Having kids is great. My wife and I have two boys, and they
definitely keep us on our toes. They are
awesome, funny, and make me proud to be their Dad. They also
cause never-ending anxiety, stress, tears, pain, sleepless nights, drained
bank accounts, and embarrassment. Oh! I forgot to add the utter lack of a
sex life too. But that is what having kids is all about right? Right??
It took my wife and I several years to decide to have kids.
When we got married, kids were not in the foreseeable future. Over
time we eventually softened up to the idea and decided to go for
it. Needless to say, we didn't have to "go for it" very long
because she got pregnant pretty quick. This blows because we went from
having a LOT of sex to NO sex. Reason? My wife was virtually nauseous for the
entire 9 months, and most days she just wanted to die. It was awful. It definitely put the brakes on sexy time.
Our first son was born and he was more of a handful than we (or
anyone) could have ever prepared for. Wow. So between
that, and memory of my wife feeling like death for 40 weeks.......we were good
on kids for awhile. However, time has a funny way of making us forget, and making it seem things weren't as bad as they really were.
So after a few years we decided to give our son a sibling, and to "go
for it" again. Once again, we didn't have to try very long this time
either. Needless to say it is reassuring knowing that our carefulness in "trying not to have kids" over the years was energy not wasted. If we had found out down the road that one of us was unable to produce a child, we would have been
pisssssssed.
This pregnancy goes better than the first, mainly because the wife
was not sick 24/7. It was more like 14/6.
Son #2 arrives safe and healthy, BUT now we have two needy people depending on us.
Most days it seemed like they were fighting over who could be the neediest
(they still do). Between all of this, our
jobs, the loss of our sanity, and the cost of daycare draining our bank
accounts, we felt very confident in saying we were done having kids.
"Megan (*)" and I had talked about it over the years, and always said
that when the appropriate time came that I would get a vasectomy, as opposed to
her getting a tubal ligation (tubes tied). The vasectomy is actually
quite simple and less evasive than a tubal ligation (significantly cheaper too).
One day she calls me at work and asks me to call the urologist to see what we
would need to do to get that vasectomy. So I call them up, and they say
to come in and a nurse will go over the procedure, and emphasize that this should be considered "permanent." So we go, and nothing
we see or hear sways us or changes our thought in the slightest. I’m good with “permanent.” We check with insurance to see if it is
covered, and it was (it was $1,100.00 in case you were wondering). The
nurse books our appointment on a Friday after lunch, and we depart. They
say they always do the procedure on Fridays so the patients can more easily rest
at home on the weekends. I am on board for this.
The day of the procedure arrives and I am ready. I took the day off from work, took the kids
to daycare, and then went and had a nice 6-mile run on the treadmill. I showered, met the wife for a quick lunch,
and then we headed to the urologist. I
had no qualms about what was going to happen.
Once we got to the urologist, we checked in at the front desk and then sat in the waiting room. As we
sat there waiting, it comes to mind that EVERYONE here is waiting to discuss some issue with their
man/lady parts. It is mildly humorous to me since I have the maturity of a 10-year
old.
Finally, my name is called.
A nurse takes me back into this little office-like room, and has me sign a variety of forms and medical releases. When I’m done, I laugh to myself because I just signed a paper that
essentially gave them explicit permission to cut my junk open.
Then the nurse gave me a Valium tablet, and says this should help
keep me calm and relaxed.
She says I can go back to the waiting room and let
that get into my system, and then they’ll call me back when the doctor is
ready. I walk back out to the waiting
room, and Megan is like “what did you do?” I tell her about the paperwork I
signed and how they gave me Valium. Ten to fifteen minutes go by, and this
Valium has done nothing but make my face flushed. That. Is. It. I feel no less anxious or relaxed than I did
when I rolled into the office. If anything, it INCREASED my anxiety.
Megan had previously asked me if I wanted one of her Xanax prior to
coming into the office. I turned her down based the idea that I thought I
would be "OK" and I just didn't feel responsible self-medicating.
Needless to say I was beginning to regret this decision.
Eventually the nurse comes out and says they are ready for me. I
stood up, kissed my wife, and walked towards the nurse. We walked down a hallway, and she leads me into a room that
has a double-door entry. She says for me to strip from the waist down, and then
go and sit on the operating table until “Dr. R” (*) is ready. She then handed
me this oversize sheet of butcher paper and says I can “cover myself” with it when I’m
on the table. Classy. Then she left the room.
I'm left alone in this big uninviting procedure room,
contemplating the fact that Valium was useless, and I was minutes away from
getting my junk cut open. Honest to God - My first instinct is to BOLT.
