Little Big Snip ✂️
In March of last year, after years of contemplation, I asked my doctor to refer me to a urologist for a vasectomy.
“How many children do you have?” she asked instantly.
“None,” I said, watching her eyebrows try to escape from the top of her forehead.
I explained that I believed parenthood — however magical — wasn’t for everyone and that I knew myself well enough (nearing 40 laps around the Sun) to recognize it wasn’t the path for me.
Six months later, at the consultation with the urologist, the first thing he asked was how many kids I had. Apparently, it’s a standard question. I find it amusing that only fathers should seek permanent contraception, but I digress.
I waited another nine months to schedule the procedure.
There was even a predictable balk around two weeks out.
But I steadied myself and, four days ago, finally got my vasectomy.
I intend to make no value judgments on the merits of having or not having children or keeping or not keeping the machinery to do so.
That’s between you and your HP.
Instead, I’d like to share some thoughts from my singular experience:
It’s Harder than You Think
For some, wanting a vasectomy is a no-brainer. That was me.
But here’s the thing: going through with it is harder than you think.
You’ve done the deliberations. You’ve made your decision. The doctors have been informed. The procedure has been scheduled. And then (and only then) you have a sudden rush of panic and are seized with doubt.
What if I change my mind?
Decisions with permanent consequences have a way of doing that.
That’s why it’s important to think long and hard about it. Take a few months. Take a year. Think about it when you’re sober, when you’re drunk, when you’re happy, when you’re sad.
And even after all that, no matter how steadfast, resolute, or determined you are, prepare for a Final Boss, a Last Demurral, to test your nerves.
It’s Easier than You Think
Ah, paradox — the elusive obvious — the all-important piece in the grand puzzle of existence.
When all is said and done, getting a vasectomy is easier than you think. The procedure is easier than you think. The recovery is easier than you think. The pain is minimal and negligible.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Let’s fucking go.
Lorazepam is Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
Lorazepam, where the fuck have you been my entire goddamn life?
The doctor prescribed 2mg an hour beforehand to calm my nerves and make the procedure easier for both of us. Boy, was he correct!
It was my first ever experience with the Benzo Class, and I think I finally get it. Holy shit.
I typically use cannabis for anxiety, but it mostly just creates a headspace to think and work through shit. It’s still work. But that tiny (and it was tiny!) pill allowed me to reach a Nirvana-like state of calm while someone cut and cauterized the inside of my scrotum.
It was remarkable.
I want more.
Surgeons with Good Attitudes FTW
A doctor with a good attitude makes all the difference.
I have had many experiences with grumpy, cranky, piss-pot arrogant doctors who literally refused to say the words “I don’t know” when faced with a mystery, like it would cause their medical degree to spontaneously combust.
The urologist who tended to me was cool, charming, and affable. It felt like we’d met at a party and not during minor surgery. He definitely made the process much easier.
I wish more doctors realized the vital importance of how they carry themselves during patient interactions.
Gratitude
Finally, I’m grateful.
Grateful that I live in a country that allows me this privilege, free of charge.
Grateful that it went well. Grateful for a speedy recovery.
Sublime.
