Last week, I paid a man forty dollars to inspect my scrotum.
I am sliding into a vague point in a man’s life. I am approaching middle age. I no longer qualify as “young”. No man who pulls a hamstring raking leaves is young. Despite that minor setback to my manliness, I am still strong and have just about all of my facilities. I’m about to voluntarily jettison one of them. I’m going to have a vasectomy.
Modern life is unusual. While some segments of society want to remain attached to a past that for the vast majority was pretty terrible, we are in a great and frightening age. Sex has transformed. It’s evolved from “making babies” to “kids having fun”. If you want to prevent pregnancy, you can do it. After a few thousand times around the campfire, condoms and pills start to feel a little too college. Either you stop to join the masses and reproduce, or you make the non baby-making a permanent situation.
It’s easier for the man to get this kind of procedure. At least my wife told me that. When you look up vasectomy on the marvelous Webs, you find out about “reversing” the procedure rather quickly, which means for most men, this is an on-the-fence decision at best. I know because my cousin backed out of his and subsequently had kid number four (he did not back out the second time). I got sucked in as well, even though I’ve never had much interest in procreating. Just the practicing part.
I went to the friendly neighborhood Urologist. This is the same medical center where I’ve had surgery twice. Come for the knock-out drugs, and stay for the weird electrical things they put on your legs so you don’t get a blood clot after surgery. I’m drawn to the location even though bad things keep happening there, like the creepy house in American Horror Story.
I met the doctor, and I have one major concern. He’s a Raven fan. Yeah, this had to go back to sports, albeit briefly. It’s a pretty straightforward procedure that I will ask you to Google instead of having me recount it. The only part I don’t like is that I’ll be awake during the procedure. That’s not true. Pretty much every part of this is in the “not like” category, except for all the bareback action I’m going to get after the fact. Long-term thinking is not my strong suit. Anyway, if you’re going to be poking me in the nethers, wake me when it’s over.
It’s going to happen by the end of the year. I’m already scouring couponmom.com for deals on frozen peas and saving up lots of TiVo for the inevitable recovery weekend. When it happens, I’ll post about the experience, because nothing bumps the hits like hot surgery talk.
Sorry, boys. The forty bucks was a co-pay, not the admission of a lifestyle change.