August 2007: Another Man Feels My Husbands Testicles

The urologist’s office was part of a larger fertility practice about a 40 minute drive from where we live. We didn’t yet know that we’d be spending a lot of time there, and that if we have any children, they’ll probably be conceived there. Luckily, it’s a really nice office -- not as nice as the acupuncturist’s, but still nice. And there’s no babies or obviously pregnant women, which sounds bitchy, but is kind of a nice change from the regular ob/gyn, where you feel constantly reminded that what everyone else is there for is the one thing you lack.

The urologist, Dr. G, was a cool guy. He recommended right away that DH get another analysis done, because he wasn’t convinced about the testing conditions of the first one and in any case, sometimes you could just have a wacky sample. That made us feel a little better, like maybe things were just off on that one try. Then he said it was time for a physical exam.

Now as I mentioned previously, DH went with me to every doctor’s appointment. He’s seen it all at this point, and I can’t imagine that’s been fun. And this is the part where I can relate a little. I asked him if he wanted me to go into the exam room with him and he said, “Sure.” I think this is a typical marital communication problem. When you say “sure,” do you mean “yes” or do you mean, “I’m not sure, but if you make the wrong choice, I’ll blame you for it later”? Anyway, I figured it meant he more likely than not wanted me to go, and I thought I might look bitchy and controlling if I asked him, in front of Dr. G, “Does that mean yes or no?” so I followed them into the exam room.

A physical exam by a urologist consists of: (1) you dropping your pants, (2) the doctor grabbing your balls, and (3) some probing and moving around. I’m grateful, when I am laying on that table with my feet in stirrups and my knees at my ears, that I can’t see what’s going on at the other end. That’s not how it is when a man has his genetials examined. He's standing up, so he can look straight down and see the grabbing and probing and the brow wrinkling in thought.

It’s even worse if you’re observing it because exam rooms aren’t big, so you’re sitting in a chair that’s eye level with what the doctor’s doing. You either watch this or look away, only there aren’t a lot of places to look, so you look up into your partner’s eyes, and try not to notice the look of desperate discomfort he’s feeling as you smile uncertainly and contemplate whether you should be making small talk, to take his mind off it.

When that was over, we breathed a sigh of relief and moved on to the second analysis. I won’t leave you in suspense—the second and third analyses, done over the next couple months, weren’t much better than the first. The physical exam was normal, the hormone levels came out fine. It was just a matter of d.f.l., which is basically what Dr. G told us. Nothing to be done.