Tag Archive > vasectomy

What’s up, doc?

» 11 April 2011 » In Parenting, Random » 10 Comments

Yesterday was one of those glorious early spring days in Chicago where the winds finally weren’t blowing off the damn lake making the temperature 35 degrees at our house and 70 degrees everywhere else. It was sunny and 83. I know, 83 degrees in April! My kids were at the zoo whining, “I’mmmmmm hooooooooot Mommmyyyyyy,” and I told them to shut it because we it was nice out and damn it, you want to see hot? Let’s talk in August.

Jack has begging to go for Italian ice at our local place since he saw it opened in March and every time he asks, I tell him we have to wait for a nice day so we can sit outside and enjoy it. Yesterday, we told him his wish was coming true and he was so excited he forgot to be mean to Emmie all day. That’s what I call an effective parenting technique bribe.

We arrived at the shop and noticed another family sitting inside with their two well-behaved children. They didn’t bat an eye when my three insane hooligans were throwing the store’s stuffed animals around and yelling, “I want my own! I don’t want to share!”

Josh got the Italian ice while I waited outside with Maeve. He was taking forever and wondering why I had such a weird look on my face and was practically hopping up and down to get his attention. When he finally came outside trailing kids like the Pied Piper, he asked what my problem was.

“Dude! I think that’s your urologist!” I said.

Josh looked over. “Yeah, that’s him. I should tell him I’ve had some discomfort and ask if he could duck into the alley with me so he can check these puppies out. I’ll tell him it will be nice for his kids to see Dad in action.”

“Um, he’s eating Italian ice with them right now,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s not a problem,” Josh said. “I’ll hold his Italian ice while he checks them out. I’m not rude, you know.”

“Wow,” I said. “That would be really big of you. And since the kids already ate all of yours, you could totally eat the rest of his while he’s all up in your balls.”

“Are you not listening? I said I’m not rude,” Josh said. “I would probably only take a small bite and commend him on what good taste he has in Italian ice.”

“You’re a true role model for the kids,” I said.

This was just too awesome for words. I was dying at this point because the man who sliced and diced Josh’s balls was eating Italian ice a few feet away. It was kind of like a kid seeing his teacher in the grocery store: you know they do these things, but it’s still funny to actually see them without a poster of a scrotum hanging behind them on the wall. No, not teachers, urologists. I knew the doctor lived in our neighborhood and Josh and I used to joke that he could just do the follow-up exam at the playground. High comedy, no?

As he left with his family, Josh waved and said hello.

“Oh hi!” the doctor said. He came over and shook both of our hands and introduced us to his lovely wife and kids.

“So, how’s it going?” the doc asked, you know, making conversation.

“Great,” Josh said. “Well, I mean we don’t have any more kids, so you must have done something right.”

The doctor smiled awkwardly and we all said goodbye.

Josh, I think he meant how’s it going, like, generally. Kind of like talking about the weather. I’m not sure he meant how’s it going with your testicles. I was dying laughing afterward. But I probably should have thanked him for doing the procedure not from a wifely standpoint, but from a blogging perspective. He probably has no idea the amount of traffic I received thanks to his efforts.

As we walked home Josh said, “He’s probably telling his wife and kids right now that I have the largest testicles he’s ever worked on and that he felt intense pressure at the first sight of them and the job that lay before him, how he thought about calling in sick to avoid such a monumental task, and that he keeps a picture of my testicles at his desk to commemorate his finest career achievement.”

“You are officially insane,” I said, choking on my laughter.

“And how they should all feel very honored to shake my hand,” he continued.

“Oh they won’t wash their hands for months after having shaken yours,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”

Continue reading...

Tags: ,

Gimme a V: Part 2

» 05 October 2010 » In Random » 23 Comments

Just to be clear, in “Gimme a V: Part 1” that was an actual brochure that Josh’s actual doctor gave him. For real. When I first saw it, I knew no one would believe me because it was such a comedic gold mine. But I assure you, someone worked very hard to come up with that thing. In 1971.

