Nut cutting 101

Today was the dreaded day.  V-day.  Yep, I got a vasectomy.

 

Despite all the briefing material there was a considerable amount of trepidation on my part, perhaps understandable.  I don’t like needles at the best of times, the occasional horror story doing the rounds doesn’t help, and there’s a certain reluctance to allow someone to lay sharp tools on your tackle at the best of times, I think most sane people would agree.

 

The nurses at the clinic were, as usual, thoroughly professional and efficient, and totally unshockable and unflappable.  I was instructed to disrobe from the waist down, place everything other than “supportive underwear” on the chair, and the daks next to the table.  Eh???

 

The surgery has a TV screen on the ceiling, which I was informed could be used for displaying the news, Two and a half men, or The Simpsons.  Or for broadcasting the procedure to the TVs in the waiting room.  I’m going to get that bloody nurse.

 

A doctor with a sense of humour way too cheerful and warped for a Monday morning appeared, and started wiping things and draping other things, and making a quite disconcerting serious of metallic clicks from just out of range of sight.  I don’t need to see or hear that, please.

 

The nurse complimented me on the preoperative self-care I had done.  Well, what she actually said was “Nice shave job on the balls!  Best of the morning!” at which stage SWMBO  - who was in the room for immoral support – burst out laughing.  Thanks, everyone.  No, really.

 

At this stage the Doctor gave his little “this may sting a bit” speech followed by sticking a bloody cold needle into bits you normally wouldn’t wish stuck.  I managed to refrain from using intemperate language but only just.  After some faffing about there was another stick, much less sensation than before.  We then played the “can you feel that?” game for a couple of minutes during which I am bloody sure the bastard was sticking a bulldog clip onto my nads, but while I could feel pressure, there was no pain.  I assured the Doctor he would be informed with great haste and aclarity should discomfort be experienced.

 

A small incision is then made at the top of the apparatus and the Doctor gets to go fishing for plumbing.  This is by far and away the most uncomfortable part of the procedure, as by this stage the boys have decided to seek shelter and have retreated.  Nurses have a way of dealing with this.  It involves getting a firm squirrel grip and hiking everything out where it needs to be, and if the patient indicates this is less than fully enjoyable you’re told to relax and stop trying to retract the things into the back of your throat.  This is what I was told, at any rate.

 

I might point out at this stage that the nurse is actually pretty hot, but the fact that she is aggressively manipulating your balls isn’t a problem considering the handbrake is holding your hand, and the nurse is executing a manoeuvre that I think gets taught in women’s self defense classes as a standard deterrent to attackers.

 

Finally, the Doctor locates the target plumbing with a device resembling a boathook.  The necessary hydraulics are hooked out, tied and severed.  SWMBO declined the offer to perform the actual cut.  I did mention the staff have a warped sense of humour.

 

Finally, appropriate padding is applied and the aforementioned supportive undergarments are deployed into place so as to provide mild pressure in the right places.  I haven’t had someone dress me for some time, and I did seek leave to balance the just-short-of-lift-and-separate tensioning with removing the wedgie that was resulting.  The nurse opined it probably wasn’t often that strange women put underwear on me, and I agreed, adding it was more normally removing it.  I think it was bloody unreasonable that the handbrake should punch me at that stage, my being a patient and all.  I received no sympathy from the staff.   :(   At least now I understand the tactical location of the foundation garmentry.

 

I then got a showbag of goodies with instructions, drugs, sample cups, a stubbie cooler I am *very* tempted to take to work, and some other paraphernalia.  You then get invited to sling your hook so they can have at the next poor sod.  I think the surgery was poorly placed on the first floor, as stairs are not all that terribly comfortable to negotiate.

 

The washup is a set of tackle about twice normal size which does promote a certain modification to walking technique, and I highly advise the wide stance before approaching a chair.  Low set lounges are to be avoided, because even if you can find a comfortable spot, you can’t bloody well stand up afterwards.  Your wife *will* laugh at you when you ask for help.

 

Day 2 to come.