After finally getting together in their forties, Chris Wade and his wife are determined to have a baby -- even if it means following some unconventional advice.
Chris Wade is a native Washingtonian and a retired member of the Metropolitan Police Department in Washington, DC. He is a Certified Healthcare Protection Administrator and currently works in healthcare security. Chris is a graduate of the Johns Hopkins University Police Executive Leadership Program, is a certified Mental Health First Aid instructor and a certified CPI Nonviolent Crisis Intervention instructor. He is married to his best friend and simply adores his children. His life is filled with countless adventures which he is willing to share through storytelling.
This story originally aired on August 30, 2019 in an episode titled “Labor Day.”
Story Transcript
I was in the room all alone. The lights were dim. The door was locked and my seat was reclined all the way back. I had a stack of porno magazines to my right and porno DVDs to my left. And the best part about it is my wife was actually giving me permission this time.
You see, we met when we were 21 years old at a New Years Eve house party. I walked in, I saw her, she saw me. I made a beeline across the room and I asked her to dance. And without any hesitation, she told me no.
After confessing to her that she was the only person in there shorter than me, she agreed to one dance.
But I had a girlfriend at the time so we settled for becoming best friends and spent the next two decades in this vicious cycle of one person being in a relationship while the other one is single. Then finally the stars aligned, we started dating and we got married. We were eager to have our first child but we were in our forties and it wasn’t happening in the natural way so we decided to pursue in vitro fertilization.
One of the first things they requested was a semen sample from me and that’s how I found myself in the room.
Two weeks later, a few weeks later, they call me up to come in for a second sample. I remember getting up that morning. I even dabbed on a little cologne. And when I got there, this time they gave me a sign that said ‘Do Not Enter’ and said, “Put it on the door right down the hall.”
But when I went in, the room was different this time. There were no porno magazines or DVDs, no recliner. There was a sink, a urinal and a toilet. It was a restroom.
Now, I'd worked under these conditions before but I kind of miss the ambiance of the room.
A few more weeks go by they call me up for a third sample. They said this time just do it at home and bring it in within two hours. So my wife sent me down the basement because, apparently, that’s where we collect semen samples in my house. And I wasn’t upset because I’d worked under these conditions before, but I couldn’t help think about all those kids I probably left in those balled-up napkins beside my bed when I was 13 and 25, okay, and 40.
I started sharing my seminal challenges with probably more people than I should have, like my physical therapist. She insisted I meet her Uncle Jessie. Now, Uncle Jessie was from Jamaica. He lived in the U.S. He had a rack of kids and he made porno movies starring himself.
He insisted that I drink Irish Moss. Now, Irish Moss is this algae seaweed that he had blended into a smoothie beverage and sold for ten dollars a bottle, two for fifteen.
I shared it at church and Deacon Jones pulled me to the side one day and said I needed to try his Chinese extract. He claimed it was made up of these Chinese herbs and minerals that had helped with fertility for centuries. He sold it for ten dollars a bottle, two for fifteen.
It had this black motor oil consistency color and I remember when I took my first sip, my thought was, “Maybe we can adopt or start spending more time with our nieces and nephews.”
But I was committed. That’s how I met Dr. Wu. Now, Dr. Wu was the brother of the cashier that sold the Chinese herbs and minerals to Deacon Jones. He did acupuncture and he said if my wife had an acupuncture treatment that would help with our fertility.
But my wife is terrified of needles but I convinced her to just try one treatment. Made an appointment, we went to his office, which turned out to be a house over in Northwest. He took us in the treatment room, which looked a lot like a living room to me. And that’s where I watched my wife go through what appeared to be the most painful acupuncture treatment ever.
At one point he plugged something in and started sending these electric shocks to the needles. She was twitching and jumping. She looked like she was in so much pain I couldn’t take it anymore, so I looked away.
That’s when I noticed there was no degree on the wall, not even like a certificate. Where’s your lab coat? Who are these people out here waiting to get their taxes done? So realizing this was all my fault, I leaned in, I grabbed her hand and I whispered in her ear, “I love you.”
I remember she turned and looked at me with these tears streaming down her face and she said, “I’ma fuck you up.”
Then there was Sergeant Row, Sergeant Row was prior military. She was a former bodybuilder. She was a physical fitness instructor for the police department. She was five-foot tall and always stood at parade rest.
She said, “You need to get sticky tea.”
I’m like, “Look, I’m already drinking this Chinese motor oil and this seaweed.”
She's like, “No. You need to get sticky tea for your wife.”
I’m like, “What’s sticky tea?”
Sticky tea was this raspberry organic tea that she claimed would line the uterus, my wife’s uterus, and the egg would get there and stick and stay the whole time. But the only problem was the one store that sold it was in not the safest neighborhood in D.C., but she insisted.
“You need to get over there by 5:00 and get some of that sticky tea.”
So I asked her, “Do they close at 5:00?”
“No, you need to get in and out of that neighborhood before the sun goes down.”
So I went and picked up two boxes of sticky tea. They sold them ten dollars a box, two for twenty. Apparently, they weren’t doing the two-for-fifteen thing in that neighborhood.
In the end, we had fourteen followups. My wife and I were getting excited then we learned that 99% of those disintegrate without ever producing an egg.
But we ended up with three eggs: one that wasn’t viable, one that didn’t fertilize, but one that did. Given our age at the time, we had a less than 1% chance of the in vitro being in a success.
Five months into the pregnancy we went to a concert similar to this. My wife went to the restroom and, when she returned, she whispered that she was showing symptoms that looked like she was miscarrying. I raced to the emergency room and all that kept playing through my mind was the doctor telling us that our chances of having a kid were slim to none.
They hooked her up to a sonogram and all we saw were these little legs just kicking away. Sticky tea.
November that year we had our son. A few years later we decided to try in vitro again but, apparently, they had an age cut-off for my healthcare provider so, to console ourselves, we went to a comedy show up in Philly and saw five of the most hilarious comedians ever. Then we went back to the hotel and had that bomb hotel sex. Nine months later, we had my daughter.
They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I’m a firm believer of that. But sometimes it takes a village to have one too. Thank you.