Anyway. I present to you, the eagerly anticipated timeline of events.

2:25 p.m.: We arrive downtown at the doctor’s office in typical Snarky Family fashion, that is, 10 minutes late. I drop Josh in front of the building and go to park the car. In the parking structure. Which sets him off because he can’t understand why I won’t drive around looking for street parking for an hour. Answer: because I am not him and I would rather pay the $20 and annoy the living hell out of him.

2:35 p.m.: I make it to the waiting room, which is filled mostly with middle-aged men, a few women, and one annoying-as-hell texter who has the volume up as high as it will go on her phone while she sends text after text after text. Click, click, click, clickclickclickclick OMFG TURN THE KEYBOARD VOLUME OFF.

2:45 p.m.:  They call Josh back for his scheduled 3:15 appointment and I tag along. The nurse ushers us to a room and says the doctor will come in to meet with us and then they’ll have me go back to the waiting room. Little do they know, I am planning to blog about this and there is no way in hell I am leaving that room. I tell her I would actually like to stay and she stops dead in her tracks and looks incredulously at me.

“Well, umm, we really don’t have many people want to observe and I’m not sure what the doctor will say about that, but you can ask him,” she says.

You mean most people don’t want to see their husband’s balls get sliced and diced like a hibachi shrimp? Why the hell not?

2:47 p.m.: A rather attractive nurse comes in and tells Josh to remove all of his clothes and he gets super excited, thinking she’s hitting on him.

Josh: Wow, she’s pretty hot, right?  Is she gonna shave my balls?
Me: I have no idea.  If so, she should look for a new job.
Josh: Because she seemed like she might be looking forward to it, don’t you think?
Me: Uhhh, I can assure you she’s not looking forward to it.
Josh: Yeah she is, she totally is.  Honey, maybe you should go wait in the lobby, I’m going to make this nurse’s dreams come true.
Me: No, you can make her dreams come true with me sitting right here.
Josh: Do you think she’s into threesomes???

2:48 p.m.: I laugh at Josh in his surgical gown. I ask if I can take a picture. He says no. I whine. He says no. I pout. He says no. I say it will make him famous. He relents. Who’s excited for scrotal surgery? I am! I am!

2:50 p.m.: Josh wonders where the scalpel is. I tell him they actually use a butter knife from the office kitchen, so the doctor will probably grab it out of the sink on his way in.

2:51 p.m.: A different nurse comes in and busies herself opening all the various surgical packages and cloths. She does this without latex gloves and without washing her hands. Awesome. After she leaves I point this out to Josh and he looks ill.

2:55 p.m.: After a rousing game of “Name that Scrotum Part” utilizing the handy wall-mounted diagram, the following conversation takes place.

Me: I’m telling the doctor I want your balls in a jar so we can take them home.  We’ll put them on the shelf in between the snow globe Jack made and the candle holder Emmie made.  The family jewels for all to see.
Josh: I could never do that to the kids.
Me: Why not?
Josh: We have three kids, but I have only two balls.
Me: So?
Josh: When I die, how could I ever pick which two of our kids deserve a testicle?  It would tear them apart.
Me: I’m sure that’ll be what they’re all fighting over.
Josh: I can just hear Jack now, “I never wanted the house, all I wanted was Dad’s nads.

3 p.m.: Josh surmises that they leave you shivering on the exam table for an hour in full view of the scalpels and needles so you can be reallllly sure you want to go through with this. I tell him he should throw the door open and run screaming down the hall “You’re not cutting off my balls! ” with his gown open, trailing behind him.

3:05 p.m.: Still waiting.

3:10 p.m.: Yep, still waiting. Josh is looking more pale by the minute.

