Shit’s gettin’ real

I want to let you all know that I work, professionally, for a reasonably adult wage, in the sexual health education field. I no longer routinely demonstrate the proper use of condoms, extol the virtues of the IUD or pepper my language with penile-anal penetration, but suffice to say I am still frequently in the position of talking about risque subjects with people who are more than a little squeamish. Last year I had to bring a box of brightly colored silicone dildos (ahem, condom demonstrators) into the principal’s office at a very conservative public high school and tell him exactly how his teachers would be showing barrier methods to his students, and I didn’t bat an eyelash. Really, it doesn’t phase me.

But man oh man if asking a few medical professionals about getting a sperm analysis for BFF didn’t freak me the fuck out.

I was somehow under the impression that we would be able to get a semen analysis at Planned Parenthood, right alongside the usual HIV/STI tests. Having gotten quite a bit of my pre-insurance reproductive healthcare from good ol’ PP, I assumed men were privy to the similar array of services. Not the case. Apparently, physical exams can only be scheduled if there is evidence of infection, and beyond that, only a panel of HIV/STI tests can be run. Since BFF is definitely un-insured, this means we are going to have to get creative about how to get this step done. I realize that the semen analysis isn’t a must at this point in the game, but we might as well get all the medical stuff out of the way up front, right? Plus, BFF is 46 and while we know he managed to knock a girl up in his 20’s, this doesn’t mean the swimmer’s are still in Olympic shape.

Thus, I have spent the afternoon calling various clinics, my doctor, and the public health department (that was one little tip I’m proud to have thought of myself!) explaining that I am a lesbo, and me and my lesbo lover and our gay BFF are gonna get together and make a baby and we need a little help getting all of our ducks in a row and did I mention we make crap for cash? Who do I have to fuck around here to get BFF’s spunk looked at under a microscope?!

The biggest trauma is, of course, calling folks and having to come out over and over again, on the phone, to medical professionals – who I generally don’t trust. Then I start thinking that maybe we shouldn’t have access to low cost services because, I mean, isn’t this making a baby thing a privilege for two dykes and therefore if we can’t do it on our own and/or pay for it on our own, we should just be happy with our dogs? Why does ‘reproductive health’ almost always mean the option to NOT get pregnant when you don’t want to, instead of the other way around? And if we can’t shell out hundreds of dollars to make sure BFF’s sperms don’t have 6 tails, are we really adequately prepared to have a kid, anyway? Are we overpreparing or overthinking or overanalyzing or all of the above?

In other news . . .
Had the donor talk with BFF on Sunday and it was decidedly lovely. I ended up getting totally weepy and verklempt because OMG y’all, if we need a #3 to make a baby, I am SO SO happy its BFF. His heart is so big and he is so wonderful, and the smile on his face when we told him we wanted to do a ritual with all three of us to sort of affirm the roles we are each playing was magical. He is a totally dreamy donor BFF, and I’m excited for him to be Uncle BFF to our babies. Also, he is so strapping and really exceptionally healthy which I think spells good news all around.

Finally. My boss is pregnant and due at the end of January (there are actually two co-workers who are due a day apart! I’m hoping they tag me in when they go into labor!) which up until yesterday still seemed like a while away. But since I am now tracking time by my menstrual cycle, the only thought I had was, whoa . . .that’s NEXT MONTH (because it is, in the cycle scheme of things) and whoa . . .I could potentially be (just barely) pregnant when the boss goes into labor. Assuming, of course, getting tagged in works.