glanced
meaningfully through the partly open door. They had a waiting room full of
patients, with several prepped in examining rooms.
“I’ll let you get to work.” With that, Dr. T. departed, his
aura of power fraying around the edges.
That day and the next, Cole arrived early and stayed late,
treating more patients than usual. The publicity had inspired a flood of calls.
Lucky referred many of the men to other urologists for preliminary workups.
However, they tried to squeeze in those patients whose infertility had defied
diagnosis.
Cole had nearly forgotten about Peter Gladstone, until Tuesday
around 6:00 p.m., when he picked up the day’s final chart and recognized the
name of the biology teacher who’d fended off the reporters. A check of the man’s
records and medical history showed that his previous doctor had ruled out the
usual problems. Neither his age—thirty-one—nor his medical history waved any red
flags.
In the examining room, Cole shook hands with the blond teacher,
exchanged pleasantries and conducted a physical exam. Normal protocol. He could
double-check the other doctor’s findings, but he didn’t like to subject a
patient to costly duplicate tests.
He also wanted to assess how Gladstone was dealing with
infertility. For many men, difficulties with becoming a father delivered a
serious blow to their sense of worth. Some became depressed and angry and
avoided friends and relatives with children. Others tried to compensate by going
overboard in their work, sports or other activities. If a patient had trouble
coping, Cole referred him to counseling and to support groups such as
Resolve.org.
Peter, however, seemed clear-headed and focused. Becoming a
father had been important to him all his life, he explained. “My dad’s been a
great role model. We played sports together while I was growing up, and he’s the
person I turn to for advice. I always planned to have that kind of experience
with my own children.”
“What about adopting?” Cole asked.
“Not much chance for a single guy.” The man folded his arms,
emphasizing his well-developed muscles. “Also, my mother’s hooked on genealogy.
She’s traced our family history back a couple of centuries. We’ve been an
interesting bunch, including an inventor, a Revolutionary War hero and a
buccaneer, which I guess is a pirate. My sister doesn’t want kids. I hate to
think the line would end with me.”
“Family history can be important.” Not that Cole had any
personal experience with that. His mother had been adopted by a narrow-minded
couple against whom she’d rebelled. As far as he knew, she’d never tried to find
her biological family. He hadn’t been close enough to his father for discussions
about ancestry.
Irrelevant.
“You mentioned sports,” he said. “Is that in your medical
history?” He could only recall a reference to regular exercise.
Peter shrugged. “I’m an assistant wrestling coach, if that
makes any difference.”
“It might.” Cole jotted a note. “You’re a wrestler
yourself?”
“All through high school and college,” Peter confirmed.
“Ever get injured?” he asked.
The teacher chuckled. “I never met a wrestler who didn’t.
Bruises and strains come with the territory. Nothing severe, though. My dad
insisted on proper equipment and training techniques.”
“He was your wrestling coach?”
“For a while.”
Cole disallowed his twinge of envy at this father-son bond. He
was here to help the patient, not indulge in regrets over matters beyond his
control. “Ever take a blow to the balls?”
This time, Peter laughed outright. “Is that medical
terminology?”
“Sometimes it’s best to be direct,” Cole replied with a
smile.
“Well, yes, sure.” Abruptly, all mirth vanished. “Could that be
what’s causing this?”
“It’s a remote possibility,” Cole said. “Since nothing else has
shown up, I’d like to test you for antibodies to your own sperm.”
The teacher
meaningfully through the partly open door. They had a waiting room full of
patients, with several prepped in examining rooms.
“I’ll let you get to work.” With that, Dr. T. departed, his
aura of power fraying around the edges.
That day and the next, Cole arrived early and stayed late,
treating more patients than usual. The publicity had inspired a flood of calls.
Lucky referred many of the men to other urologists for preliminary workups.
However, they tried to squeeze in those patients whose infertility had defied
diagnosis.
Cole had nearly forgotten about Peter Gladstone, until Tuesday
around 6:00 p.m., when he picked up the day’s final chart and recognized the
name of the biology teacher who’d fended off the reporters. A check of the man’s
records and medical history showed that his previous doctor had ruled out the
usual problems. Neither his age—thirty-one—nor his medical history waved any red
flags.
In the examining room, Cole shook hands with the blond teacher,
exchanged pleasantries and conducted a physical exam. Normal protocol. He could
double-check the other doctor’s findings, but he didn’t like to subject a
patient to costly duplicate tests.
He also wanted to assess how Gladstone was dealing with
infertility. For many men, difficulties with becoming a father delivered a
serious blow to their sense of worth. Some became depressed and angry and
avoided friends and relatives with children. Others tried to compensate by going
overboard in their work, sports or other activities. If a patient had trouble
coping, Cole referred him to counseling and to support groups such as
Resolve.org.
Peter, however, seemed clear-headed and focused. Becoming a
father had been important to him all his life, he explained. “My dad’s been a
great role model. We played sports together while I was growing up, and he’s the
person I turn to for advice. I always planned to have that kind of experience
with my own children.”
“What about adopting?” Cole asked.
“Not much chance for a single guy.” The man folded his arms,
emphasizing his well-developed muscles. “Also, my mother’s hooked on genealogy.
She’s traced our family history back a couple of centuries. We’ve been an
interesting bunch, including an inventor, a Revolutionary War hero and a
buccaneer, which I guess is a pirate. My sister doesn’t want kids. I hate to
think the line would end with me.”
“Family history can be important.” Not that Cole had any
personal experience with that. His mother had been adopted by a narrow-minded
couple against whom she’d rebelled. As far as he knew, she’d never tried to find
her biological family. He hadn’t been close enough to his father for discussions
about ancestry.
Irrelevant.
“You mentioned sports,” he said. “Is that in your medical
history?” He could only recall a reference to regular exercise.
Peter shrugged. “I’m an assistant wrestling coach, if that
makes any difference.”
“It might.” Cole jotted a note. “You’re a wrestler
yourself?”
“All through high school and college,” Peter confirmed.
“Ever get injured?” he asked.
The teacher chuckled. “I never met a wrestler who didn’t.
Bruises and strains come with the territory. Nothing severe, though. My dad
insisted on proper equipment and training techniques.”
“He was your wrestling coach?”
“For a while.”
Cole disallowed his twinge of envy at this father-son bond. He
was here to help the patient, not indulge in regrets over matters beyond his
control. “Ever take a blow to the balls?”
This time, Peter laughed outright. “Is that medical
terminology?”
“Sometimes it’s best to be direct,” Cole replied with a
smile.
“Well, yes, sure.” Abruptly, all mirth vanished. “Could that be
what’s causing this?”
“It’s a remote possibility,” Cole said. “Since nothing else has
shown up, I’d like to test you for antibodies to your own sperm.”
The teacher
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