Well, I’m back from the vasectomy clinic. As I promised I would in Wednesday’s column, since I survived, I went straight to the M.A.J. offices to report on what happened.
Today’s adventure began, as so many of my adventures do, with me planning a stupid joke.
My idea was to bring a newspaper (the local paper is called the Beaver, so go ahead, make the jokes, they write themselves) and the bottle of stage blood we keep for Hallowe’en. Upon being brought into the procedure room I was going to scream, and then when we were done or they kicked me out I was going to crunch up the newspaper to make it voluminous, stuff it down my pants so it looked like my nards had swollen to the size of basketballs, and then drench them in enough stage blood to have it dripping out the bottom of my pants. Then I’d hobble out, supported by Mrs. MAJ, groaning “Oh God… they cut it off. They cut it ALL off” and then watch as every guy in the waiting room explained they had to go because their grandmother was suddenly very dead. This plan, however, was nixed by the M.A.J. Legal Department, who explained we’d be sued into oblivion.
So instead I just decided to behave. Mrs. MAJ drove me to the clinic, this apparently being a rule if you wanted the sedative, which OF COURSE I DID. We dropped Benny The Dog off at a doggie day care and proceeded to the clinic, which is just a small medical office in a strip mall and did not at all look like an archvillain’s underground lair.
The clinic is pretty standard fare, a paperwork-heavy reception area and a waiting room with chairs and a TV tuned to the news (hurricane updates, of course.) I was asked to fill in a short form, as one does, and waited awhile. Mrs. MAJ had to leave for a few minutes because she forgot her phone at home, and while she was gone I was summoned into a small consultation room, given an anaesthetic patch, and told to put it on my junk. They even had a diagram:
I was also given a Valium. I obeyed, just as Mrs. MAJ was arriving, and was frankly becoming a little alarmed that my junk didn’t feel at all frozen and the Valium had virtually no effect. That’s actually a thing with me – opioids and other sleepy drugs really don’t seem to have much affect on me. I don’t know why that is, but at times like that you sure wish they did.
There was a wait. Despite it being Saturday, the place was really busy. I had initially had a December appointment, and that was given to me in June, so I was kind of happy/afraid when they’d called and said something had opened up (HA!) in September. I guess their reputation jacks up the business. The wait was interrupted only by a nurse taking my blood pressure. It was 155/105, by far the highest my BP has ever been. If your blood pressure was usually 155/105 you’d need to take medicine for it. The nurse didn’t seem the slightest bit worried about it. I think guys about to have holes jabbed in their ballsacks are given a fair degree of leeway on the blood pressure.
Eventually the doctor, Dr. Len DeBolster came in for the consultation. The consultation was comprised of two parts; the first was confirming I was old (I am) and that I didn’t want more children (the idea we could handle a new baby now is absolutely preposterous.) Then he went into the whole thing about what to expect and how much it would hurt. He said there’d be a pinch from the needle and then as the freezing started it would feel “like a three year old kicked you there. No big deal.”
When my daughter Maddy was three she nailed me in the nards, and let me tell you, it was a big deal. I was in tears. That was not encouraging.
The doctor, who I have to say was pretty great, then went through all the advice; how to rest, what to do and not to do, so on and so forth. I asked if we could go play poker tomorrow and he said we could, so I was happy. I then asked if there would be bruising. “Probably not,” he said, “some men get a little.” When I asked how much bruising would be worrisome, he suggested using the `holy shit test.’ What was that, I asked.
“Well, if you look down and yell `Holy Shit!’ you should come back and see us.”
Makes sense to me.
Then we had to wait another twenty minutes, I changed into a hospital gown, we waited some more, and off I went.
The procedure room was spacious, bright, white. It was very pleasant. Above the operating bed was a pretty picture of a tropical beach, presumably there to calm down the more fidgety patients. Music was playing, but it was kind of loud, and I suggested it could be turned down a little.
“We use that to mask the screaming,” the doctor joked. I hoped.
I then pulled down my underwear and we were off to the races. Yes, the injections hurt a little, but for no more than a few seconds; a 3-year-old can hurt you WAY worse than that. And five or ten minutes and a pretty good discussion about the implications of tax law changes on small business, it was done. I pulled up my shorts and walked out. Look, I was perfectly fine!
They made me lie down for awhile and took my blood pressure again, but, honestly, it was far more pleasant than dental work. There was nothing to it. I’m taking it easy as I expect it to get a bit sore, but, honestly, I am fine. Of course, it’s possible something is wrong I don’t know about and my nuts will swell up amusingly but then I’ll blog again and you’ll get pictures. I even got a care package (it didn’t have a lollipop, though, which sucks) of gauze, antibiotic cream, and – true fact – a jockstrap to hold in an ice pack. And, uh, a container for a… a sample. I’m not telling you about that, I have SOME dignity.
Much thanks to So Simple Vasectomy. Everyone, Dr. DeBolster and all his staff, were fantastic.
NEXT DAY UPDATE: I feel fine. I am really very impressed with how well this went. If you need one of these, you should go to So Simple or, if that’s geographically impossible for you, make sure the place you go does it the way they do it.
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