3:13 p.m.: The doctor arrives. Finally. Handshakes all around. He looks hard at me. “This is highly unusual to have a spouse want to witness the procedure,” he says. “Are you squeamish? Are you going to pass out?” Dude, if I thought I was going to pass out I would most certainly not have asked to watch. I assure him I am good to go. He asks, again, “Are you SURE you won’t pass out?” Now I am offended. Do I look like a pansy-ass wuss who can’t stomach seeing someone’s balls splayed open? “I used to be in hospital PR and I have witnessed brain surgery and open-heart surgery,” I say. “I feel confident I won’t pass out. In fact, if you need me to scrub in, let’s do it.”  Josh says “Doc, as long as you don’t pass out, she can do whatever she wants.”

3:14 p.m.: The Doc says, “Now we’re going to start with a very uncomfortable dry shave.” Now I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure you do not want to start off surgery with the phrase “very uncomfortable.” But hey, knock yourself out if that’s your bedside manner.

3:16 p.m.: Josh is locked and loaded. The doctor assures him that if the pain is too bad, they’ll stop because there’s no need to be a hero. Excuse me? Be. A. Hero. Josh. Seriously, suck it up because I can assure you any pain you feel right now will pale in comparison to the pain of hearing the phrase, “I’m pregnant” again.

3:17 p.m. The doctor asks Josh if he’s overly sensitive in the general region of the surgery, and Josh shrugs and says not really. The doctor aggressively begins washing the entire region with sterile wash, causing Josh to wheeze, “Wow, that’s … cold. I guess I am a little sensitive when it comes to my testicles.” The doc then pulls out a needle and announces that he’s going to numb the area now. Josh asks if they use any topical pain relief for the needle and the doctor waves his hand dismissively. Nope.

3:20 p.m.: The needle goes in and Josh’s breath whooshes out. Three different times. I actually watch his toes curl, but he doesn’t cry. He’s Ford tough.

3:22 p.m.: Doc is narrating his actions for the crowd, and while my view is partially obstructed, I have a direct line of sight of Josh’s face. And when the good doc reaches in and grabs the actual tube out, I see Josh’s ass leave the table he flinches so hard. Now, I actually do feel bad. When the doctor sticks the needle in to the tube to numb it, I suggest going to his happy place. Josh grits his teeth and doesn’t laugh.

3:27 p.m.: The first side is done. Josh’s toes haven’t uncurled since things got going, but I am on the edge of my seat. This is kinda cool. How many people can say they’ve seen the inside of their husband’s balls? I am a pioneer.

3:28 p.m.: Aaaand we’re starting Round II.

3:29 p.m.: This would be a great place to tell all the women reading to hide the following paragraph from your husband. I had no idea that there would be so much pain associated with this surgery. I (incorrectly) assumed that the numbing shot would cover the entire testicular region. Turns out, not so much. Only numbs the outside and there are apparently some nerves in that region that also cannot be numbed. I guess I thought it would be kind of like an epidural in that it handled everything. I feel really sorry for Josh right now. Not sorrier than I felt for myself when I was having a cerclage removed with no numbing shot, but pretty sorry. Josh says I can shove my sorries in a sack.

3:34: “I’m just sewing up the incision now,” the doctor says. “You really shouldn’t be feeling much of anything. Josh replies, “Really? Because… Yeah… I’m still feeling it.” The doctor says it’ll be over soon.

3:40 p.m.: The doctor helps Josh sit up. I’m not sure how he’s going to get his shoes on with his toes in a permanently curled position. I wonder if he can even walk like that. But more pressing would be how he’s going to walk after having his balls sliced like a loaf of bread. He looks pale, but he’s alive.

3:41 p.m.: The doctor hands Josh a wad of gauze and me two prescriptions. Painkillers!? These are totally for me, right? No? Oh. Oh right, for Josh.

3:42 p.m. The doctor tells me Josh is not allowed to do any chores around the house for the next year. I fake laugh. Josh winces. Are you kidding me? We have three kids — he’s totally giving them their baths tonight and the recycling needs to go out and someone has to take Jack to soccer tomorrow. It’s not like he had an angioplasty, for Christ’s sake.

