« August 2011 | Main | January 2012 »
We were boxing up a few gifts to mail to my nieces and nephew. There was a box in the basement that was the perfect size; formerly it had held half a case of beer. I held it up to the gifts. "I think this will work."
My wife wasn't sure it was a good idea. "Do you think we need to wrap it in brown paper?"
"Nah. Besides, my brother will think I've sent him beer, and that's kinda funny."
The post office disagreed.
And people wonder why the USPS is losing money.
Santa.
Santyphus.
Went to lunch with a friend on Tuesday. Normally we go on Wednesdays, but this Wednesday wasn't going to work out, as I was going to be taking the morning off.
"Oh? What do you have going on?"
"I've got a consult for a vasectomy tomorrow morning, and then I'm having the procedure done Friday afternoon."
"Interesting. Hmm. So, you guys are done having kids?"
"Yep, that ship has sailed. We've been talking about the surgery for a while. Then we realized we were close to our insurance deductible, so this seemed like the time to get it done." I paused. "Of course, the plan is that this will allow me and the missus to have wild, spontaneous sex."
She mulled this over for a moment. "Isn't that everyone's plan?"
-----
I started taking martial arts classes a few months ago, and had just passed my first test. So I figured this would make for a good Facebook post:
Just earned my green belt in jujutsu. On a completely unrelated note, my vasectomy is scheduled for next week.
But something stopped me from posting it. I ran my post idea past my friend Scott, who just grimaced. It seems like you can't talk about vasectomies. They're the Voldemort of elective surgeries: you know they're out there, but talking about them makes people cringe and look around nervously.
-----
I went in for the consult. The receptionist handed me an informative brochure:
I'm not sure what the image on the cover is supposed to convey. It looks like Mr. and Mrs. White America have just left the fair, and judging from the way she's hitching her dress up, they're looking to head down to the boardwalk and get busy.
The urologist's name is Peter Slocum. I am not kidding.
Dr. Slocum went through the brochure, and explained how the procedure is done. He emphasized that the vasectomy wouldn't have any impact on sex, and I got the feeling he had gotten that question more than once during his career. Then he went over the consent form, and made sure that I understood that this was essentially a one-way procedure. He mentioned that December is his busiest month - he had more than twenty vasectomies scheduled.
Merry Christmas, honey.
Dr. Slocum doesn't perform vasectomies at his office, as he works at a hospital that has an "St." at the beginning of its name, and 'the nuns don't care for this procedure.' So I'd be going to a different office on Friday - an OB-GYN's office.
-----
I worked Friday morning. At noon, I shut down my computer and nodded to my coworkers. Scott arched his eyebrows inquisitively. "Where are you off to?"
"Got a doctor's appointment."
Recognition dawned on his face. "Oh, yeah, that."
"Yes," I said. "I have a feeling it's going to make a vas deferens in my life."
-----
Dr. Slocum has the OB-GYN's office to himself on Fridays. There were a few other people in the waiting room: a woman by herself and a family of three.
A patient emerged from the back of the office, obviously groggy, and his wife helped him with his coat and directed him toward the door. He was obviously goofily disoriented, and there was an exchange of chuckles and grins in the waiting room. Then the other man was ushered in.
About half an hour later, Dr. Slocum came out to the waiting room and spoke to the man's wife. "You need to tell him to put his phone away," he said, smiling. "Judging from how he was slurring his words, his assistant probably thinks he's drunk."
The nurse came for me, and led me back to one of the exam rooms. I hoped I wouldn't be needing the stirrups. The nurse reminded me: she'd be giving me a shot of something that would make me loopy, and I'd also get some lidocaine for a local anaesthetic.
I'm not going to go into details about the procedure itself, largely because I don't remember much about it other than taking my pants off. (And that's a sentence that rarely leads to anything you want to hear.) Apparently I slept - even snored - during the procedure. I don't remember walking out of the office, although my wife tells me I insisted I could walk on my own. When we got in the elevator, I went to push the button for the ground floor, and missed it.
----
My in-laws had picked up my son at school so that my wife could take me in for the procedure, so they were sitting there when we got home. I decided I'd rather avoid that conversation, and quickly headed upstairs and climbed into bed.
Jenny had bought frozen peas in preparation for my recovery - two bags, so one would always be cold. But I had forgotten to take one upstairs with me. My son came up to see how I was doing, and I asked him to go get one of the bags for me. He returned a minute later, and suggested that we had frozen corn if that would be preferable. "Just not the broccoli," I said.
We haven't explained the surgery to our 6-year-old. That's not a conversation I'm ready to have, and I'm not sure how the details would end up being shared with the other first graders in his class. We've just told him that I had a small surgery on my leg, and that I was going to be a couch potato for a while.
I'd like to say that my recovery was like what was pictured in the brochure:
Instead, my wife and son went out for dinner with the in-laws, while I laid in bed, pushing off the cat that kept trying to sit on my groin.
-----
The brochure also suggests wearing tight underwear or perhaps a jock strap for scrotal support. Looking back at that sentence, there are a few phrases in there that I hope to never have to use again.
-----
It's Saturday, and I'm not feeling all that sore, although I'm walking a little gingerly. Spent most of the morning sitting on the sofa, watching TV with my son. Now I'm doing laundry, and we're meeting some friends out for dinner. And I've thrown the peas away.
