Testicular Cancer: An excuse for people to ask about your sperm

Four people this week have talked to me about my sperm, and none of them were doctors.

That bears repeating: After making it public to pretty much everyone that I’ve been diagnosed with testicular cancer, I have had four people engage me in conversation about my reproductive byproduct, and only two of them were family members.

If you’re reading this, chances are that you may only partly know me…a former classmate, friend, friend of a friend or possibly a complete stranger. Because of this, I suppose I should clarify…there were very few occasions prior to being diagnosed with TC that I’ve engaged in conversations, even with close friends and family, about my reproductive byproducts. It’s just not a subject that often comes up around the dinner table…my parents asking if I plan on cryogenically freezing sperm as they pass the container of Tony Chachere Creole Seasoning that is more of a condiment at their dinner table than pepper ever hopes to be.

It’s not that I’m a modest individual…it’s just that I’ve never been engaged in the discussion.

“What are you doing about your sperm?” asks somebody at work that will remain nameless.

“You need to start ‘harvesting your sperm,’” my Uncle Mark, a fantastic guy that loves being mentioned in print (check that off my list), writes to me in a Facebook message.

“If you need help paying to have your sperm frozen, let me know,” my mother offers during a phone call (we don’t, Mom, but thanks for offering to give me the most awkward birthday present ever).

My favorite, however, came from one of our freelancers at my newspaper. I wouldn’t even hazard a guess as to her age, because I’m horrible at that and unless you’re working at a carnival game that requires it (in which case you always guess ‘35’), it’s never appropriate to do so. I’d say it’s safe to say that she’s over 70, however.

I told her a couple of days ago about my diagnosis, to which she gave me a great deal of advice, as she and her husband both had cancer multiple times. We bid each other adieu and hung up. Yesterday, I got a phone call out of the blue.

“Greg, I couldn’t sleep last night. This is a delicate subject, but I just kept thinking about your sperm.”

Join the club.

“You’re young and while your sperm counts usually return after chemo, it would probably be a safe bet to look into freezing some so you can have kids down the line.”

I assured her that my sperm was now a “Top 5 priority” in my life, thanked her for losing sleep over them (plural? Yeah, plural.), and hung up the phone. Apparently just hearing one side of that phone call left a lot of questions.

“Who was that?” my sports editor yelled from across the room. I told him. “What did they want,” he yelled back.

“She couldn’t sleep last night thinking about my sperm,” I yelled back. The office went quiet. Nobody asked a follow-up question, and I didn’t offer any explanation. Sometimes the key to being a good newspaper editor is having your staff wonder what makes your sperm so special. Write that down, quote that and attribute it to me…it will be in a leadership book someday.

To cut down on the amount of time I spend during my day talking about my sperm with people that would have previously blushed asking me where the bathroom is located, I’ll put everyone’s minds at ease: I will be having my sperm frozen to ensure that Lauren and I will have kids in the future. We checked into it, it’s amazingly reasonable in its pricing and I’ll be doing it before I start my chemotherapy.

Always a bit…cautious… (read: cheap) with how I spend money, however, I’m passing on that option and doing it myself using an ice cube tray and our not-so-spacious freezer. Feel free to stop by my house anytime for a nice, long talk about my sperm. I’ll have margaritas ready.

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By the way, got a call from my Doc yesterday, and my tumor markers are way down. My HDG normalized and is now undetectable (it was at 11). AFP is now 12 (was at 23) and LVH is 118 (was 193). If you're like me, those numbers mean nothing, but apparently it's good news. If you're like my parents, that news prompts your first question to be "So you don't have to go through chemo?" Nope...still going through chemo. Nice try, though.