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A Vasectomy Story

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I have two daughters and a wife and them niggas keep on eating.  Like, every day more food. My wife works but in 2017 it ain't gonna be enough money to keep everyone in food, clothing and shelter if we have another baby.  We are on some Cold Equation shit.  If we have another baby, one of us is going out the airlock and since that's probably gonna be me, it was time for the big snip.

The very idea of a vasectomy is conflicting.  There's the comfort of not having another baby and the disappointment of not being able to have another baby.  

I love babies.  I have become one of those dads that will hold your baby and give them goo goo eyes.  Back when i was a young man, I wouldn't go near them.  Until they could walk and maybe take a 3 foot drop like a champ, I wouldn't touch them.  Now, I live off baby smiles.  Partly because my family eats all the damned food, but I digress.  I really wouldn't mind having another if we could afford it especially with two girls, I wouldn't mind one last crap shoot for a Cogito Jr.

However, in all gambles, if you do it enough, you will eventually lose it.  That's how the game goes so I'w walking from the table, sadly.  There are plenty of disappointments about this decision.  There is the fact that you are about to literally put your balls in someone else's hands.  There's that.  There's also that feeling that this is the best that I could do.  That's a sad reality.  This is all the life I can support and that's that.  It makes feel kind of like a failure.  A rich man could have more kids.  I ain't a rich man and will never be so I need to make good economic decisions moving forward.  That's just lame.

I also kinda feel deficient thinking "I can't have kids."  There is some cave man part of my brain that wants to get out there and populate.  Of course my wife kinda puts the whammy on that and it was never really the plan, but still.  It kinda felt good to know that I could.

I know, that's kind of a lot of thought to go in to your balls so let's look past that.

December 1st, the year of our lord 2017, 8:30 AM I checked in at the urologist.  The prescribed me a Xanax to pop 30 minutes before check-in.  I must say, those babies get the Cogito seal of approval.  Xanax is like good weed without the aftertaste.  I'm not one for drugs but anything that makes me that calm before getting my balls disconnected is all good in my book.

Anyhoo, they took my doped up ass to the back where a middle aged Asian woman prepared the table/bed/seat thing and calmly told me to take my pants off which made me chuckle... because drugs.

So I laid on the table with my hands behind my head.  The table has an arch so I can be comfortable without being able to see my dick, which is very important.  Nobody wants to see their balls being operated on but if you could see, you would HAVE to look.  Thankfully they had figured this out in the past.

At this time, I realized that they had music playing like the dentist office.  It was 101.1 KCFX the Fox in Kansas City.  I hate this fucking station but it seemed appropriate enough to get my balls clipped to.  It's old school rock music for people who probably can't have children anymore anyway.  Cue the Def Leopard.

As soon as I got situated, the butcher doctor came in like he was just waiting for me to whip it out.  He closed the curtain in front of the door, which was there in case somebody opened the door but didn't want to see a dick today. 

The doc was cool as he said hello and set his instruments of torture near while the nurse slathered me with some slimy, anti-infection stuff that they use before surgeries.  Mind you, this is supposed to be two minor incisions.  She got the whole crotchular area. It was cold but again, I was a little high.  Perhaps that is why my first thought was: Why is no one complimenting me on my dick?  I know, it would have been madd unprofessional but it would have made my day.  Lie to a brotha, ya know?

So, to get this massacre started they had to numb me up.  In order to do this, they stabbed me in the ball cords with anesthesia.  I want to tell you that this was unpleasant but that isn't doing it justice.  THEY STABBED ME WITH A BIG ASS NEEDLE IN THE FUCKING BALL CORDS.  I think you got it.  It get's my vote for the worst thing that ever happened to me ever.

Now, I prefer that my nightmares start heavy and trail off before they are over so I don't wake up horrified and this is what happened.  I suppose I should have been happy about that.  I was not at all but at least I lost feeling in the nuts.

They go in on Rightey first.  I'm numb but I still feel a few tugs when they pull on the cord a few times.  While that was weird, it wasn't the worst thing ever.  The weird part was the laser.  The laser makes a buzz like a tattoo needle which would be kinda freaky in and of itself. But wait, right after the buzz, a tiny plume of smoke like a small firecracker floats into the air.  At no time in a man's life does he want to see smoke coming from his ball sack.  Even though it barely hurt,  between the sound and the apparent fire, I cringed every time they hit me the death ray.

They wrap it up with Rightey's torture (by this time I'd lost track of time and space) and as the doc is stitching me, there comes a knock at the door... He says "Oh yeah, I wanted one of the grad students to sit in and watch."

Now it's a party.  A young woman about 25 or so with an West African accent peeks around the curtain.  I only know she was African because of her accent when she talked to the doctor.  She obviously was nervous because we locked eyes just for a second and we both immediately looked away.  She was more nervous than I was.  Perhaps she should have done some drugs, too.  Or, she may have been unaccustomed to walking in on somebody with their dick splayed out.  Can't know for sure.

So there we all were.  There's me, an Asian nurse, a middle Eastern Doctor with an English accent and an African soon-to-be doctor listening to classic rock in what must have been the strangest alien autopsy reenactment in human history.  Lefty's turn.

Things were going about the same way at a seemingly faster rate then the doc says to me, "Sorry for all the tugging."  See now, this is problematic for a lot of reasons.  First off, I noticed the damned tugging on my ball string.  I didn't notice that it was too much worse than the other.  Maybe Lefty seen what you did to Righty and was resisting.  Shit, I would too.  Secondly, as this is my first vasectomy, I do not know or want to know that there is any difficulty going on down there.  After he said that I got a little freaked out that he was gonna yell "We got a bleeder.  Get a team in here!" and Lefty was going to be dead forever.  Never regaining his previous greatness.  He was going to be Michael Jordan on the Wizards instead of Jordan on the Bulls.  Fortunately he apparently yanked my ball enough and things finished up with only a few more minutes of the doom laser.

