Thoughts on a Vasectomy
Copyright © 2009
Kyle Ervin
That’s right…it’s time…it’s time to get snipped…time to cap the plumbing…time to take out the live rounds and put the weapon on safe.
I've got to say that thus far in my life, I’ve been extremely successful in avoiding this rather unpleasant procedure. I am, if nothing else, a master procrastinator. But I’m afraid I’ve reached that point in my life where I can put it off no longer. Yes, that’s right, upon finding out that she was pregnant for the FOURTH time my wife made my appointment herself.
Now, there are many things that go through a man’s mind when he contemplates such a procedure. First, and foremost, has got to be pain. Yeah…I KNOW LADIES… it doesn’t even remotely compare to the pain of child birth. But come on people! There’s going to be a stranger…down there…with a freakin’ knife! No matter how many times you tell me 'it’s no big deal', inside my little mind IT'S A BIG DEAL.
First, there’s the thought of walking around for a couple of days as though David Beckham took a crack at my nether regions. Sure it may not hurt that much, but I never said this was a rational fear.
Then, there’s the idea of placing an ice pack in an area that shies away from moderately cold swimming pools. I get a stomach ache thinking about it.
Beyond the pain there’s the more primal consideration…that lingering thought in the back of my head that I am D-O-N-E done. Never again will I be the progenitor of human life…I will have lost my reproductive potency… my role in human evolution will be complete. Even in this ‘modern era’ we men are socialized to equate our ‘manhood’ to our virility. It’s sad, irrational and stupid, but logic is going to have a tough time when up against 34 years of indoctrination.
Admittedly, this second consideration is much easier to take when I look at my children. Not to brag, but I’ve put in a pretty good showing on the Darwinian scale. And it’s even easier to take when I look at my bank account. Sterility really doesn’t sound so bad when childcare costs are running neck and neck with my mortgage.
Then, of course, there are the fringe benefits to going under the knife. The biggest of which is that I will never again, for the rest of my life, have to worry about buying or utilizing contraceptives…no more fuddling about in the dark, trying to open a package that was designed to survive a nuclear holocaust…no more trying to put it on backwards…no more late night, frantic runs to the pharmacy trying to ‘adjust’ the evidence of my excitement…no more debates between super thin, ribbed and lubricated. No more jimmies…no more rain coats… no more wet suits. I told you I like euphemisms.
Add all this to the fact that my wife has sworn to relegate me to the couch if she even sees a twinkle in my eye and the choice is clear. I shall step boldly into this new era in my life, and face the surgeon’s shears with bravery and fortitude. I’ll do it for my wife. I’ll do it for me. I’ll do it for our bank account. So, Bring on the ice pack, I say…bring on the ice pack.
