Vasectomy Fun!

“Did you ever write a blog about your vasectomy?” My wife asks me via text tonight while she was at dinner with her friend.

“I don’t think so,” I respond, “but I can.”

I also asked her why she was talking about my penis while at dinner. I mean I don’t blame her or anything, but it did take me by surprise.

So yeah, my vasectomy. Where do I begin?

It was about four years ago last month that I had it done. My wife had just given birth to our second child and as soon as the doctor announced her healthy and happy I climbed up on the bed next to my wife and demanded they unhook me at that very moment.

Ok, so the timing wasn’t that quick, but I went shortly after and a few things stood out to me about the process:

For starters, the doctor asked me to shave before I arrived. Honest to God, it didn’t even occur to me what he was asking. “Is my beard getting a little long?” I wondered. “Does my mustache look unkempt?”

Yeah, um, he wasn’t talking about my goatee. And trust me, when your father is teaching you how to shave as a teenager, he doesn’t cover that region. My wife says, “What are you worried about? Women shave down there all the time!”

Sure, but they’ve got a wide open pasture. I’m mowing around a couple bean bag chairs, a garden hose, and a lawn flamingo.

Don’t ask.

When I arrived for my procedure, the next awkward moment occurred when the doctor informed me an intern would be observing the procedure. Great, I think, I can just hear him telling his buddies after this is done, “Man, I don’t remember seeing that in any of the text books. His penis looked like Danny Devito’s face with a 5 o’clock shadow!”

Only he didn’t say that. Because he was a she and she was a 20-something gorgeous blonde.

Next up, the doctor pulls out a giant needle for the local anesthesia. “Damn, doc, you could tranquilize an elephant with that thing,” I joke.

“Don’t kid yourself, son” was the look he gave me. “More like tranquilize a baby chinchilla.”

After I was all numbed up, he gets on with the task at hand. I have no idea why when you get a vasectomy people say “snip snip” because it’s more like, “cut, cut, burn, burn, sew.” Really, you haven’t lived until you look down and see smoke rising from your freshly shoven netherparts. Thank God I’ve spent my entire life eating nothing but pizza and cheeseburgers because if I was 40 pounds lighter I would have been able to look down past my belly and actually see it.

Oh yeah, and don’t forget there was a super model intern staring at it the whole time. I bet she slept like shit that night.

Once a vasectomy is done, you’re told to go home, rest, and ice the region. Of course this inevitably brings out the frozen peas which, I believe, are sold in stores for no other reason but to ice your pork and beans after a vasectomy. No one ever does anything with frozen peas other than icing stuff. And they’re not even that good at it! I fell asleep on the couch and woke up with the whole package melted and my crotch smelling like wet peas.

Yes, wet peas. Not wet pee, which I’ve also woken up smelling like a few times in my life. Of course the wet crotch peas do nothing to help anything because in only a matter of time the swelling starts. Honestly, it’s the worst part of the whole procedure. I actually had to go out and buy a jock strap like I was an 80 year old man. Every step I took was like a limp. Have you ever seen a man limp on both legs? That was me.

At one point I actually walked over to my wife and asked her if she’d feel them. For the first time in my life I asked that question with no sexual implications whatsoever. It was like I was carrying around a pair of bulging water balloons in my sweat pants.

“Good God! Look at those things!” she said. This was a couple of days later when the swelling was also made even more hideous by the razor burn and fresh stubble.

So there ya have it, the vasectomy blog, as I promised my wife. When she walked in the door after dinner I asked her again why the topic had come up over dinner. “What, did you order a footlong sub or something?” I asked her.

To which she responds, “No, I had a salad. It was probably the baby carrots that made me think of it.”

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