I got my pants back while the doc and the student said goodbye like it wasn't awkward as fuck.  The nurse cleaned the place up and gave me some paperwork with some ointment and a script for pain killers (more on that in a minute).

I walked out surprisingly well.  My wife walked me to the car and aside from the strangeness of it all, I was actually in pretty good mood.  The anesthesia worked for damned near the whole day.  Then that day ended.

I kept my doctors appointment the same Friday and was happy to know that my blood pressure is still in a slow decline.  Great news.  I even took time to waddle in to the liquor store because if I have to pick between pain killers and drank, I pick drank.

I got my prescription filled for 20 Hydrocodone.  I don't really fucks with opioids so I didn't even bother with them until the following Tuesday night.  You see as time went by, my balls swole and stayed swole for days.  They were also super tender to the touch.  By Monday they were both high and big.  It felt like they had just tied all the ball cords in a knot and now my balls had 50% less swang.  But, don't feel bad about my lack of swanging balls feel bad about this:

You see, It's December and it's cold outside.  I was also in pain and my balls were swollen.  What I'm trying to say is for the better part of a week, I had a little dick. 

I know, I know people live perfectly happy, fufilled lives with little dicks but that shit ain't for me, cuzzo.  I was avoiding the mirror after the shower and shit.  I have a saying that goes: Having a little dick isn't your fault.  Acting like you do, is.

While that may be true, I now have an understanding of little dick syndrome.  You, poor, poor men.

Fear not, the turtle is out of his shell and I'm back to normal but not before I almost took myself out with 1, count them, ONE Hydrocodone.

Monday came around and like a fool, I went in to work.  I was there for exactly 43 minutes, walked in to my boss' office, looked him squarely in the eye and said "I'm going home.  My balls hurt."  He looked confused and said "oooooooo kaaaaaaaay..."  I realized the confusion and told him I had a vasectomy on Friday which prompted a "Ooooohhhh!  Yeah okay.  Get out of here." 

Tuesday came around and after checking my PTO balance, I took that shit off too.  Tuesday night rolled around and I was determined to go to work so at 1AM, still sleepless, I decided maybe a Hydocodone would help me sleep.  I popped one and trailed off somewhere.  I don't remember exactly when the wife brought me the baby to put to sleep but I remember getting baby bear asleep and then the chills started.  It felt like the flu in the sense that I was hot and cold and tired at all the same damned time.  This while balancing a baby on my chest.

Something inside me thought just maybe if I could get a glass of water that I could help whatever this shit was get to passing.  I gently rolled the baby off of me and stood up.

You know how sometimes when you stand up you get a little dizzy but quickly regain all your strength?  That is what happened to me accept that I didn't regain my strength.  I felt myself faint only to get awoken by the sound of my head hitting the wall next to my couch.  The dent is still there.  The headache lasted 2 days.  I gained my wits with the one year old standing by me looking confused and concerned.  Apparently the sound of me banging my head woke her up.  I gathered myself and put us both back to sleep on the couch.

Some amount of time passed and I woke up again.  This time even more thirsty so I got baby bear comfortable and again made for the kitchen.  This time, more clear, I made it to fridge.  In a moment of clarity I realized that there was Tahitian Treat (the worlds greatest drink) in the fridge.  I got the kitchen lights on, opened the fridge and twisted the top off of the two liter, raised it triumphantly to my lips and my legs fucking disappeared.  I grabbed for one of the chairs at the kitchen table and missed.  Down goes Frazier.  I distinctly remember hearing the crash of hitting the floor but the next thing I saw my wife standing over me in terror.  There was Tahitian treat everywhere.  I managed to say "Took a Hydrocodone. Fainted."  I drank what was left of the Tahitian red goodness in the two liter and I got up and made my way back to the couch.  Didn't clean up shit.  Thankfully, the wife didn't vex me.  I just wanted to go to back to sleep and she knew it.  She took baby bear to bed and I gratefully got a few hours of sleep.

The next day, I somehow made my way in to work where I received tales of the usual shitshow that went on in my absence.  My entire body was sore.  I'm not sure if it was the falling or side effect of the Hydro.  All I know is I'm not taking that shit ever again.  My stitches were still sore and I was walking like I had been riding a horse all day but at least I never lost consciousness again.

Almost 3 weeks from the deed and I'm mostly healed.  Lefty healed way faster than Righty.  Righty is still being a bitch about it.  

The doc gave me 3 remaining instructions to follow.  Don't have sex for 2 weeks which my reply is how am I supposed to have sex with a little dick and holes in my sack?  Answer me that, nigga.  Second order, have 20 ejaculations in the next 90 days... Come on,b, CHALLENGE ME.  I'm trying to run 2-a-days and he's asking for jumping jacks.  Lastly, after the 3 months, I'm supposed to bring a semen sample to the lab to verify that nothing's swimming.  They even provided the cup.  Okay, this one I have concerns with.

How the fuck do you bust a nut in a cup?  This cup is about half the size of yogurt cup.  For someone who's accuracy in ejaculations is based on either being inside or outside, there is no way I can just hit the cup.  Not to mention gravity.  I'm used to an up and out.  Surely I'm not supposed to shoot it like a jump shot, right?  Do I maybe get like a paper plate and then try to pour it in to the cup like a science project?  Should I just try and catch it all with my off hand and dump it in the cup that way?  Too much pressure, yo.

I suppose it will pay off when it's all said and done and won't have to worry about feeding another human or ending up on Maury.  It's a small price to pay for piece of mind.  At least that's what I hope to be thinking when the stitches finally heal and stop getting caught on my drawls.

Responsibility sucks, guys.

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