By Chris Whitworth
Sperm donation clinics are often steeped heavily in myth.
It’s all to easy to imagine such places to be sleazy joints, with pornography strewn through the waiting room and naughty nurses strutting around in high heels and lace stockings.
Most men I know wouldn’t be caught dead at a sperm clinic, but for the greater good of journalism I attempted to leave my preconceptions at the door and investigate what really goes on inside.
The waiting room at Fertility Associates Auckland resembles that of most standard doctor’s surgeries – sterile and clean with an overwhelming amount of beige.
I took a seat and rifled through the magazine collection, to my dismay I found there just to be Woman’s Weekly’s and parenting mags (myth #1 busted).
As I waited for my interview I couldn’t help but think despite the clean, formal exterior, everything thing in the place seemed to silently scream fertility clinic – the oval lamps, the circular couches, even the erect flowers in a vase at reception.
Dr Richard Fisher – the man I had come to interview – soon walked in, quickly halting my train of thought before my imagination got the better of me.
He took me on a general tour of the building, walking through a labyrinth of hallways and offices until we finally reached “The Lab”.
Inside were about a dozen drums – resembling oversized crockpots – that I learnt each contained thousands of sperm donations. Frozen at -196 C in liquid nitrogen the sperm could keep for decades, which on a more serious note can help male cancer patients about to undergo chemotherapy to keep sperm safe while they are treated.
A specialist even let me view some live, unfrozen sperm under a microscope, it was mesmerizing. The “little swimmers” look exactly like you’d imagine, darting around and quickly changing direction at a vigorous pace.
After conducting my interview I asked to see “the room”. The one place everyone wonders about when they hear the words sperm clinic.
I was lead through a few more hallways until we stopped outside two rooms.
To my dismay the inside of the room was a bit of an anti-climax. The space is about the size of a bathroom, with a large recliner-style chair at the back, a small cabinet to the left and sink to the right. I also couldn’t help but notice the carpeted floor, surely lino would make more - ah - practical sense.
“Where’s all the porn?” I wondered to myself, before plucking up the courage to sheepishly ask.
I was directed to the small cabinet, inside which were two brown manila folders – tucked neatly away and aptly marked “homosexual” and “heterosexual”.
My next question was probably expected:
“So who buys the porn?”
I was told the lab assistants take turns, many driving out to desolate service stations on the outskirts of Auckland, so as not to be spotted by friends or family.
While I found the idea of buying "work-related" adult magazines humorous the doctor seemed rather disinterested - he’d either heard it all before or had accepted it as part of his work.
So the sperm clinic was not the sexually-charged den I had imagined, but rather a slick operation that helped hundreds of couples enjoy the gift of children. And although I did not donate myself, I can honestly say I gained a greater appreciation for the process as a whole.
3 News
source: newshub archive
