*The Drama Queen comes downstairs before school today and her first words were, “That’s gonna leave a huge hole in the ozone.” Lovely. That’s just how I wanted to start my day.
It was a Friday morning back in January and I was scheduled to go see Dr. Snippy Snip. This is something I wanted to do for several years. About three years ago I checked with my insurance company about getting it done and I had a $500 co-pay for the procedure. I declined and figured I would wait until I could afford it.
When I moved to New York I had pretty good insurance. I called to see what the damage would be and was told it was a simple $25 co-pay for an office visit. “Shit yeah!” I thought. “I’m finally gonna get my junk cut.” I know that those are words no guy should ever utter, but I knew what I meant, so it was cool.
I tried to plan ahead and got everything ready for a weekend on the couch. The night before the procedure I went to Wegman’s to pick up some necessary items:
Two bags of frozen peas. Once home I clearly marked them “DO NOT EAT!!!”
Food you simply had to open up and pop in the oven. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to feel like doing a lot of cooking.
Multiple varieties of chips and crackers as well as salami, cheese, pepperoncinis and some coffee ice cream to go with the Baileys I had at home.
A case of beer.
With my kitchen fully stocked, I got Drama Queen off to school and waited for my ride to the doctor. After arriving and filling out some paperwork, I was summoned to the back. The doc talked to me again for a few minutes to determine that I knew the end results of the procedure, then had me lay down on the table.
His nurse came in to the room and said hi. He gave me a couple shots of a local anesthetic and he did so in a place no dude should ever see a needle. Yeah. He shot me up there.
The local took effect and they began doing their thing. They were conversing about their weekend plans and how the nurse was trying to find someone to give her Sabres tickets for Saturday night.
We were about 15 minutes into it, when I smelled something burning. I jokingly asked the doctor if it was me, and he said that he was just cauterizing something. The nurse looked up and said, “We’re having a weenie roast.” Nice…
Dude has a hot instrument against my testicles and she’s laughing about cooking my penis over an open fire? WTF? I’m just playing with ya—it was kind of funny. But it was still my junk on fire!
Before I left, he handed me a prescription for some vicodin. I thanked him for that and we headed to Walgreens before going home. My ride fixed me a quick lunch and took off, leaving me alone with a bag of peas and my leather couch.
There was truly no pain from the procedure and besides the initial vicodin I took when I got home, I only took one more pill. Drama Queen was in rare form that weekend—constantly making stupid comments about the bag of peas I had down in my crotchal region.
I actually walked pretty well that first weekend. In fact, I felt like I was ready to begin the cleaning out process as early as Sunday—two days after surgery. I needed to get two clear tests before the surgery was deemed successful and I was going to study long and hard to pass those tests.
If you’re unclear about what I mean by “The cleaning out process”, let me just say that there are many ways to go about the process—but there is only one way the process ends. They say you should clean out 15-20 times before your first test and I knocked ‘em out right away.
The first test showed a trace amount of swimmers, so it was a no go. Time to go back and get back at it. A week later I went back and had a clean test. Two weeks after that I had my second and final zero count. I was good to go. In the last 10 months I haven’t had much opportunity to make use of the vasectomy, but I have no one to blame for that but myself.