For quite a while now I've wanted to get a vasectomy and because of life, work, travel and everything else, hadn't had the opportunity. Well, the time finally came. I went in for my pre-interview ("Do you realize if you have a vasectomy you won't be able to have kids again?" Really?) The procedure described in detail, expectations clearly detailed in terms of post-surgery, I signed my ability to procreate away and set up the appointment for surgery.
Another business trip got in the way, so I rescheduled. The day arrived and Lizzie and I drove to the urologist's offices, preshaved and ready to go (actually, I did nothing different from my typical manscaping). I got laid out on the table and the 350 lb. Samoan medical assistant (I assumed he was there to hold me down?) got my dangly bits ready to go with surgical drape and all. He turned on the radio, told me I could plug in an iphone or tune a radio station to whatever made me comfortable and relaxed. No station came in clearly and when I plugged in my iPhone nothing happened. So much for being comfortable and relaxed, I thought as the red disinfectant gently air dried on my junk.
"You don't mind if a trainee came in, do you?" the Samoan bouncer asked. "No, not at all," I said as nonchalantly as possible. Hell, my penis and testicles were shaved, slathered in red and sticking out of a green surgical drape while I didn't listen to soft jazz. Why not? A young lady came in moments later, my humiliation complete.
Finally, the doctor arrived, and began manipulating my balls in his hand like he was working with a worry stone. "Ready?" he asked. With the Samoan and trainee out of the room, I agreed we were good to go. What else could I say at this point?
He injected the anesthesia which, I'm happy to say, was the worst part of the entire experience. Numbed, he got to work. He had told me he would get to my little baby makin' tubes from beneath my testicles, but decided to go in from above, directly adjacent to my dick. I didn't know he was going in from up top, so when I felt clamps draped across my pelvis I got wondering what was going on.
Tied off, sealed up and cleaned off, it was all over—not 20 minutes later. Sternly instructed to keep ice packed on my block and tackle for the entire weekend and not to move or do anything I headed home. (Most vasectomies are scheduled on a Friday to reduce away-from-work time.) I did just as I was told. Though I experienced some discomfort I only took a couple of the two dozen or so of the prescription pain pills. Within a week I was back to normal, with only mild discomfort in the ole' fun bags.
My adventure is complete. I survived. The mind fuck of the whole thing was worse than the surgery or post-op recovery. In a few weeks I take a sperm sample in to the lab to confirm I'm no longer producing little swimmers. And once those results come in, Lizzie can drop her birth control we can shoot blanks all over the place!