JimFormation

Before You Read This
I Recommend Reading
Part I and Part II
First

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Preface

Sperm are made in the testicles and stored in the epididymis. During ejaculation, sperm are forced out of the epididymis and are transported through two narrow, muscular tubes to the urethra. These tubes are called the vas deferns. The vas deferns are often called simply vas.

Vasectomy is the cutting of the vas; the purpose is to not allow sperm to leave the epididymis and join the other components of seminal fluid where, when deposited into a fertile female, can wreak havoc. Said havoc eventually requires diaper changes, braces, and second mortgages for college tuition.

Introduction

Vasectomies are commonplace for the physicians who perform them. It is a once-in-a-lifetime, life-changing event for the poor sod who undergoes the dreaded procedure. You, Constant Reader, probably have never had a vasectomy. I have had one. Let me bring you through it.

Chapter One – Cattle Call

Unlike most men, I brought my wife and the six-month-old package of determination (my courage) to the doctor’s office. The waiting room was filled with a half-dozen other quiet, nervous men. After signing the requisite consents, I sat and waited.

One by one, we were cattled through the door and into the Chamber of Horrors. The doctor himself called us. He and the receptionist were the only ones there.

Every fifteen minutes or so, another of us came out; walking a little slower; weary but hopeful. Hopeful because he, like every other man who has ever had a vasectomy, thinks he’s been promised of heaps and heaps of on-demand sex. Morning sex. Nooners. Twice-on-Sunday sex. Sex after six beers. Sex, sex, sex. And more sex!

I am the last man called. “James,” the doctor calls at the door. I am brave because of all my hopes (see above). I kiss my wife. And disappear through the door.

Chapter Two – The Chamber

The doctor ushers me to a room, The Room. The Chamber. It’s already set up. Gloves and drapes and sundry gauzes splay on a counter; the angriest dental-type tools ever devised by man wait on a cold, stainless steel table near an exam chair.

“Do you need to empty your bladder?” he asks.

“50-50,” I answer.

“I advise you to empty it; and then come back to this room, take off your pants and underwear, fold them, and put them on that chair. Sit on the exam chair [neatly draped with blue chux padding - to capture all the BLEEDING!, I think], drape this over your waist, and I’ll be right in.”

I did so. And waited. And tried desperately not to look at the shiny metal dental instruments. I tried not to look at the syringe full of lidocaine. Tried not to look at the angry needle.

“That’s the thing that’s going to hurt,” I think. “Like a wasp sting to the nuts. One quick sting and then the pain will be quickly over. All that I’ll feel after that is pulling and pressure. No big deal. I’m a big brave dog. I’m a big brave dog.”

The doctor came in and quickly went over what I should expect. “A sting [see, I told you]” is how he described it. “And then you’ll be numb and should feel no more pain throughout the rest of the procedure. The whole thing should take about 15 minutes.”

Chapter Three – Is It Safe?

The chair leaned back and the legs came up like a favorite chair. “Comfortable?” he asked.

I closed my eyes. “Comfortable,” I lied. How comfortable could a man, naked from the waste down and weapons poised to attack his genitals, be?

While cleaning and draping the surgical area (AKA my scrotum) he said the oddest thing anyone has ever said to me: “Nice job shaving. Do you make a habit of it?”

“Umm. No. I … umm … don’t,” I answered.

While I pondered the out-of-place question, I saw him grab the syringe. “You’ll feel a pinch.” BANG!

oh. yeh. hell. that. hurt. a burning sting. that quickly cooled. the pain, i was assured, was over.

I kept my eyes closed. The doc made small talk until something bit me right between the legs.

Now I always thought that I was strong willed and even stronger minded. I thought that I could do a good job if I was tortured. I was sure I’d be hard to break. After all, it’s only pain, right? You can go somewhere else in your mind, right? Wrong, Constant Reader. Wrong. You, friend, are wrong if you think or have ever thought that.

It took two days before I stopped confessing to perfect strangers that I am a Zionist sympathizer. And have given up troop positions and attack plans to the olive-skinned foreigners at the local convenience store. They only asked, “Is that everything?” when I cracked. Turns out they’re peaceful Hindus, not militant Muslims planning to dirty bomb the Jersey Shore. And the guy I gave the codes too? He was a toll collector, not a KGB official.

