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| me, pre-vasectomy |
So I guess you can consider yourselves lucky, maybe, that's up to you, that here we are again talking about my junk and the trauma it has been put through. Why you enjoy this kinda shit is beyond me, but if having my penis on your mind is the only way to have it somehow inside of you then I guess a blog post will have to do.
I decided last summer that I wanted a vasectomy. I have two wonderful children - they're smart, beautiful, funny, creative, and loving. They're also expensive, loud, and in serious need of finding the means to earn their own keep. I love them so much that I couldn't imagine having any more.
Plus, after talking it over with a good friend of mine who had already gone under the blade, I learned that I would get a free shave of my manly area. Fellas, if you aren't already keeping that area neat n' tidy, you really should. If you're expecting a girl to put her face down there, it's just the polite thing to do.
But I digress.
I really had no idea what I was doing. I thought getting a vasectomy would be a simple nut job - in and out, so I went to see my family doctor. She had to make me an appointment with a specialist. She didn't even want to see my penis and testicles. Trust me, I asked. I had given my balls a good clean shave to be prepared (and by the way, I wholeheartedly recommend the Intuition razor for such a job. You may feel silly going to the drug store to purchase a lady razor, but when it comes to your balls, it's the best, smoothest, safest feeling shave you'll ever have. They didn't pay me to say this, but if they need a dude to endorse their product to other men, I'd do it for them).
So a few weeks later I went to see the specialist. Again, I shaved up nice and good. My thinking on this was pretty simple - even though I had been told I'd get a free shave anyway, I wanted to be a gentleman about it. If you were having a first meeting with a new lady friend, or a job interview, you'd clean yourself up in an appropriate manner. The first time my balls are going to meet someone new, they're going to be shaved. Simple as that.
Well, unless I was really drunk.
Anyway, this trip to the Vasectomy Specialist was pretty uneventful. There were no sharp objects in the room, no plans to do any slicing and dicing, and he didn't want to see my penis either. As it turned out, this was just a consultation. It was more like an interview than anything.
He drew me a little diagram to show me what he was going to do. It was both technical and rudimentary at the same time. It wasn't to scale. It was done on scrap paper. It wasn't even done with a nice mechanical pencil or calligraphy pen. The diagram Chris Morris gave me of the clitoris in 1998 was a more professional work than the diagram of my testicles."So I hear you want to have a vasectomy."
me, the morning of the vasectomy
"Yeah. I hear they're all the rage."
"Do you have kids already?"
"I have two. A beautiful girl and a wonderful boy."
"Makes sense to me, let's cut you up."
"Sorry, I'm not much of an artist."We shook hands and I left the consultation. I'm happy to say the doctor had a good, strong handshake. It made me feel good about the fact that he'd be holding sharp knives and blades around my little buddy. I was actually a little disappointed with the consultation, simply because I thought I'd be getting the operation right there and then. I went home empty handed. But still full-balled.
"I am. I once drew my penis for a triage nurse."
"Really?"
"Yeah, it turned inside-out once."
".....Oh."
My actual operation was then scheduled to be in another three months or so.
It's like they were giving me plenty of time to change my mind. Like, maybe over the Christmas holidays I'd decide that I wanted to father another ten or twelve kids over the next three years. Or maybe it was just a jerk thing to do. Because we all know that during those three months I'd likely have sex approximately three times with The Lovely Wife. Those of you who are married will understand the math there. Those of you not married - don't get married. Don't bother doing the math, just don't get married.
Finally, the day came. I had been trying for the days leading up to it to get some action from The Lovely Wife, thinking I could give her a little going away present. It was very genuine and thoughtful, offering to give her something she would never be able to have again. She politely declined for womanly reasons. I argued that just because the monkey had a bloody nose didn't mean the circus wasn't in town.No dice.
My father took me for surgery. It was pretty cool to have him there. It was like a royal funeral or something. I'm the only male in my family to have produced a boy offspring, so because of me my family name will continue. The trumpets blared as we said good-bye to my sperm. Okay, it was nothing like that. But it would've been cool if it was.
