Chemotherapy & Fertility
I was started on intravenous injections of Cyclophosphamide - a pretty effective but quite nasty drug, used in cancer treatment in higher doses.
In the doses I was receiving side effects were much less than in cancer patients - I felt a little rough the day after, but otherwise I seemed to respond ok. The main risk was of infertility. Cyclophosphamide is pretty indiscriminate, and though it will attack and stop inflammatory cells in the body, it can also damage other cells not intended to be targeted, such as the sperm producing cells in the testes.
Before starting Cyclophosphamide therapy, my very kind and understanding doctor, Doctor J, could see the young 18 year old in front of him was not going to be very focused on the future and possibilities of children, and to his credit he patiently explained the seriousness of the risk of infertility and strongly advised me to arrange for sperm samples to be stored in an NHS fertility laboratory.
I was pretty flippant in thinking there was no need for this, and definitely did not really give the possibility of fatherhood a second thought, but (fortunately) I took his advice and duly went along to the clinic in London.
The whole experience of making the donation was bizarre and very embarrassing at the time. On making the appointment, my father was keen to show his support and said he would travel in with me. Quite why I didn't think this through and explain I would be happier to go alone I will never know, but inevitably on arrival to the fertility clinic I was handed a small, plastic pot and pointed down the corridor to a door. The room behind this contained a few chairs with easy-to-clean fabric, a generous supply of porn magazines, and a sink. Rather cleverly, someone had designed the clinic so that the "waiting room" was essentially a row of chairs in the corridor between the laboratory door at one end, and, you've guessed it, the "porn" room at the other. All of this meant that after finally being able to produce a sample, under what must be the least arousing circumstances I can envisage, I then had to amble, head down, with my pot, past the various other folk sat in the corridor, including my Dad! For my frail ego this was a fairly major hit, and only further compounded by the laboratory technician's comment a few minutes later that I would need to visit a second time as the sample wasn't quite enough!
The journey back was if I recall, fairly slim on conversation, and on the next visit I definitely made sure I was alone.
It wasn't until almost 15 years later that I had my fertility checked again. The results were that the Cyclophosphamide had done a pretty good job rendering me infertile. I can only thank the wisdom and persistence of Dr J for ensuring I still have the opportunity for a family in the future.
In the doses I was receiving side effects were much less than in cancer patients - I felt a little rough the day after, but otherwise I seemed to respond ok. The main risk was of infertility. Cyclophosphamide is pretty indiscriminate, and though it will attack and stop inflammatory cells in the body, it can also damage other cells not intended to be targeted, such as the sperm producing cells in the testes.
Before starting Cyclophosphamide therapy, my very kind and understanding doctor, Doctor J, could see the young 18 year old in front of him was not going to be very focused on the future and possibilities of children, and to his credit he patiently explained the seriousness of the risk of infertility and strongly advised me to arrange for sperm samples to be stored in an NHS fertility laboratory.
I was pretty flippant in thinking there was no need for this, and definitely did not really give the possibility of fatherhood a second thought, but (fortunately) I took his advice and duly went along to the clinic in London.
The whole experience of making the donation was bizarre and very embarrassing at the time. On making the appointment, my father was keen to show his support and said he would travel in with me. Quite why I didn't think this through and explain I would be happier to go alone I will never know, but inevitably on arrival to the fertility clinic I was handed a small, plastic pot and pointed down the corridor to a door. The room behind this contained a few chairs with easy-to-clean fabric, a generous supply of porn magazines, and a sink. Rather cleverly, someone had designed the clinic so that the "waiting room" was essentially a row of chairs in the corridor between the laboratory door at one end, and, you've guessed it, the "porn" room at the other. All of this meant that after finally being able to produce a sample, under what must be the least arousing circumstances I can envisage, I then had to amble, head down, with my pot, past the various other folk sat in the corridor, including my Dad! For my frail ego this was a fairly major hit, and only further compounded by the laboratory technician's comment a few minutes later that I would need to visit a second time as the sample wasn't quite enough!
The journey back was if I recall, fairly slim on conversation, and on the next visit I definitely made sure I was alone.
It wasn't until almost 15 years later that I had my fertility checked again. The results were that the Cyclophosphamide had done a pretty good job rendering me infertile. I can only thank the wisdom and persistence of Dr J for ensuring I still have the opportunity for a family in the future.
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