Why Men Fear Vasectomies
Prelude
Four years ago my last child was born. He is thirteen years younger than my first child, and seven years younger than my middle child. I make a joke saying, “My wife has sex with me every six years.” No, really; it’s a joke.
The Baby, as we call him, was a surprise. He is an uninvited, though not unwelcome, guest. He is a lust baby — and it wasn’t my lust this time (but that, as they say, is another story).
The Wife-Beast had been talking about getting her tubes tied since the Middle Child was born (during these times we didn’t call him our Middle Child; we called him our Thank-god-it’s-our last Child). But I kept saying, “That’s major surgery for you. I’ll get a vasectomy.”
Any guy who says “I’ll get a vasectomy” doesn’t really mean it. I certainly didn’t. No sane man volunteers for a vasectomy and means it. I bet that in the history of that particular surgery an appointment with Dr. Cut-nut was never made the day after a guy said, “I’ll get a vasectomy.”
Needless to say, weeks after Baby Number Three was born I rallied my courage and made my appointment.
Part I of the Jim’s Vasectomy Trilogy
Men have been taught from a very early age to protect their testicles. We even develop games like Take a Bow to sharpen our protection abilities. Take a Bow is a game where one guy sidles up to another guy, shoulder-to-shoulder, and wrist-flicks him in the nuts while whispering in his ear, “Take a bow.”
As an adolescent my friends and I had a very effective drill for sharpening each other’s nutsack defense. We called it the Scoot Ball. The Scoot is a euphemism for one’s scrotum and enclosed testicles. The Ball was not really a ball but a pair of dirty socks wrapped with athletic tape that roughly approximated an oblong ball.
The Scoot Ball had one purpose: To be thrown, without notice and with extreme prejudice, at your friend’s testicles. My awareness of the environmental dangers associated with groin exposure were acutely enhanced because of this dreadful, little game.
Most of my adolescent days were spent in Joe’s parent’s basement. The following scene was typical of a teenage boy attempting to get into Joe’s basement:
Door is cracked open. Entrant only peeks head through door. He scans the room. Three or more boys are sitting on couches, chairs, and/or floor watching television. Most have throw pillows over their laps. Those that don’t have throw pillows over their laps have their hands cupped over their genitals and worried looks on their faces. Except one. He’s the one with the wry smile and the Scoot Ball.
Still it is proper and expedient (you never know if there’s a room-wide conspiracy to have your jewels attacked) to announce, “WHO HAS THE SCOOT BALL?!” Sometimes you’re told. Sometimes you’re not.
Quickly and sidewise, the entrant tiptoes to an empty spot in the room. Often the entrance includes a sneak attack at a throw pillow or a full-frontal assault at the holder of the Scoot Ball. Attacks on the Scoot Ball, while not rare, must be done with extreme caution because it necessarily opens one’s boiler to direct Scoot Ball assault. I’ve seen more than one man go down this way.
One friend was furiously attacked with the Scoot Ball while he was lying supine with his hands locked behind his neck and groin carelessly exposed. The attacker scored a direct and devastating hit on my friend’s jewel box. The room gasped and groaned. My friend didn’t budge. We waited. He smirked, looked at his assailant, and said, “They were cleverly tucked between my legs.”
Almost thirty years later he still gets mocked for that comment. He also gets mocked for wearing a cup that was at least two sizes too small. We called that cup “the Beady.” I don’t know why.
If this seems cruel, it’s not. It’s crucial preparation.
Even in my fourth decade of life, I have amazing groin defenses. Sometimes they’re a bit hair-trigger and extreme – yes, I’ve knocked down over-aggressive toddlers who toddled too close to that area. Three-year-olds are crotch-height, and they are seldom in full control of their wits, bodies, and limbs. Fast moving three-year-olds are the menace of every testicle on this planet.
Most men are willing to sacrifice a kid or two in order to protect their family bags. It’s true.
So think about all that ground-work. Over the course of many years, moves have been practiced, reactions sharpened, awareness keenly honed. And then after two or three kids your wife wants you to willfully close your eyes, drop your pants, and pay a stranger hundreds of dollars to approach your twig and berries with needles, knives, and other sharpened tools of malevolence. It’s silly if you think about it. And explains most men’s trepidation when discussing vasectomy.
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On to Part II: Count Down to V-Day
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