Actually, there was another D-list celebrity just like me waiting there to get a vasectomy. I'm not going to name names because his business is his business, but it was pretty cool to know that we sorta had each others' backs. When I mentioned this to The Lovely Wife she said, "if he's a D-list celebrity, then you must be an X-list celebrity." I'd like to think she meant that I'd be a great porno star if I put my mind to it.
The doctor and nurse were finally ready to see my penis, and the accompanying testicles. It's sort of a two-for-one deal, you know. Naturally, I kept everything neat and tidy down there for them. Respect, I tell you, respect.
The pain of the operation was... well, my testicles were invaded by complete strangers and they put clamps down inside to stop any sperm from going the distance. Yeah, it hurt, but I'm not going to sit here and make an allegory for it. Use your imagination. It fucking hurt. Luckily, I had just the right amount of freezing, a nurse from another area of the hospital who didn't normally do vasectomies, and one of my favorite Aerosmith songs on the radio to help distract me from the pain.
One thing that surprised me though, was that nobody asked me to leave a sample of my perfectly good sperm. I always thought they kept a sample of it just in case. Not in case I ever want to have a baby, but in case I lose a finger or something and they need some of my DNA to grow a new one. Or if, like, Taylor Swift wants to be artificially inseminated. My sperm would have totally been there for her. But nope, they didn't ask for one. And believe it or not, that kind of made me sad. It had always been a dream of mine to have a pretty nurse ask me to jerk off for her.
They cleaned up some blood and told me to get dressed because they were done looking at my penis. They recommended using a bag of frozen peas to deal with the swelling, and gave me some Tylenol-3s to deal with any pain. I didn't actually use the pills. I think I'll save them for something more painful, like if Scott Bryan ever figures out a way to defeat me in Monopoly.
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| this was actually a pretty decent read. |
Did you know that after a vasectomy you can still knock a girl up for up to three months? That's right, folks. I've insisted upon the slogan of, "up the bum - no babies" and The Lovely Wife keeps insisting that she's really tired and has been working a lot of late nights.
Recovering from a vasectomy is different for everyone. Some people actually go back to work that day. Some people take a few days. I asked the doctor how long I should wait until I had hanky-panky again. And yes, I referred to it as "hanky-panky". After giving me the speech about the three month wait, I assured him I just wanted to make sure I didn't break anything. "Wait a week or so," he said. "You won't want to do anything with that for a few days."
I didn't know what he meant until day four of recovery. Recovery for me was pretty good. The pain was gone by day two, the swelling only lasted the first day, and I have a whole bag of frozen peas in the freezer that I can either use for a Sheppard's Pie or hold on to for the next time I have a vasectomy. The bruising, however, took me by surprise. The doctor wasn't kidding about not wanting to do anything for a few days. My junk was so bruised up that it pretty much retreated back to basic training. On day four, I woke up - typically - with morning wood. No big deal. Ask any guy, it's pretty much a daily occurrence.
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| not actually my penis |
Two weeks passed, and I was all healed up. I was happy. Happy because I knew I wasn't about to have any more children. Then The Lovely Wife started oddly craving Pepsi and puked her guts out with a sickness in the early morning. As I brought her up a glass of water, she looked up at me as if to say, "uh-fucking-oh."
The Clear Blue pregnancy test came back as "Not Pregnant", which was great because:
A) we definitely weren't having more kids
B) I didn't have to throw my back out by throwing her down the stairs
C) I'm not a big fan of irony
D) all of the above
I was so excited that I almost went out and bought her a cake with "Congrats You're Not Pregnant" on it.
Thanks for reading. I'm going to end today's blog post with a little Improexophonophelia.
vasectomy
by ryan matthew ewing
vasectomy, vasectomy, vasectomy
free health care, free health care, free health care
vasectomy, vasectomy, Vasectomy
one vasectomy is still cheaper than ten abortions
vasectomy
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| me, post-vasectomy |
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