What It Means To Have A Vasectomy….

So my second (and last) pregnancy was horrible. I hated pretty much every minute of it. From the moment I conceived, morning sickness descended upon me like the hangover from hell. I spent countless mornings with my head down the toilet being watched by my at-the-time 2 year old, helpfully shoving bits of tissue in my face and asking me what I was doing. With the nausea came mild depression, my lifelong companion, usually kept in check by occasional counselling. Then came low blood pressure and low iron, and thus exhaustion. About midway, I began to suffer pelvic girdle pain which worsened as the pregnancy progressed. Sleep evaded me due to the pain in my hips and I couldn’t stand for any real length of time without the sensation that I was trying to stop a bowling ball from exploding out of my nether regions.

I was so low, I just wanted it all over.

But finally (5 days early thank God!) my little girl arrived in the pink of health. And anyone that I had wanted to punch in the face for telling me it would all be worth it, I then wanted to embrace and thank, for it was true. But I knew I could not do this again. As I put the girls to bed one night, I was overwhelmed with a sense of balance and, to be frank, smugness! My little circle was complete. I was done.

So when my husband jokingly suggested one night that we could “go again” to squeeze in one more before he turned 40 the following year, I literally had a minor panic attack. I started to sweat and breathe a little too fast. I choked “I can’t, I can’t do that again….!” I started to cry! My husband, a little shocked, put his arms around me and reassured me it was OK, he was more than happy with our beautiful family.

I don’t think he had realized up to that point how serious I was when I said “I’m done!”

And so came the inevitable question of contraception. I was 35 and didn’t want to start putting hormones in to my body again after experiencing horrific withdrawal when I stopped taking the pill at 30. I didn’t trust condoms enough, and I wasn’t willing to put myself through a full surgical procedure to have my tubes tied. I was SO scared of getting pregnant again. So now I kinda felt it was time for my husband to step up to the plate!

So I mentioned the V word.

Initially it was a flat NO. He knew a guy who knew a guy who had a vasectomy and died!!! Or maybe he just got slightly sick from a post surgical infection completely unrelated to the procedure itself, but still!! No man was gonna mess with his jewels! But slowly, as we settled in to life as a foursome, the idea began to take seed in his brain. He spoke to a few guys about it, did a little research. The impossible became possible, then viable, then doable. He found a clinic that performed the procedure in 20 minutes! In and out and back to work that same day. Minor pain, no stitches, no threat to his life or balls! And so the appointment was made.

That day, I did feel a little sad. Even though we were so sure of our decision, it felt poignant and very final. One thing it has definitely taught me is to appreciate every moment I have with my baby. It’s the last time I get to hold a tiny hand, to sit quietly in the nursery at night breathing in the smell and warmth of a tiny body. The last time I get to see first steps, hear first words. Yes, that makes me feel sad, but free. Free to move forward with my girls and to move forward with myself.

And for my husband? A carte blanche for non-stop nookie…..?