Something black and without real form with big sharp teeth and necrotizing venom bit me right between the legs; right where the doctor was about to start his delicate surgery.

“SONOFABITCH! That hurt!”

“You felt that?” the doc asked. The monster was the doctor. The bite was the first cut.

“SHIT!” was my answer. It was the only thing I could say. “SHIT!”

“Holdon, holdon, holdon. I’ll give you more lidocaine. Tell me when the pain goes away.”

“Yes, it’s safe. It’s very safe. It’s so safe you wouldn’t believe it,” I answered.

The pain finally subsided; the fear remained for the rest of the operation. “Do you feel that?” he’d asked.

“No. It’s not safe. It’s very dangerous. Be careful.”

“I asked, ‘Do you feel that?’,” the doc asked again.

“Feel what?”

“Pain?”

“Apparently.”

Chapter Four – The Operation

As reported, a small snip was made into my scrotum. This is done to access my vas deferens. The vas deferens are the small tubes that carry sperm to the semen during ejaculation. The vas, as all the new hipsters call it, are one-at-a-time pulled through this small hole and a section is removed. The ends are cauterized (this I know from the smell) and tucked back into my sack. (I don’t know what the doctor does with the removed section – fish bait? maybe?) A small stitch is put in to keep everything from falling back out on the ride home.

It’s that simple.

Here’s where I think all the residual pain comes from: I had a No Scalpel coughBULLSHITcough Vasectomy (NSV). It is less invasive than a routine vasectomy in which the scrotum is subjected to greater dissection. With NSV, the vas (see, I can be hip) is found by palpation — by feeling for them by manipulating the testicles, blindingly searching for the seminal vesicles and then the attached vas deferens. Palpation is a medical term meaning: the act of kicking really, really hard.

Three days after the surgery I still felt like Lawrence Taylor had just palpated my naughty bits.

Operation over. “Okay. You can get up. Put this piece of gauze between your testicles and your underwear, put your clothes on, and meet me in my office. Would you like me to get your wife?”

“please.”

Chapter Five – The Aftermath

Let me tell you about lidocaine. Lidocaine is an anesthetic that works directly on nerve endings. In my case, it was injected directly into my scrotum and caused me to feel absolutelynopainjustalittlepressureandalittletugging. Only, because of my obvious pain, I got a little more of it than the regular guy.

A potential side effect of the quick absorption (or the absorption of a lot of) lidocaine is a drop in blood pressure and the resulting dizziness.

Sandi was in the office when I got there. I sat down next to her.

“How are you?” she smiled.

“Okay. A little dizzy. Sweaty. I think I’m going to pass out.” It took a lot to stay awake. I relived all those movies. Don’t go out on me, Johnny! Stay with me! You’ll be alright! Medic! MEDIC!

“Lean back. Take deep breaths …”

“I think I’m going to lay down on the floor.”

“If you have to, go ahead.”

I stayed in the chair and breathed and breathed and worked really hard to not lose consciousness. The doc came in and the symptoms were reported. He brought water; took my pulse; and talked with Sandi about the procedure and about what was going on with me now. I wasn’t listening. I was trying too hard to not go into that beautiful place called La-La Land.

“I’d take your blood pressure but I can’t. It’s wall mounted in the exam room.”

Whatever. Breathe. In-out.

After 15 minutes or so I poured myself into the exam room. I told the doc that I felt a little better than I actually was.

“What does your blood pressure normally run?” he asked.

“112-over-70.”

“You’re 98-over-please-don’t-go-out-on-me-in-my-office.”

I was given another bottle of spring water and another 15 minutes when I walked into his office, “I’m feeling better.”

“Feeling perfect?”

“Feeling good enough.”

He took my blood pressure again. I forget what he reported but it was high enough to get me home.

Chapter Six – Home

When I got home, I limped up the three-hundred stairs into our apartment (we were renovating our home at the time, and the five of us were living in a two-bedroom apartment) and fell into bed. Exhausted. Sandi gave me some pain medicine and went to get the kids from school.

Of course work called. I was doped up. I don’t know what I told the kid who works for me. I hope my advice didn’t get him in trouble.

It took about a week for me to feel right. I just kept my eye on the prize (see Chapter One).

Epilogue

Let’s cuddle.

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