Taking one for the team

When I Jen and I got married, our vows implied that I wouldn't let another woman see, fondle, or even acknowledge my... (ahem)... man area. Today, that promise went right out the window. Twice.

In the almost ten months since Swanny Jr. was born, Jen and I have reached the realization that we liked our family just the way it is. A third child would mean some drastic changes in our lives; we'd have to move to a bigger house, I'd have to get a second job (which is only fair, since Jen already works two and a half) to make the bills, and we'd have to start playing the lottery (or robbing banks) to pay for college and weddings.

With all this in mind, after some serious discussions, I stepped up. That's right I offered to undergo minor surgery to prevent any further Swanny off-spring (that's the sound of the universe breathing a sigh of relief).

Well, today was the big day. At 9:30 this morning, with Jen along to drive me back home, I checked in at the front desk of my friendly neighborhood urologist. After an anxious ten minutes in the waiting room, one of the nurses called my name and escorted me back to the little room with the sharp instruments and the cauterizing tool. Thankfully, the instrument tray was covered, but I didn't like the look of the of the bed/table with the super absorbent pad. How much blood is there going to be? I thought.

Once inside, the nurse said, "You need to get undressed, slip the gown on with the opening to the back, sit on the pad, cover yourself with the sheet, and I'll be back to prep you. Oh, you can leave your socks on if you want." Which causes another anxiety attack, because I don't know which is worse: suffering the indignity of being completely bare under a hospital gown while people are examining your junk, or trying but failing to save some dignity by leaving your socks on.

So she leaves and I get the gown on, foregoing the obvious joke of putting it on backwards. I have a seat on the pad (seriously, how much blood are they expecting?) and wait for the nurse to come back. When she does, I'm told to lie back on the table, and she grabs a razor to give me a pre-op grooming touch-up. It's certainly the first time I've ever willingly let someone near my nether region with a razor.

After a quick swipe or two with the razor, the nurse tells me the doctor will be in shortly and she leaves me to wait with a warm, wet washcloth covering my goods. Let me tell you, it's not the most comfortable position to be in, lying there, waiting while you're naked and damp. Although, while I was lying there, it gave me a chance to study the diploma on the wall that my doctor had received from some school in, I'm not kidding, Guadelajara, Mexico. Ordinarily, I don't care what school doctors go to, but ordinarily I'm not two minutes away from having my groin sliced open by said doctor.

Anyway, when Doctor S. finally came in, he had a different nurse with him who would assist with the procedure. It began with Doctor S. tugging and pulling on my man-bag while he tried to locate my vas deferens. While not painful, it's definitely the most uncomfortable sensation I've had. After a few seconds of what can only be described as vigorous kneading, he told me that he was going to apply the anesthetic. "You'll feel a tiny pinch," he said as he started to inject the novacaine.

Of course, I turn to humor to deal with stress and said, "I'm just glad you didn't say 'prick'." Maybe making bad puns while the doctor's jabbing a needle into my scrotum wasn't the best idea. But that's me, Mr. Doesn't Know When to Shut Up.

So, he's numbed me up on both sides and starts the procedure. Because I was lying back on the table, I couldn't see what was happening, but I could feel the tugging as he was moving the vas deferens around, and tying them off. I could hear the slice of the scalpel, and I could hear and smell when he was using the cauterizer. I think that's the longest I've held still, clutching my hands together, squeezing them, waiting for the pain.

It never came. There were a couple of moments when the vague pressure seemed to intensify, but he numbed me up a little more and I got through it. The actual procedure took maybe ten minutes and all in all, it wasn't the worst thing I've ever gone through. With two kids at home, I've taken kicks to the groin that have been more painful. However, knowing the numbness would eventually wear off, I was glad to leave with a prescription for vicodin and orders to rest for a couple of days.

The resting is easy to do, after all, it's tournament time.  The hardest part is the temporary change in underwear.  I've been a boxer guy for all of my adult life, and making the switch to snug-fitting briefs while I heal up, is making me feel like I'm 10 years old again.  But if that's the worst I have to deal with while I'm waiting for my stitches to disolve, things should be okay.  Besides, I'm now an official member of the Snip-Snip Mafia.