What a Vasectomy is Really Like
What a Vasectomy is Really Like
So I did it. Got the snip — the tiny tubes terminated — pinched off the old baby batter blaster — you get the picture. While it was (as every man who has ever had it done at least one year prior will tell you) a very simple and quick procedure, I would not ever in good conscience tell another man considering it that it was anything less than a miserable experience. Most guys (fellow blank shooters) I spoke with played it down and made it sound as easy and manly as getting a few stitches after a bar brawl — well I beg to differ. Although, all the slice-snip-burn-sew blow by blow, step by step tales I was told were frighteningly similar — and mine is no different:
THEY TAPE YOUR DICK!!!- So after sitting slightly nervous and unquestionably cold in an ass-less gown for about 15 minutes — periodically wiggling my pink pal just to shake out the shrinkage all the while being mindful not go full mast — I mean who gets a hard-on in a cold doctor’s office while waiting for some dude to rip open your sack and jam some scissors in the hole? Not this weirdo — Anyhoo, the doctor & nurse bust in like they were trying to catch me jerkin’ it (I’m too quick handed to worry about that) and get to work. I lay back, and ol’ doc flips up the gown with the vigor and assuredness of a popular jock prom date — pulls out and rips off about two feet of masking tape — grabs my cock — stretches it past my belly button — and tapes it quite securely to my abdomen. In hindsight I think it’s so my Johnson didn’t retract into my pelvis as the pain, shame and discomfort slowly consumed me.
MEATBALLS IN A HOLE- The next step in prepping for the procedure was a generous coat of peroxide lathering my thighs — then came the covering. The doc held up a dishtowel sized heavy cloth with a 3-4 inch diameter hole, well stitched and reinforced with a canvas-like material (you know, so your balls don’t tear through it like wet toilet paper when they figure out what’s about to happen to them). My freshly shaved scrotum poked through and also received an incredibly cold peroxide dousing. He says “this might get a little uncomfortable” and begins kneading and emulsifying my scrotum between his fingers looking for the right tube to terminate (there are a few on either side) and then came the needle. . .
YOU FEEL EVERYTHING- “You’re probably going to feel a sharp pain and a some burning, but then you should not feel any pain from here on” — Now, it’s not that he was lying, but it’s really not that simple. Needles don’t bug me and a Novocaine shot is really not that high on the pain scale — so far so good. Then he cut into my scrotum using some Chinese method I got a pamphlet on, but didn’t give a fuck enough to read about — felt every bit of it, but it was not painful — numb, but sensitive enough to know exactly what was happening down there without looking. He tears me open quite aggressively (still no pain, but discomfort was creeping in) and then the snip. . …Ooooohhhhhh the snip. I could write a 2000 adjective only essay on the sensation that shot through my lower abdomen and there is not a woman on this planet that could read it and have even a slightest inkling of what I experienced in that very moment, but it only takes four words to let a brother know — Kicked In The Balls. Not the initial contact pain like when the foot hits the ball or the balls slap the thigh or butthole, but the stomach ache fallout that follows. It’s extreme nausea without the possibility of puking AND getting the wind knocked out of you without the breathing issue AND the cold sweats of a fever without the hot skin mixed with the sharp stinging sensation (and I’m assuming here) of being stabbed.
This was the point where I made the decision not to look up and see what was going on — let me explain: It was during the birth of our first child that I discovered something about myself that had not previously occurred to me — blood and gore does not phase me in person. I actually cringe sometimes when watching something particularly graphic in a movie or on TV, but when I peeked over the curtain while sitting beside my beautiful and insanely brave wife and (against the advice of the doctors and nurses in the room) peered directly into my wife’s open abdomen — did not feel faint or woozy or even the slightest bit phased witnessing the c-section birth of our daughter (I think that I am one in a very small group of men that can truthfully say that my wife is indeed beautiful both inside and out). And again for my son’s circumcision (it’s not mutilation if it can actually help him get laid when he is of sound mind and consenting age) where I watched wide-eyed and unflinching as they pinned back and peeled off the extra skin of my infant’s penis without so much as nose crinkle. It surprised me — I felt slightly faint in anticipation both times, but not even a knee buckle once the gore was in view. Now, after all that chest pounding I will humbly admit that I was in no condition and harbored no desire to attain so much as a glimpse of what this sadistic prick was doing to the closest friends of my taped dong.
EVER WONDER WHAT BURNT SCROTUM SMELLS LIKE?- I’m not totally sure exactly what was cauterized, but I smelled it. Didn’t bug me — it’s the first thing every non-lethal sharpshooter out there told me about because it was so disturbing for them — and because of that I was mentally prepared for it. It was weird though — worth mentioning.
THERE ARE TWO- I am well aware that I’m no genius and this may just be common sense to most men out there — maybe it’s because I never gave it very much thought — but it is a two part procedure and that did not initially occur to me. Two places to numb, two holes to cut, two tubes to snip and remove (which look like two small sections of spaghetti noodles — which my doctor pointed out when he showed me commenting, “hope you weren’t planning on pasta for dinner tonight” — worth the co-pay alone) because most men have. . .everybody now. . .two balls. Duh. This was both surprising and disappointing to me as the first one is no picnic and after the full frontal sense assault I was in no mood to go through it again, but it was actually a lot easier. This time I was already entirely numb and I could identify each tug and snip as landmarks along the shameful journey and I knew exactly how many more pokes and puffs of flesh smoke were left until I could get out of there and get a burrito.
. . .AND THEN I PASSED OUT- Okay, procedure’s over — doc is gone — nurse is gone — and it quickly becomes (painfully) obvious that I did not shave above my penis as I rip the tape — and my pubes — off of my abdomen. That hurt, but detaching the tape from the loose skin of my now embarrassingly small and shriveled dick helped me to forget real quick. I was not in any pain, but I instinctively got dressed and walked out of the doctor’s office (yes office — no surgical room) like a 90 year-old with osteoporosis after a 2000 mile donkey ride. I think my ego/pride/mojo was more injured than my balls. I was texting my supportive mate to come pick me up, but looked up to see her popping up from a waiting room chair — mojo back — posture back — let’s go eat! We carefully walked to the car and headed to the pharmacy to pick up my new best friend for the next two days. Driving along I gave my better half a quick and g-rated rundown of the procedure and about 4 miles out the car began to close in on me. The corners got dark and I warned my bride that I was going to go under for a moment and then the entire conversation we just had played back in my head at a much higher volume and furious pace — the screaming in my mind gave way to white noise and I came to slouched in my seat and looking over at an angelic, but severely concerned companion. If getting your balls fondled and shredded by another man doesn’t fuck with your self-esteem, passing out like a little girl shortly thereafter kind of closes the deal. Feel free to make fun of me.
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