So, the deed is done. It is. I am officially vasectomized. Since I wasn’t allowed to videotape the whole process (and if I was allowed, I’m sure that posting the gruesome footage would get me kicked off of WordPress anyway), I’ve decided I will dedicate an entire post to what the fuck just happened to me and my junk. For… entertainment purposes, yes. But also because I’ve realized that some other dudes may also want to get themselves neutered. And to be honest, there’s not enough information about this on the internet. Anyway. Okay.
*** NOTE/AFTER-THOUGHTS: This turned out to be a pretty long post, but I think it is a funny and inspiring and entertaining story, generally speaking. But it will also probably be pretty fucking gross at times, for some of you squeamish folk. So. Yes. You will either enjoy it immensely, or find yourself completely appalled. But I do (and I’m actually being serious here) love my readers. And that’s why I’m using this nifty “read more” option, because I think you should have a choice for this kind of thing. If you don’t want to see the craziness that is this amazing story about my vasectomy, then you can just scooter on out of here, completely unscathed. But I do HIGHLY reccommend that you continue reading, because this is probably one of the best things I’ve written on my blog. ***
First, let’s talk supplies. I was instructed that I needed an ice pack (also known as a cold compress), which is currently cradling my sore balls as I write this. Also needed, razors for shaving “the scrotal area.” And a jockstrap, to keep the bandages in the right place (also, the internet taught me that “gravity is not your friend” when getting a vasectomy). So. I had no problem walking into Rite-Aid over the weekend and getting the ice pack and the razors. I will, however, recommend that when your doctor tells you to shave your balls… spend the little bit of extra money to get the REAL Mach III razors, instead of the “Rite-Aid brand Matrix 3” razors. Ball shaving requires precision. And I’m not a novice ball shaver either. I mean, I prefer to keep my balls bald, and keep the rest of my junkfro very neatly trimmed. I’ve been grooming my twig-n-berries since I hit puberty, and even still… the knockoff brand razors made for very difficult nut navigation. It was rough going.Also. You can’t buy a jockstrap at Rite-Aid. When I asked the guy at the counter where they kept them, he brought me to the herpes-cream aisle. Fucking dick. And because I’m a last minute kind of guy, I ended up getting said jockstrap at a surgical supplies store near my house. Translation: I didn’t end up with the sporty/sexy jockstrap that all the gays love, I ended up with the “granny panties” of the cock support apparel world. It’s kinda loose, and made of like… elastic and gauze or something. Not sexy. Especially with the recent blood stains to accessorize it. So if you’re gonna get a vasectomy, get on the supplies early on, and make sure to get the good shit.
I went out today to find some entertainment for the next few days. Because I’ve been instructed that I should “be a total couch potato” until at least Friday. So I stopped in a cute little book store I discovered today, and I got two seemingly fabulous books to keep me company for the rest of the week. I got Chuck Palahniuk’s Haunted, which the girl at the counter informed me “has an extremely brutal first chapter that might freak me out.” I told her she didn’t know who she’s talking to. Also picked up Woody Allen’s book, Without Feathers… I have no idea what it’s about but I really like Annie Hall, so fuck it.
I popped a Valium (don’t judge me, asshole, it was prescribed!) and smoked a couple of cigarettes and then headed in to the doctor’s office. I sat and waited for almost an hour before they brought me into a room. “There’s a bathroom over there. Leave your pants and underwear in there, and come back here and drape this (it was essentially a fucking giant paper towel) over you (my cock and stuff). Dr. K will be in in a few minutes.”
I laid there on the table thinking. Nervous. Worried that my balls didn’t smell nice enough, it was hot out today. But I was also pretty relaxed. Now starting to feel the Valium taking hold of my nerves. It was weird to be in a doctor’s office with my dick out, under this little sheet of recycled tree paper. Waah waah waah. Okay. Five more minutes of me spacing out. Then. In walks Dr K, and some lady I’ve never met. She didn’t even introduce her self before she started later wrangling my balls with some clampy device. Anyway, first thing the doc said to me was “Nice shirt.” It was my staff shirt from when I worked Rasputin Records… it’s a million little guitars shaped like sperm, all swimming towards a vinyl record. I felt like a dick for not noticing I put this shirt on this morning. He didn’t believe me when I told him it was unintentional.
