Vasectomy: the Director's Cut

After I write this I’m going to go whimper, but I want to set it down while it’s still seared into my mind. And not seared in the good way, like John Kerry in Cambodia, but seared in a bad way, like…well, like somebody just cut holes in my testicles.

I went in the late afternoon to find my doctor, this young guy with a thick Slavic accent, and a nurse who looked like she’d just staggered in from a rave. I stripped down and put on the little gown, and we got started.

First they throw this drape over you that looks like a fugitive from a porno movie, a big blue square with this little hole in it. I was kind of disappointed at the size of the hole, to be honest with you. Couldn’t they just print “FOR XL PENIS ONLY” on every sheet to make you feel better?

Then, the nurse puts this thing on your hip that’s cold. I mean, really cold. She shaves the affected area and tells you “this is going to be really cold.” Then she takes liquid nitrogen and pours it all over your cock and balls.

I don’t care how much of a pervert you are, if you could get aroused after all that, then they should just shoot you as a menace to society.

Now the doctor and his Slavic apprentice, who have been discussing the latest in malpractice insurance, begin.

The first step is to give you a shot in your right testicle with a needle that is as big around as a quarter. The second step is to put this clamp thing on to stretch your ball sack out so that they can get a good look at it. The third step is to cut on it for a while. You can’t feel that, since the drugs have kicked in. But you can hear it, and in some ways, that’s worse.

I spent the whole time yelling “I WANT OPTION TWO, YOU SADISTIC BASTARDS!”

Now they’re done with the right side, and you’re thinking “that wasn’t so bad.” It only took about five minutes. So they start on the left side. Because the lighting isn’t as good on that side of your body, they take your left testicle into another operating theater and work on it there.

At least, that’s what it felt like. Eventually the drugs kicked in, but there was a good 30 seconds to one minute of what felt like him trying to squeeze my testicle right out of my nut sack.

It was all I could do not to cry.

Finally they were all done. The nurse sprayed something from an aerosol can all over my dick, telling me it’d burn. It didn’t; at least, not right then. About an hour later it felt like somebody was putting cigars out on my cock. But that feeling only lasted about six hours.

Then I sat up, and the little half-gown got askew. Quickly, the nurse sprang into action and made sure that my gown was covering my privates.

You know what? After you’ve shaved my balls, bathed them in ice water, and watched two guys cut them open and pull tubing out of them, I think the moment for modesty between us has passed. Get a good eyeful, lady. If this thrills you after doing this day after day after day, more power to you.

But as for me, I’m not going to pop any boners for a week, for fear of springing a leak and bleeding out.

So I hobbled out, in my hospital-issued underwear with my balls wrapped in gauze.

I guess now I don’t have to become a priest. Which is good, since I’m not Catholic.