This is a cross-posting of something I wrote for feminist Mormon housewives. It’s manuary there!
Before Christmas, I got a call from my doctor, who for the sake of blog anonymity I’ll just call Dr. P.
“Sorry if I don’t sound too excited,” I said, after we had spoken for a bit.
“Well, John,” he said, “Not every man gets up in the morning thinking, gee, this is a beautiful day. I think I’ll go get myself a vasectomy.”
I love Dr. P’s bedside manner and his dry sense of humor (which I like to think he only saves for his special patients). His unruffled, low-key attitude has inspired my own approach to this life-changing mini-operation.
I have little to worry about, after all. Dr. P was Dean of a medical school for some time, and probably has a more intimate knowledge of Jana‘s reproductive organs than I do. If I was going to have any man delicately handling my scrotum and sticking pointy things into it, it would be this man.
“Oh, and before you come in, you might want to shave,” he said.
I pause for a moment. Why would I want to look professional and clean cut before…oooooooh, that kind of shaving.
“You and Jana can make it a special thing,” he said with that same deadpan delivery. “Just make sure she’s not angry when you do it.”
Good man, Dr. P. Very sharp. You might say he’s a cut above the rest.
That said, I’m grateful for the support of friends. I especially appreciate the openness of those who have gone through this or had husbands/partners sterilized. It was their willingness to expose themselves, um, metaphorically, that inspired my decision to blog this, actually. These things should not be shut up in the dark, but should be aired out and discussed candidly.
Anyhow, my friends shared helpful things like, “I swear, after my surgery, it felt like the vas deferens used to loop up over my shoulders and attached at to my lower back” (I’m still not sure what he meant by this, but the hand motions he used to relate the experience were hilarious) and “get a package of frozen veggies to hold down there” (I opted for frozen peas, because well, they seemed more appropriate and companionable than the mixed stir fry). One good friend asked me yesterday if I was ready for today. “Yes,” I said. “I think I have the balls to go through with this.”
So, you may ask, why am I choosing to render my testicles useless? (At least as gonads–thankfully, they will continue to be fully functioning members of my endocrine system.) Mainly, it’s because we’re cheap. For the cost of one month of pills for Jana or two Costco megapacks of condoms we don’t have to pay for birth control ever again. (Well, if we were really chintzy, we could just stop having vaginal intercourse altogether. We’re not that cheap.)
There are other reasons. We already have two wonderful, precocious, beautiful, and according to the Guardian, extremely expensive teenage children. Apparently, for the price of one of our children, we could purchase a “A detached bungalow within the rural community of Melvaig on the west coast of the Scottish Highlands.” If we take into account our daughter’s passion for Etsy and falling real estate values, that might be upgraded to a small castle with a little herd of goats thrown in. I’m just kidding, of course. Our kids are priceless. And we’re satisfied with them.
On a serious note, I should add that while we made this decision together, Jana’s the motivating force behind this vasectomy. With one feel swoop, or rather, two little snips, we will accomplish the following:
- No more worries about Jana accidentally becoming pregnant
- No more major, often depressive, personality shifts when Jana is using hormone-based birth control
- Jana is free to focus on her new career as an academic historian
Ultimately, though, I’m going into this completely at peace with the decision. And that’s with the procedure just over an hour away (though for some reason, the image of gardening shears keeps popping into my mind). Assuming I’m coherent, the mostly sterile version of me will update this post a few hours from now. Wish me luck!
In the meantime, have any of you or your partners had experiences with surgical sterilization that you’re willing to share here? How has it impacted your life, for better or for worse? What factors went into making the decision?
Or are any of you contemplating or discussing surgical sterilization? Is anything holding you back?
UPDATE 2:08PM PST
I’m back at home, sitting propped up on a bunch of pillows in bed, a bag of Trader Joe’s “Petite Peas” stuffed between my legs. I’m sore (under my kidneys, of all places) and gradually fading due to the Vicodin.
The procedure was kinda…funny. When I stretched out on the operating table it fell straight to the ground (luckily, it was one of the cushiony kind). I sat down over by Jana while Dr. P’s partner (who we’ll call Dr. V) pumped the table back up and laid down on it himself to test it. As the nurses came back in, one exclaimed, “Dr. V’s decided to have it done himself!”
If Drs. P and V ever need a something to fall back on, they could moonlight as a comedy duo. Dr. P: “One day, a guy came in here and said, ‘Do you remember me?’ Dr. P said, ‘Yah, I performed a vasectomy on you 15 months ago.’ The guy motioned to the baby in his arms and said, ‘This is mine.’ Later that night, Dr. P was in Blockbuster Video, and another guy came up to him. ‘Hey doc, you remember me?’ To which Dr. P replied, ‘Oh my gosh, you don’t have a kid around here, do you?”
Dr. P mentioned at one point, “The less nervous you are, the more it helps us.” I said, “That’s right you’ve got kind of a barometer down there.” He replied, “Well, you’re either nervous, or you’re cold. It’s all the same to me.”
There was a lot more traffic than I expected. People kept knocking, walking in and out, and the hallway was plainly visible from where I was lying. After new person knocked (apparently we were in the room where the extra oxygen tanks were stored), I said, “Come in! This is where the party is!”
They keep the 1 cm long pieces of the vas and send them to pathology to make sure that they did indeed extract the right thing. I asked to see them. When I remarked that they looked exactly like little lengths of spaghetti with a bit of sauce still on, Dr. P said, “If I didn’t have to send them to the lap, you could take them home with you. I have some great recipes for vas.”
Dr. V mentioned said that I shouldn’t bike for at least a week. Apparently bleeding can be a problem if you overdo it. “This one guy came back, and his scrotum was the size of a grapefruit!” I was going to say blood orange, but I decided it would be better not to say anything.
Jana was a total trooper. She sat through and endured the entire thing, bad puns and all. I tried to give her an occasion thumbs up. She can correct me or fill in any gaps (in my stories, not in my tubes).
Except for the tugging on the kidneys bit, and the injection of local anesthetic (which hurt less than the dentist), it was actually…fun. If you or your spouse plan to do this, I have two pieces of advice:
- Take a CD with better music.
- Pick the funny doctors.
I’m going to sleep now.
