Freeze for your future

If I had to list the priorities of a typical 18-year-old, I doubt ‘freeze spunk’ would make it into the top 10. Create spunk, maybe. Freeze spunk, unlikely, unless you’re pulling a “Want some frozen yogurt?” prank. Sperm banking won’t be on most teens’ radars. But in that weird little walnuttextured purse of skin, your bollocks hold the weight of your name and the fate of your legacy. It’s a heavy burden but, thanks to technology, it’s one they no longer have to carry alone. Sperm banking–or semen cryopreservation–was splattered all over the mainstream media earlier this summer when bioethicist Dr Kevin Smith [ Fig. 1 ] claimed that freezing the contents of every British teenager’s nutsack should “become the norm”. In short, Smith reckons our baby batter’s on the blink. “It is increasingly clear,” he said, “that the older the father is, the greater the risk of mutational damage,” citing autism and schizophrenia as two potential threats for future children (the general risk of both are said to increase by 50 per cent every 16 years; and some scientists believe dads over 55 cause 10 per cent of new schizophrenia cases in the UK. There are others who dispute this).

Smith underpinned his whole argument by predicting a kind of ‘intellectual disorder’ apocalypse with generations of kids suffering from all manner of genetic disease–all because pops shot his load post-40. He then totally tripped out and suggested the cash-strapped NHS should store the sperm [ Fig. 2 ] of every 18-year-old man living in the UK. That is one big freezer… and I feel for the bloke who accidentally pulls out the plug. (“Er, Dave? Why is Britain’s future melting all over the kitchen floor?”)

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As harebrained as Smith’s theories seem, he does make a point. Why don’t more men freeze their sperm for future personal use?

There’s no denying we live longer and have kids later [ Fig. 3 ]. The average age of fatherhood in England and Wales is now 33. In 1993, it was 31. Being a dad is hard work. Why shouldn’t we postpone parenthood to a time later in life when we’re stress-free and not weighed down with meetings and mortgages?

It’s a matter of freedom. The world is smaller now. There’s so much more to do. We want to defer fatherhood, not embrace it. We want to GoPro sandboarders in Nairobi; drink snake blood in Vietnam; Instagram the scene of the crime when our mate pukes inside a stranger’s shoes.

Don’t make us clean it up while the bibs and babygros somersault in the tumble drier. We want to bask in the glow of our indestructible youth! That’s not to say we only want to get shitfaced and order a designer baby on our deathbeds. We’re not heartless as well as childless. We’re just moving at a rate of knots humans have never known before.

Pressing pause on having kids is often the kindest choice we can make. As ironically parent-like as it might sound, financial security doesn’t come easy these days. Why wouldn’t we put our seed away for a rainy day like we once would’ve done with our cash? It’s our jizz.

It is not, however, always in our hands. Docs freeze the sperm of anyone having cancer treatment (as they do if you’re about to have a vasectomy, if you have a low sperm count or if you have a dangerous job, like a ninja). As my mate who had chemotherapy said, “It’s pretty typical for anyone with testicular cancer,” adding it was odd ‘having your mum take you to hospital to wank in a pot’.

On the embarrassment spectrum, wanking in a clinic is probably bang in between the finger up the bum prostate check and sharting in Sainsbury’s. But don’t get the fear. Here’s what happens: Firstly, your sperm is screened for infectious diseases such as HIV and hepatitis B and C. Next, you have to sign a consent form and decide upon: storage length (usually 10 years but can be up to 55); an advocate who will decide what will happen to your sperm should you die (usually a relative); and whether your sperm can be used in research or donated. Next up: show time! And not just once. In the States, you’re expected to leave six deposits for every desired child. In the UK it’s usually three, spread out over several weeks.

Deposit dropped, your fresh tub of spunkle is squirrelled away in a tank with liquid nitrogen.

Not all the sperm will make it. Usually about 50 per cent survives. And it’s not cheap; sperm rent is £200 a year. It’s worth it, though. Saving your semen is the only established safeguard against your individual extinction. It’s our spunk, but it’s also our story. You’re not just banking your sperm; you’re banking your bloodline.

From the October 2015 issue of FHM India.