What It Feels Like To Have A Vasectomy - Part 2 Or How I Hated Losing My Balls But Fell In Love With Liquid Valium

After the pain wore off and I lost the sensation of feeling like I had a five gallon bucket of balls dragging me down, life resumed normalcy.  Back to work,  regaling others with my tale, and a very small scar to show off to anyone who was curious.  Funny,  no one was.  

I was told to provide a sample in about 3 months after the operation so we could confirm that I was shooting blanks.  Now, for the squeamish (or my daughter) this may prove to be too much information, so I'll hold up here till you guys go do something else for a moment while I get somewhat graphic.   OK, is everyone gone  who needs to be gone?  The "providing a sample" means jerking off in a small plastic container, placing said container under your armpit to keep it nice and warm, then hopping in a car and taking to Cottage Hospital lab for analysis.  Wait too long and the sample will die, I guess.  So a rush job is essential. After the analysis, the doctor would inform me that we were good to go.  

I decided that I only wanted to do this once, so I grabbed my plastic container and faithful mutt MINS and I went out to the garage.  This would allow for a quick getaway and it would also allow MINS to be penned safely while I left to deliver my prize.  Well, guys, I've never jerked off in a garage with my dog panting beside me.  I don't exactly know what you are supposed to think about in order to mine the ore, so to speak.  But, luckily, nature has a way of taking care of things and few pets for MINS and a few strokes for me and I was running off to Cottage with a plastic container in my pit.  Embarrassing?  Well, Hell yes, I'd just jerked off with my dog watching.  And now I'm going to hand something to a lab tech that, well, geez, shouldn't be handed to anyone, let alone a complete stranger.  Geeez.

With that little bit of unsightly business out of the way, and please don't make me do it again,  the only thing left was to wait for the phone call and the good news that I was never going to be featured in any future paternity suits.   That call a few days later.  In what was a kind of surprising thing, was that it was Dr. Currie himself on the phone not an office person, who I would have thought would do such a thing.  No, I had the good doctor on the phone and as what he was saying dawned on me a cold chill arose and swept over me like a quick fog.  The results came in, he said, and they were positive.  What did that mean, I asked.  He said they were positive for live sperm.  What did that mean, I asked .  He said I was still able to have kids and that somehow, some way, the operation had failed.  He said that it sometimes happens, that the tubes found each other somehow and fused back together,  and that I would not be charged for the procedure.  He recommended I see a urologist out at St. Mary's hospital, a Dr. Thomas Patterson.  Oh my Lord.  I had to do it again! 

Two doctors couldn't spay me, which in the locker room might garner me a nice audience,  but overall I would have preferred to have a nice clean, common, successful procedure and moved on.  So, I had to make an appointment with the next man to feel me up.  Which I did.  And he did, too.  He even commented of my scrotal thickness which somehow seemed like a compliment so I said "Thanks", like a doof.  Dr. Patterson seemed to be a little rougher with it, too.  Hey Tom, its not a stress ball.  Take it easy.   

The second big day arrived and I told them in the office I was quite nervous, reluctant to do it again and wondered if they had something to relax me.  They were very nice and quite sympathetic and thought I'd be just fine.  Once again into the chute, exposed, with a lady fiddling with the jewels and this time I had an IV.  Wow, now this is different.

The IV was liquid valium.  I need to say at this point that I have done a little weed in my time, mostly in college.  It's pretty good stuff and as a relaxant it pretty much excels - except for liquid valium.  LV (when you love something that much you can use its initials) is the greatest stuff I have ever had.  I'd buy it in fifty gallon barrels if I could.  They left me alone after the prep with my IV dripping liquid heaven into me.  A little bit of LV and I was practically singing Verdi's Messa da Requiem.  Not just the solo, but all four accompanying parts.  I have been searching my brain for what I said to the assistant but it was something like, "Bad day for both of us, huh?"  Good thing she had a sense of humor.  Otherwise she could have done the job herself while she did a little manscaping.  My feet were placed in the stirrups - showtime.

More LV please.  Dr. Patterson started with the light banter about what I like to do and what plans I had for the 4th which was coming right up.  He then said said I might feel a pinch and damn!  I did, but it hurt so good.  The valium eased the pain and they began fiddling with the technical aspects, kind of like straightening out cords hooked to a computer.  I recall them trying got engage in deeper subjects but by now I was finding it tough o concentrate.  I was in full enthrall with LV, it really didn't make any difference what was happening down South.  Why was I here again, and why am I falling off this saddle?  

The rest of the day was a little foggy but the good doctor told me they put metal clamps on the ends of my cords and that nothing,  absolutely nothing can get them back together this time.   He even said super sensitive metal detectors could get set off by the jewelry I had wrapped around my junk.  Yeah, but unless I have a third, how will I ever get ahold of that liquid valium again?  Can I get it in Canada?

Once again I was sent home with some pain killers and instructions to take it easy.  This was what I called the John Wayne phase of the operation.  Basking in the attention and taking the pain like a man.  Walking gently, lifting nothing more than a fork, and generally riding high in the saddle. 

This was one of the few times in my life I was heroic to both men and women, for different reasons.  Guys because they can't imagine doing it twice - women because they think I must be some kind of saint to to do it twice rather than my wife once.  But wounds heal, scars scab, and life goes on, although not for any of my subsequent efforts.  Would I do it again?  Probably, just for the valium.  But when I'm ever in a situation where guys start showing their war wounds and scars I'll have a couple unique ones to share.  Betcha that puts an end to show and tell.