The man says “how’s the Valium working for you?” I tell him my head is a little fuzzy but I’m still a bit nervous. He starts talking about how he just had Lasik surgery on his eyes, and how they gave him Ativan for that, and how Ativan didn’t help him relax for shit. I said, “Wait. Lasik. Can you even see right now?” His response: “Well, everything’s all blurry but I can see some shapes and colors.” Sarcastic dick. I love him. Anyway. Make a long story short… Whipped off the sheet covering my frank-n-beans, raised the table (the one I was laying on) up into the air, replaced it with another sheet that had a round hole cut out in the middle (you know, to put my balls through) shined a big fucking alien-abduction-type light directly on my cock, and started swabbing me with some cold ass motherfucking disinfectant stuff. My scrote immediately went from all “hangin’ loose and hangin’ low in the sweaty NY summer” to fucking cold and tight and standing at attention. We were ready to roll.The is where it gets hazy for me. I had no interest in looking at the procedure while it was happening (I really wished I got video footage, goddamn it!), so I just… I don’t know what happened. There was “a little pinch,” which was a needle full of local anesthetic going in. Which was fine. I generally enjoy stabbing/cutting pain. But then the clamps and the tugging. It doesn’t feel good to have your balls squeezed. I know most of my readers here are women but. UNDERSTAND. IT REALLY DOESN’T FEEL GOOD TO HAVE YOUR BALLS SQUEEZED. Okay? But yeah. Squeezed, pulled, poked. I don’t know what the fuck was going on. But at some point he put a hole in my scrotum with a knife, fished around in there for the vas tube, pulled it out through the scrote hole, and clamped it and cut it. Then said “you’re probably going to smell some burning flesh now.” He cauterized both ends of the newly cut vas deferens. In case you’re wondering, I did indeed see little plumes of smoke come up from whatever he did down there. And yes, it was creepy and awesome!. Then he stuffed the two loose ends of the tube back into my scrotum, and sews up the hole. Awesome! Good times! Oh wait. Fuck. No. The male human come equipped with two testicles. FUCK. When I told him it hurt still, he said “I’ve already given you enough anesthetic to put knock an elephant on its ass.” I told him I’m impervious to most drugs.
The second one wasn’t as bad. All in all, despite this weird new pain I’d never experienced before, it was fine. It took maybe 20 minutes, the painful parts I mean. And it was made easier by the wise-ass doctor trying to talk to me about music and how he’s trying to teach himself guitar and blah blah blah. But, yeah. Not too much blood. And most of the pain is mellowing now. I’m doing ice packs and Vicodin (gave me the weak shit. despite me saying “I don’t want to sound like a druggie but I kinda have a serious tolerance for pain medication. Can you please not pussy out on me when writing my prescription?” Disappointment abounds… 7.5mg hydrocodone). But I’m off work until Sunday. And I have good books. Every once in a while, I get that feeling of Bruce Lee one-inch-punching my balls. And I can’t fuck or masturbate for at least 10 days. But I think I’m gonna live.
And in 6 weeks, I have to bring him a cup of my semen. If the sperm count is low enough (or hopefully at ZERO), I’ll be able to start fucking fearlessly about a week before my birthday.
Anyway. That’s the story of the day I got a vasectomy. I did it, y’all. I really fucking did it. I’m proud of myself. And I think my self-esteem just got raised by many points. I am a fucking awesome radical forward-thinking motherfucker that is one of the better parts of the 21st century. Ha!
Finally, I want to leave you with a small series of small pictures. As far as I can tell, after extensive searching, THIS is what hetero couples do after the boy gets a vasectomy…