusion. Thank you to those of you reading close enough to notice. ;)


Unknown member
Sep 16, 2018

Day 185 is at


Unknown member
Sep 15, 2018

You’re very funny.

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