“Dude you need to get the F out of here now.” The fact I had that thought
surprised me to an extent because I've never had the urge to seriously run away
from anything. Up until now I had no fear or hesitation about any of this
procedure. I had researched the entire thing and I knew what I was in for. In hindsight, I honestly think it came down to a "modesty thing." I've never been one to stroll the house naked or flaunt my
"business" in front of anyone, and in about 2 minutes some doctor
dude and nurse lady are going to have a front row seat for my junk. OH!
And as an added bonus - they are going to cut holes in it and cut things out of
it. Wow.
I removed my clothing from the waist down like the nurse said, set
them in the chair, and walked over to the end of the operating table. A minute later “Dr. R” and the nurse come in
and start preparing for the procedure. “Dr. R is a pleasant guy with a good
sense of humor, and begins to explain exactly
what he is going to do. Based on my previous research, what he tells me sounds about right, and I have no
questions for him. “All right." He says. "Let’s do
this.”
I lay back and he proceeds to manhandle my junk like no one has
ever before – In case you are wondering, it was not in a good way. No one should EVER do whatever the hell it was he
was doing. He said he was trying to
locate the “vas deferens” (aka: sperm hose) so that he could minimize the cut
he would need to make to retrieve it. I
swear to God he was acting like he was hired by an ex-girlfriend to injure my
junk. Then they said I would feel a
“small pinch.” As everyone knows, in “doctor
talk” this means they are going to stick me with a needle. They did.
They injected some sort of numbing substance into my scrotum. Uncomfortable is not even close to the term
for what that felt like.
THEN. He went to work. Lying on my back like I was, I could not see
what “Dr. R” and the nurse were doing.
In hindsight I wish I could have though.
During the procedure itself I was mainly preoccupied with how much discomfort
I was in. I tried to keep the mood light,
especially since their job was probably that much more difficult thanks to my
pre-procedure nerves pulling my junk up into my abdomen. It was probably like operating on an infant. I joked that I wanted him to cut a
significant piece out of the vas deferens so there was no way that bad boy was
going to reconnect itself. So he pulled
on it. Sweet Jesus IT HURT. I felt the
tension of what he was pulling on up through my pelvis into my abdomen. I asked how much that was he pulled. He said “a quarter of an inch.” I grunted back at him in obvious discomfort:
“Not much slack there huh?” He laughed
and said no. I think he then cauterized
the ends of the vas deferens to close them off, stuffed it all back in, and
then stitched me up.
Oh wait! We’re not done. No
no! There are TWO vas deferens. We have to do the other side!
So “Dr. R” repeated the same procedure all over again, only on the
other side of my junk. The result was
equally as uncomfortable as the first part.
After finishing that up, he stitched up that side and advised me on how
to take care of the wounds, and what to expect in the coming days and weeks. He said that since the incisions were
minimal, the stitches should help leave minimal to no scarring. I laughed and jokingly said “Yeah
thanks. That was a big worry.” He came back with “Well, I don’t know what you
do for a living. In the event you are
testicle model, your career shouldn’t be hindered.” It hurt to laugh at that one.
As he is getting ready to leave, he tells me again what to expect
in the coming hours and days, and explicitly tells me to take it easy. He said
that everything during the procedure went “fine,” so there shouldn’t be any complications.
I say that is good. THEN he replies
“Yeah, it looked just like it did on the internet when I researched it last
night. Take care.” I laughed, and he
smiled as he left the room.
The nurse helped me up off the table, and asked if I was OK. I
said yeah. She gave me handfuls of gauze
to pack my junk in, and she left me to get dressed. I looked at my
nether-regions, and they looked like they had been through the wringer - An
unsettling sight to say the least. I got
all my clothes back on (over my gauze packed crotch), and walked out into the
hallway where the nurse was waiting for me. She walked with me back out to the
waiting room to where my wife was waiting.
I tried to walk as normally as possible, but I’m sure it looked like I
was in some discomfort.
I pretty much took it easy the rest of that day. The pain wasn’t too bad, and was easily treated
with ibuprofen. When I woke up Saturday,
nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I looked at “Dr. R’s” handy
work. My junk was BRUISED. I’ve had bruises a million times, but nothing
like this. I was in shock at how black
and blue my junk was. I should have
taken a picture. The rest of the weekend
was pretty low-keyed too, although I did resort to shoveling a bit of snow
Sunday night with little discomfort.
In the days that followed, the stitches came out, the wounds
healed, and any discomfort subsided.
Life and regular activities returned to normal in short order, and I was
even brave enough to resume running a few weeks later too. The procedure proved successful, and I am now unable
to impregnate my wife. But as I said
before, I have kids. I can’t get near my
wife most days anyway, even when she's dressed. However the peace
of mind of not being able to father future children is reassuring. I'm sure society is glad too.
One last thing: I should TOTALLY sue “Dr. R.” One of the incisions left a very visible
scar. It totally ruined my testicle
modeling career aspirations. You want to
see it??
(*) – Names changed to protect the guilty/innocent.
No comments :
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.