3:45 p.m.: We leave the office. Josh contemplates sobbing hysterically as we pass through the waiting room, while saying, “I can’t believe they’re gone. I miss my balls. Why, God, whyyyyyyyy?”

3:50 p.m.: I leave him in the lobby while I go to get the car. He asks for a burger, fries and chocolate shake from the new burger place next door. I tell him to hobble over there and get it himself. He gives me the stare of death. Burgers for everyone!

The next few hours are a haze of rotating bags of frozen vegetables (organic, natch) and Tylenol doses. Josh spends the rest of the night in bed, icing his balls. “Who’s up for some loving?” I quip. His eyes light up. Really? REALLY? Don’t be absurd my friend. I get out the brochure and show him where it specifically states he has to wait a week. He says rules are made to  be broken. I quickly run away.

But the big man was up walking around early the next day.  He showered, dressed and took Jack to his soccer game, then to the playground afterward.  As afternoon arrived and college football was about to begin, suddenly Josh complained of soreness and insisted he rest and watch some football.  The next day again he was up and at ’em early.  We went out to brunch and everything was fine.  Then NFL football was about to begin, and lo and behold, soreness once again in the groin region for Josh.

I let that line work on me for two days, but I sure as hell won’t be letting it fly next weekend.

Continue reading...

Tags: ,

Gimme a V: Part 1

» 04 October 2010 » In Random » 8 Comments

You might remember last year I gave birth to a third child and while I love all my special snowflakes (to borrow a phrase from the hilarious Sarah) more than life itself, there better not be any more blizzards in my house. Three is our limit, both in terms of space and sanity, and we are confident of our decision.

So confident that we knew Josh would eventually man up and get a vasectomy. Back when I was still pregnant with Maeve, he talked a good game about going in and getting it done. But I knew it was bad luck to make permanent birth control decisions before giving birth and besides, I knew he was bluffing.

Then, a mere 12 minutes into my labor, when I was epidural-less and contracting every minute for a minute, I gave him my express written consent. He then proceeded to spend the next few months talking a great game, but never booking a consultation. And I proceeded to nag him ad infinitum, which resulted in an appointment only when I finally threatened to shut it down. He was on the phone within the hour — clearly, I know how to get results.

He went to see a doctor recommended by his cousin’s husband way back in May. He came home with what can only be described as the awesomest brochure in the history of the written word and an appointment for a Friday at the end of May. Which he canceled and rescheduled. And rescheduled. And rescheduled. And rescheduled again.

Perhaps someone was a wee bit concerned about the state of his balls. I, on the other hand, had no concerns at all for his balls because I have undergone three, count ’em THREE, cervical surgeries and three, count ’em THREE cerclage removals without the aid of painkillers. Not to mention the three babies I have vaginally birthed. One little procedure done in the doctor’s office — puh-lease. Gimme something I can actually feel bad about, perhaps a foot amputation.

But throughout the long wait leading up to the actual appointment, I kept picking the brochure up and then dying laughing, because it’s just so … well, let me show you what it is.

Honey, I know we’re on a sailboat and I look like a total douchebag with this sweater knotted around my neck, but I just want you to know that I love you and I will totally get my balls chopped off for you.

Hey baby, I know you’re still sexually attracted to me even though I just got my balls chopped off. You want a piece of this, don’t you? Don’t you? Oh, you just want a piece of my pizza?

And any man reading my blog just cringed and readjusted himself.

I went out for lunch and came back with no balls. And I am going to file a report about it right here with my paper and pencil.

I love you and your sterile balls, honey.
The big day finally arrived last Friday and in typical Snarky Mommy fashion, I convinced the doctor to let me observe. We live-blogged the births, why in the hell would I pass up a chance to record Josh’s vasectomy for all the Internets to see?

Part 2 coming tomorrow. And let me just say, it involves the phrase, “I guess I am a little sensitive when it comes to my testicles.”

Continue reading...

Tags: ,