The First Cut Is The Deepest
The following post is about an elective medical procedure I had after my youngest was born. Normally, for me, I avoid stories that involve medical issues. Unfortunately (also for me) since this my story, I have to stick around, but on the other hand, you don’t.
Still there?
Okay, here we go…
After our third child, we decided that I would get a vasectomy.
On the day of my appointment, my wife took the kids to an amusement park, and I drove myself to the doctor’s office.
Eventually I found myself in an examination room and waited for the nurse.
Except for one moment during the procedure, I’m not going to go step-by-step of what a vasectomy entails.
After the nurse finished prep, the doctor came into the room, we chatted for a bit (what a time for pleasantries) but this was only the beginning of the small talk.
Once the procedure started, do you know what the nurse and doctor talked about?
Well, it sure wasn’t what they were dealing with at hand (awkward).
They talked about the Academy Awards that had been on the night before.
Back and forth they bantered about actors, actresses, and what celebrities were in the ‘In Memoriam’ segment of the Oscars. I know they were medical professionals, and what happened next was not because they talked about how The English Patient won Best Picture that year (never saw that movie, never will).
What followed was a jolt of intense pain, something I never felt before, or since.
It started at my groin, raced down to my feet, rushed up to my head, then back to the incision point. My eyes watered and my entire body went tense.
At this point of the story I am going to step back for a second because every woman who ever gave birth and read that last line is thinking, “Pain? You don’t know what pain is!”
Yes, I don’t know the pain of childbirth. In fact, I truly believe if men had to give birth, our civilization would have died out a millennial ago.
However, pain is pain, and this was intense.
Not sure how long the procedure was, but when it was over, I put on my clothes, and drove myself home.
The drive home was a bit uncomfortable, considering I had stitches in my testicles.
Before I left, I was told by the nurse I should ice the area when I arrived home.
That’s why when Arlene (future ex-wife) came home with the kids, she found me on the couch with a bag of frozen peas and carrots fixed atop my groin.
Arlene had bags of fast food which she handed out to the kids, and they began to eat.
Surprised, I asked, “You didn’t get me anything?”
Arlene turned surprised, “I didn’t think you’d be hungry after…” she pointed to my groin.
“It’s not like they are connected to my stomach,” I replied.
That’s how I ended up having frozen peas and carrots for dinner that night (Kidding).
You would think any discussion of this procedure would have been exclusive between Arlene and myself, but if you thought that, you’d be wrong.
A woman, Lois, was both Arlene’s long time friend and, at this point in time, my boss at work.
Being Arlene’s friend, she knew about the procedure I just undertook, and in no way was it work related (at least I thought).
Later that week, for some reason, Lois chose to ask me how my vasectomy went during a group conference call. To say I was stunned would be an understatement.
My reply to the inquiry?
“Can we please not talk about my testicles on a conference call?”
And finally, my friend Tammy had a young son at the time (he is currently in college). Not sure what issue he had, or why, but apparently he had pain in his groin.
That prompted Tammy to ask me one day in the hallway at work, “Hey, Al, when do your balls start to hurt?”
She of course meant what age do they start to hurt.
My answer?
“Around four-thirty.”
I think she still laughs at my reply.
