A Vasectomy Tale

226 mens health2

My wife and I are the proud parents of four children. Four is our limit because; well I did the right thing and had a vasectomy. At least, people told me I was doing the right thing. In hindsight I would probably call these same people hateful, spiteful creatures. There are many things I would have done differently, like getting drunk on cheap tequila for example. But, I am jumping ahead of my little narrative and need to lay out the truly horrendous facts in what was probably the worst time of my life in the doctor’s office.

As I mentioned before, my wife and I have four children. When number three came along, there had been a singular complication. My wife’s blood pressure skyrocketed and they tried in vain to put her on bed rest. In the end both she and my baby girl were fine.

Two years later and some fervent prayers by my oldest child for a baby brother and we were on the same path of pregnancy. Unfortunately, with the same complications. I actually missed quite a bit of work to make sure that all was well and that she and our final bouncing baby boy were fine.

That was the straw meeting the camel’s back. It was time to make sure that this didn’t happen again. We talked about a vasectomy and at first I was thinking, “What the Hell?!?” Why was I getting the cut here? Of course, once my initial fear wore off I did realize that it’s much easier for the man than the woman with a lot less complications.

Part of me thought this would not be a bad thing. You see, our family doctor is a pretty blonde woman and, if I need to have my junk fondled and cut then why not have a pretty blonde fondle and cut my junk? My spirits lifted we made the initial appointment and went off to see the doctor.

Guess what the one thing there is in the world of general practice that my doctor doesn’t do? Yeah, you guessed it. She recommended another doctor in the practice who took care of that. Unfortunately, the person recommended sounded an awful lot like a guy.

Appointment number two left us in the presence of a person that now and forever more will be referred to as Doctor Scary Hands.

So, Doctor Scary Hands has us in one of the little, closet like examining rooms explaining how the whole procedure works. It was at this time that my natural defenses came into play and my vision started to swim as all the blood drained from my face. Ever since I have been a small child the mere mention of blood in my presence causes my face to go white as paper and I have to put my head between my legs. Especially if it’s my blood and even worse if it’s blood coming from my man sack.
Well, I wasn’t giving Doctor Scary Hands the satisfaction so I heard my heartbeat thrumming away in my eardrums and the vision thing eventually subsided like it always does. The first step was over. The next step was to schedule the appointment.

The very next day I called to make the appointment. The phone nurse checked the records and according to her, it had been six months since my initial consultation and would I like to do that again?

Six months? That couldn’t be right, could it? It felt like it had been just the other day. The stern look from my loving wife told me that I had been shirking in my responsibilities. Okay, now was as good a time as any.

The bonus was that I had been on medical leave for carpal tunnel surgery so; I had the recovery time anyway. I still had a few weeks before I had to report back to work so this was as good a time as any.

The appointment was made and I started dreading the day as it approached.

When we got there Doctor Scary Hands asked if I had brought the jockstrap to keep pressure on the area after the operation. Not owning one, the wife and I had managed to find one beforehand. He also asked me if I had shaved and this is where the first real problem began.

See I had been listening to the blood rushing through my veins more than Doctor Scary Hands spiel on what he was going to do. I had a rough idea that he was going to cut me, pull tubes from my body and cut them and fold them in half and mangle them or dip them in hot sauce. Something painful. The problem was where I thought he was cutting.

For some ungodly reason I thought he was cutting under the actual scrotum, not the scrotum itself. Really, in hindsight, if I knew that Doctor Scary Hands was going to take a sharp instrument to my boys I would have bailed on the initial consultation.

Since under my scrotum had little, if any hair, then I didn’t sweat the shaving part. Yeah, where he needed to go was on the sides of my poor defenseless testicles. On the sides of my extremely hairy testicles. We’re talking gorilla fur here folks. So, now he has to shave that and you can tell he wasn’t all that pleased about it.
He wasn’t pleased? How about me and the fact that shaving cream was being applied to my nether regions by a guy I had given the moniker of Doctor Scary Hands? Yeah, this was nothing like I had seen in the movies. He went at me like Sweeny Todd, but I escaped the shave unscathed. While he was doing it I did swear that his hands had gotten bigger since out last meeting. Should this man with huge, arthritic knuckles really be holding one of my favorite parts of my body in his huge, gnarled hands? The cold sweat started appearing on my brow. There was really nothing to do but knuckle down and take my medicine. My wife was there for moral support and the truly humiliating part was over, right?

Wrong!

Doctor Scary Hands said he had to separate something. To this day I’m not sure what it was he needed to separate and while I could look it up on the internet; the thought of reliving that particularly horrid sentence has prevented me from doing so.

