What follows is my recollection of the events leading up to, and the story of, the completely unprovoked and brutal assault on my nuts. If you happen to have nuts of your own, or care about someone with said accouterments, take this as a cautionary tale on what they TELL you is a simple surgery- a vasectomy.
It all started when I hosted a visit by my two and four year old nephews. In the course of 4 hours they completely destroyed the house, including toppling over a six bulbed floor lamp, a rousing game of slap the big screen TV (if that doesn’t get your heart going then someone else owns the TV), and harassing my elderly ferret. I’m sure I heard her whisper â€œLittle bastards. Please God kill me. If I had thumbs Iâ€™d turn on the gas and kill you all.â€ The visit ended with little Billy tearing the ferret’s water bottle off, grabbing the spout as a handle, and backhanding me squarely in the balls with it. As I limped past the cage while walking them to the door, I barely hear the ferret mutter- â€œWhatâ€™s the combination to the gun safe?â€
So the wife and I have a few long conversations about kids, and our plans for the future. Actually several conversations over the course of a month, and we’re both sure this is what we want. Getting me fixed is a lot less invasive than getting her tubes tied- a walk on the beach compared to driving at night in downtown Guadalajara with a blindfold (Excuse me sir, do you know the way to Fallopian boulevard? Oh sure, go under the Ovarian pass and make a left…oh My GOD he’s got a knife!)
I do quite a bit of research on the procedure, seems simple enough. Couple of snips and you’re done, no hospital stay and you’re back in business. Read a story about a guy who ran a marathon 3 days after his surgery. Look for complications- not a whole lot of the web, although looking at a scrotum in 1680 x 1050 resolution is not a pretty sight-looked like a couple of Shar Pei puppies wrestling on a waterbed.
I make the appointment for a vasectomy with clinic #1. At least I thought I did. I said, “I want to make an appointment for a vasectomy”. The receptionist said come on in two weeks. To me that means I have an appointment for a vasectomy. To the Nut Butchers of Baghdad this what as know as “foreplay”. I show up with the wife in tow, figuring she can drive me home, just in case I don’t feel like jogging.
The East German monobrowed associate junior almost certified medical receptionist who is not a nurse or doctor asks me a dozen questions about my health history, checks my insurance, and has me sign a half dozen forms with vague terms like “I’m sure a want a permanent vasectomy. It’s permanent. I want a vasectomy. Did I mention it’s permanent?” She then shows us to a room with a TV and leaves without a backward glance. I tactfully blurt out, “Cool, porn and a sample time!” I whip out junior and the boys and the wife looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What? It’s not like you’ve never seem me with my pants around my ankles before…” “Idiot, that’s what why we’re here. I wonder if you’ll make a better house pet after the procedure?”
The doctor’s not in. Turns out this is a consult. Well, not really. This is a TV date. See we have to watch a video before the twins meet the executioner. Miss Almost a Medical Professional (who could use a shave) walks in holding a video and her mouth drops open. I’m sure she’s awed by the awesomeness of my junk on proudly display. I turn sideways so she gets the profile- good lighting gives you an extra optical inch (Click the “Body” Link in the bottom right) you know. “Here, watch this she mutters” and backs out the door. I’m expecting Debbie Does Dallas, and I’m sorely disappointed. It’s a video from the 80’s with some of the worst dialog ever about making the decision for a vasectomy. Poorly acted banter between a husband and wife with a litter of kids. Talked about how they weren’t always careful- like that time after the big game. Judging by their looks they probably weren’t careful in the car, on the patio, on the kitchen table, in the home and garden section at Walmart…Not even a bare nipple. We sit through this cinematic masterpiece, which mercifully comes to a close half an hour later.
I hunt down my new special friend the receptionist, and say, “Okay, I’m ready, let’s get this done”. She rifles through the stack of paperwork and says, “Oh, you wamt to see the doctor”. I reply, “Really? I considered just slamming my balls in your desk drawer, but you know best.” She gives me a look that makes the poor slob she’s married to want to chew his arm off every morning and delivers her ace in the hole. “No, because you don’t have kids, you need to have a consult with the doctor. That’s a two week wait. And then we’ll schedule the surgery 30 days after that.” What? Can’t I just sign a waiver? No. So let me get this straight. I can have as many kids as I want without asking anyone. But if I want to NOT have kids I have come back a total of three times? And there’s a 30 day cooling off period? What are they worried about- angry men getting vasectomies and not telling? The horror! Well screw this, I go to leave. “You have to pay your copay”, she bellows. “For what?” I ask, “I didn’t speak to a doctor. I filled out paperwork, I watched a movie, and you want me to make two more appointments.” That’s not a vasectomy- although I do feel like I got screwed. “Twenty-five dollars. Now”. I pay off Genghis Cunt and we leave.
So I find another doctor, and speak to the actual doctor. Yes come in. Yes, we meet face to face, then I schedule the surgery that week. Sounds fine. We get there, I fill out the “are you sure you want to snip the cable supports on your testicular superstructure paperwork again”. We’re led back to a nice office. The nurse comes in, and flips back a picture to reveal… a safe with a testicles in a glass jar! Nope- just another TV and VCR. Shit. I watch dumb and dumber talk about why they can’t put a raincoat on again. I finally meet who I will refer to as Dr. Peen. As in Ball Peen hammer. We talk for about 10 minutes, he assumes me that I won’t lose a testicle out of my trousers after the procedure and we leave, with an appointment that week.
I show up on the appointed day with freshly shorn sack. I’m taken back into the office, put up a table. Dr Peen comes in, and we have an odd conversation for when one man is about to handle another man’s nuts. We talk about sports, the weather, and then he says, “Well let’s get this over with”. Humph. No dinner, no dancing straight for the objective. Works for me.
He spends some time investigating the area, which he assures me is so he doesn’t make a mistake. Given the possibility of him lopping off one of my best friends I lay perfectly still. That is until he inserts a four foot long needle directly into the ole ball bag. “Gnaaaargh” I say masculinely. “That hurt?” He asks. Now normally I’m given to the occasional smart ass comment, however this was not the time for it. “No, I’m fine” Man up. Think about John Wayne. What would he do? Well for one thing he wouldn’t have another man handling his junk. Shit. Okay, think about bikinis…yeah, thong bikinis on the beach. Oh wait, shit, you don’t want any reaction down there, the Doc might think you’re more than friends and send flowers. Crap. Okay, happy place, happy place. Guns. Yeah, big ass rifles. Concentrate, hitting the target. Five more stabs and I’m “numb” for the further stabbing.
ZZZST! What the hell, is that gunsmoke I smell? I open up one eye and look down to see a column of smoke wafting up from my nuts. “Uh Doc, there appears to be a fire on my crotch”. Now I’ve used that line successfully in the past, but this is the first time I’ve meant it literally. “Relax, I’m sealing up the Vas”. Well okay then, as long as you what you’re doing at the ballbeque. Shit this sucks. He finished up, I hobble weakly out of the office. I look back over my shoulder, “Call me”. I know he won’t. I feel so dirty.
Conclusion Tomorrow…Bad Vasectomy Complications – Funny Story Part II