Jun 24, 2010

hi Mary

so i just got off the phone to the woman at the fertility clinic. apparently i'm not infertile after all, quite the opposite.

so yes, the visit really was full on. i'm trying to think back to how i got the idea, i was pretty miserable around March, that was around when that crazy week was. i think maybe i have some coping mechanism of thinking of something outlandish to do, and in this case a bit emotionally disconnected. by that i mean using the sperm donation as the basis for a writing project. i explained to her at the beginning of the interview that i hadn't fully thought it through etc.

the first part of the appointment was fine, but then i suddenly got overwhelmed. this isn't an uncommon thing for me in doctors' surgeries, i've fainted once and had to lie down a couple of times. once was when a doctor was describing the risks of the pill to a girlfriend, or just travelling vaccinations. i'm just really squeamish about that sort of thing. also when that doctor was talking to my dad in March.

the woman was fine, but she did start racing through some of the paper work and of course there were some pretty unexpected questions. one thing she got me to do was write down my sister's name, or the name of any other woman i wouldn't want to donate to. i know it's just a necessary precaution, but OMFG! of course Madeleine's name flashed into my head.

after our last session i began to think about what it would be like to have an offspring who you couldn't protect because you didn't know them, and even if you did you couldn't. it's a pretty crazy thought and an argument that makes sense to me. i mean it's getting into nature vs nurture. just not as simple as handing over the sperm and forgetting about it.

she also started talking about whether i'd consent to IVF, and just the words frozen embryo may have put too much of an image in my mind. she also talked about donors meeting up with the families 20 years later, it's obviously a pretty crazy thought. one thing you said last time that really made me think is how i'm sort of directly connected to my unconscious, I don't think things will affect me and then of course I'm very affected. anyway i broke out in a noticeable sweat halfway through the appointment, went light-headed etc. way too full on. i told her i was being overwhelmed, she apologised. it's a pretty unusual job and afterwards i wanted to ask her how she'd ended up doing it.

she finished the interview by saying "now for the fun part." and said she was glad that i laughed. needless to say it was a pretty crazy having a waz with all this sort of stuff going through my head. quite hard to come. i've often had difficulty coming, btw in some sex. maybe we should talk about that? it's a no brainer i guess but looking back if i haven't been comfortable, or felt connected to the person . .

the masturbatorium was such a weird cross between a clinical and homely room. like an armchair made of that wipe-down fabric. porn inside manila folders. small, obviously, and i thought of the architect drawing up the plans.

i feel like a bit of a prude when i talk about sex with you, and it's not that i am a prude, it's just that i get more affected by stuff than i think i would. i'm as kinky as the next person, but at the end of the day the best sex i've had this year was with Rebecca, the girl who was going to Thailand, who was just gentle and really kind. i went on a bit of a porn binge last night, and i've always had a guilt thing with porn. porn is just so unemotional. maybe that's what my problem is, that it's a fake soother because it's so emotionally unfulfilling. i feel much better when i come from thoughts, maybe more in touch with my body. maybe that's what i don't like, being totally out of touch with my body/feelings. maybe we should talk about 4th form next time, btw, there might have been a turning point around there. it's hard being intuitive/sensitive/in touch with unconscious but at the same time not really taught how to deal with that, acting like an average guy the rest of the time. that's what the talking has really helped with understanding how to look after myself. i guess it's hard picking yourself up, learning how to live again, when not understanding my sensitivity was how i got overwhelmed by everything. learning is good though.

the jokes i thought about it:    it's a giant can of sperms.  or   how to ruin a perfectly good waz.

Yolanda (the woman at the clinic) said that there was a severe shortage, and on the phone i got a slightly pushy feeling. anyway, obviously i don't want to go through with it and won't be. i thought of another way to possibly help them- try and get artistic guys to donate, by making a poster for them. or getting someone else to do it. i think that's what i'll end up pitching to them.

the other thing that happened is that i was invited to Bridget (the girl from Paris, Christophe's wife) 's birthday party, which i guess is the unwanted, unintended consequence of feeling like i had to invite them to mine. i told her i'd pop in to the drinks. then she txt'd me telling me that Madeleine was probably going to be there. i got that txt right after our last session. i was going to txt something back but then just decided to ignore it and just end the friendship completely. so over it, and i don't have to do it anymore. i don't have to prove anything anymore, and i think that's the point where i can just let go. but then freakishly i ran into her at a bar last night. i was with someone else so didn't have to hang out with her, but the last thing she said to me was that she'd see me at her birthday. she's tried to fix Madeleine & i's fallout once, but the problem with her trying to do that is she just doesn't seem to get how badly Madeleine has acted, or because she's outside of it, just doesn't care. the same way i feel about other peoples' break-ups. i needed support and she just tried to be Switzerland, and that's not good enough for a friend of mine. i love to help and love and remember people who have helped me. and they just didn't do that when i needed them to.

Drus Dryden . . .

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