That was when the first jolt of pain brought me into the here and now. Had I missed the part where he told me that he needed to give me the vasectomy by dragging my balls to another part of a really big operating room? The pain was unbearable! And that was when the swearing started. I’m pretty sure that I called him everything in the book.

Unfortunately, this is when my body’s aforementioned self defense kicked in. Yeah, my face went white and I was pretty sure that I was going to puke. Really, puking on the guy with your balls in his hands seems like a really bad idea that I didn’t want to contemplate any further.

I yelled loud enough that a nurse came in to check on what was going on. I tried toughing it out, but Doctor Scary Hands was out for blood or whatever was going to be coming out of my poor abused nut sack. I remember being especially angry at my blonde doctor for not knowing how to do this damned procedure. Sure, it still would have hurt, but it would have been a cute blonde fondling my junk and I probably would have had an erection as well. Everything is better with an erection. With the possible exception of pissing.

I tried holding on to the top of the table to weather the whole ripping off my balls portion of the show and then remembered that I had had carpal tunnel surgery just a few weeks ago. The wrist that had had nine weeks to heal only throbbed slightly. The other that had gone under the knife just three weeks ago was screaming at me louder than my groin, if that was possible.

By now Doctor Scary Hands must have had his fill because the pain subsided and the color went back into my face. All was right with the world and I figured we were done.

Then he shot my balls with a needle!

In comparison, the slight prick of the needle was infinitely better than the previous mauling I had endured. The chemicals did their job and the rest of it was smooth sailing.

I managed to apologize to Doctor Scary Hands for calling him a cruel, sadistic son of a bitch that I would kill given a chance. He told me he had heard it all before which makes me wonder what kind of a psycho does this kind of thing for a living.

Then he said the one thing that made it alright. Apparently, I had the biggest tubes he had ever seen in his life. This man had maimed and mutilated thousands of men before me and I had the biggest set of baby making tubes HE had ever seen? Truly, this was something to be proud of. Using pasta for his size reference he explained that most guys were spaghetti and I could proudly boast that I had been sporting beefaroni. Beefaroni! Now, that’s something to brag to the fellas around the office water cooler.

So, he finished up and sewed me shut. Then I put on the jockstrap and he filled it with approximately twenty pounds of gauze. That was it. My wife led me out of the office where I staggered out like a drunken cowboy who had been kicked in the nuts by his horse. On the way home I had been blessed with the ability to feel every bump, regardless of size, directly in my groin.

When we arrived at the homestead my wife put me to bed with cartoons and brought me anything I wanted. Later I used a bag of frozen peas as a cold compress. To this day I still have issues with frozen peas and can’t stand the sight of them.

After all was said and done two things happened that sort of drove the final nail of indignity into the whole affair. Doctor Scary Hands explained that I would need to ejaculate eighty or ninety times before I could take a sample to the office to make sure that the operation was a success. It damned well better be a success because there was no way I was going back! So, this is good stuff, I thought to myself. Get to have some yummy sex and lots of it. My wife was eager to get the eighty or ninety ejaculations out of the way to make sure that Doctor Scary Hands had done everything correctly. So was I.

Until the first time I came.

Sure, right up to the point where I exploded like a sickly porn star everything was going great. Then the deed occurred and it felt like someone was ripping off my nuts again! It’s like when you get your tonsils out and they tell you that you can have all the ice cream you want. Then they rip them out and the last thing you want is friggin’ ice cream. Yeah, it was a lot like that.

So, two days later I had gotten mine about eighty times and that seemed to please my wife. I was sure that I would never want sex again. Thankfully, I was wrong about this, but at the time it seemed like a very real possibility.

Then came the time to take a sample to the doctors for analysis.

They give you this quart size cup to put your sample in. Yeah, I was lucky that mine hadn’t dried up in the process of dropping it off at the lab. I did it myself and while it felt like I was a sprinkler doing a porn star money shot, in reality it was a few pathetic dribbles. When I arrived at the lab I made sure to leave it in its paper bag and run for the door. Part of me felt like a little kid dropping off a flaming bag of dog shit on Halloween. Part fear coupled with the exhilaration of a job well done. I could feel the lab techs laughter at my puny sample as I made my way for the parking lot.

The operation was a success! Hurray! I would never have to see Doctor Scary Hands again. I did, unfortunately, still have the same doctor so I would spot him in the halls and my balls would shrink back into my body to hide from the onslaught of further abuse.

It wasn’t until later, much later that I mentioned the whole affair to my younger brother who had had the procedure done before me. He gave me a puzzled look.
“Didn’t he give you the numbing shot before he started yanking on your junk?” He asked innocently.

I knew that Doctor Scary Hands was pissed that I hadn’t shaved the gorilla fur from my nuts. That bastard!