Several years ago now, I got a strange gift from my ex-whatever. Well, she wasn’t an ex yet. We were still a year away from ex-ing but I didn’t know that at the time.
Why was it a strange gift? Well, first, it’s not exactly something any guy would ever ask for. You can’t really get a gift certificate for it. And not just anyone can give it to you. Also, it definitely isn’t a gift that keeps on giving.
It’s not that I hadn’t thought about getting it at various points in my life. It was just never a priority. Given that my then wife was only in her mid 30s, I didn’t think it would be on her gift giving list either.
But surprise, it was. This wouldn’t in itself have been a bad thing, but it wasn’t a cheap gift – it was $400. This turned out to be a good deal, as I see now it costs $490.
Worse, I was expected to pay for it, not her. I guess you could argue that we indeed went halvsies on the gift, though I really don’t like to use the term “halvsies” where this is concerned.
Eventually, everything came to a head, figuratively and literally, and there was no putting it off any longer.
It was time to get a vasectomy.
Yes, time to get snipped.
I had sung about the concept for years, lifting a tune from the Limeliters. It’s called, appropriately enough, “Vasectomy.”
In the song, my favorite verse is:
“Well the next thing I know, I was lying on a table,
with a light shinin’ in my eyes!
They strapped my wrists, they strapped my ankles,
And they double strapped my thighs!
The nurses were a gigglin’ as I was a wigglin’,
Most uncomfortably,
When the doc walked in with a perverted grin,
And this is what he said to me:
It only hurts for a little while,
That’s what they tell me, that’s what they say!”
I have sung this song for decades, and now it looked like there was going to be a little gigglin’ and wigglin’ in my world.
If I was going to go through this and have to sit for a week with frozen peas between my legs, I wasn’t going to a doctor fresh out of college. I wasn’t going to be his guinea pig. No, I wanted a professional, a go-to guy who knew his way around dicks.
I found him right here in Florida. Dr. Doug Stein. This guy knows his stuff. It’s really all he does these days. He travels the state snipping guys. He’s even won a national honor from Planned Parenthood for it.
I was in good hands, if you know what I mean. The guy has performed 26,000 vasectomies and 1,400 reversals up until September of this year. How could he possibly mess up mine?
Still, there was some planning to do. I didn’t want to take anything but the very first appointment of the day. I wasn’t about to sit around in the waiting room with a bunch of other nervous guys.
Sure enough, I was the first. Now, if you haven’t had to go through this procedure, let me tell you that it isn’t as bad as it used to be. They don’t use a scalpel, there’s no stitches… it’s very much a wham bam thank you ma’am kind of operation.
However, that’s not to say it wasn’t very surreal. First, I wasn’t alone. My wife decided she wanted to watch the procedure. So there I was lying on the table, my pants down around my ankles, with the doctor and my wife staring at a very private area of my body, and quite frankly a personal favorite of mine.
Before you arrive at your appointment, there’s a little housekeeping that needs to be done. Yes, you have to shave the area clean. Or should I say, someone else needs to shave it, unless you are a masochistic contortionist.
That honor fell to my wife, as I’m not about to ask my best male friend if he could do me a favor and take a razor to my scrotum.
She apparently did a great job. I only know this because as the doctor was getting ready to do the procedure, he said to my wife, “Boy, that’s a great shave. Did you do this Michelle? Maybe you’d like to do this professionally?”
And I’m thinking, are you really hitting on my wife while you have me in this precarious position?
Before I could object, I noticed the music. Celtic music was playing from a boombox. By now the procedure was in full swing. Snip, chop, clamp. Other side. Snip, cho… oh, oh. A complication. The doctor points something out to Diosa. There’s a little discomfort then I wince in pain as the issue is literally straightened out down there.
Finally, I mustered up the courage to look down and see what was happening. Smoke was rising from my crotch. This is not a natural state of affairs I will tell you, and caused me a bit of a scare. The doc said it was completely natural. The pipes were being cauterized so that they couldn’t find their way back to one another and reconnect. It was his little signature move.
Fifteen minutes had elapsed. Yes, that’s all it took and I was on my way.
Now, this is one of the few times in my life I felt true regret. Not because I had the procedure done. But as I was leaving, the waiting room was now filled with anxious faces. If I had been my usual self, I would have had my hand cupped over my privates and been moaning on the verge of tears, just to see their expressions of shear panic.
But I didn’t. I was a little dazed about the whole thing. I did get my moment, however. As we were leaving, I got my souvenir black jock strap. You have to wear one for a week after the procedure to give the kids a little extra support.
The doctor looked at me and said, “I think he needs an extra large.” I just smiled at the next in lines, knowing what they were thinking. I’m too much of a gentleman to confirm or deny their suspicions. Well, deny them at least.
Out on the Treasure Coast, suddenly craving roasted nuts,
– Robb