"V"

Anyone remember the mini-series "V"? The V in it stood for 'visitors' but they were more like the Borg than E.T. Well, recently I read that V at the beginning of a word usually has sexual connotations (what brilliant marketing, eh?) Think of words that begin with V: Viagra, vagina (this should put my hits from porn-seekers and gynecologist through the roof)...then there's vasectomy.

There it is, I typed it. Vasectomy. In the spirit of Tom Green herewith is my blog on my...um...V. Ok, ok, Tom had testicular cancer and this little procedure is not at all life-threatening, but, heck, anything that involves the gonads would put a few 'what the heck am I doing!??' thoughts through any guy's head. And it's not like giving birth (as my wife constantly reminds me) but giving birth is natural, having a stranger (actually a few strangers) work on your undercarriage in the hopes of making you sterile, I daresay, is not.

I won't post any pics or anything for this (I have some cooth) but I thought it might be of interest to those of us who have outlived our procreative usefulness on this Earth and have rather demanding mates (the last part was a joke, mostly).

My family physician referred me to a Dr. Pollock (website has a lot of info and even a video, if you're into that sort of thing) last week when we were at the clinic. I joked that I had a cold and Spencer needed a vasectomy to her, just to lighten the moment. She, however, had Spencer in mind when she wrote on the referral that I needed a circumcision: good God, that would have been a bother if I hadn't caught it (this doc Pollock does those too).

So I called up the office and get an appointment for today (yes...TODAY, as in the day of writing this!). I hadn't really read the risks and stuff part (how could I complain about such things as 'pain and discomfort' after making my wife give birth to 2 large-headed kids?) but the part about 'grapefruit size' really worried me. Oh well, this guy is one of the best so what choice do I have? (Interestingly, down the street is one of the foremost laser eye surgeons in the world as well, where my wife had here vision corrected for life.) I registered online and after a 5 minute consultation the 'ball butcher' (joke, c'mon!) said I was "Good to go." Good to go? What the heck am I, a sack of potatoes? Maybe so.

These last few days I've been a little tense, as you might expect. I've known about this procedure for years, even watched one on TV about 10 years ago; but the reality of it being me was still a ways away...at least until I was "Good to go." The night before you have to shave the...um...area. Ya, yourself, it's an outpatient thing and you got to come all ready for it. I think I'd trust my hand to anyone else's, but still. How do you do it? I have 2 words: carefully and patiently. 'Nuff said on that.

When I got to the clinic (and after my audioblog just posted) they gave me the pack of stuff I'd need: jockstrap (never worn one before...very supportive), Tylenol, some anti-inflammatory, gauze, some sort of bottles of stuff, soap. It all came in a Zip-loc back and even had "Pollock Pack" professionally stenciled on the bag (this guy is seeming more and more legit). Then you go into the room and the gal says, "Drop your pants and get on the table." Ah, there it is, the point of no return. It was damn near impossible to get on a table with your belt warming your ankles so I suggested to her she direct the next victim to drop to the knees instead. Heck, they don't even get you to take your shoes off! Talk about a Taylorist system!

Next thing I know she's gone and another gal comes in. She was about 4 foot nothing and I could hardly see her before she got on her stool. What the heck! Well, as long as she is good. Actually, I have to say that all of the staff were quite good. Professional, pretty friendly, seemed experienced (although the first gal lost her train of thought once I dropped my drawers, but that was probably because of my nervousness).

Then the doc came in. He had on his mask and some opera-glasses (all the better to see you with) and had a good table-side manner. He asked if I had any plans for the weekend...well, of course, none. I said, "What, people go skiing after this?" "Some do," he replied. Right. Then I asked him how many he does a day: 10? 20? "Ya, that's about right." he said. Holy moly, that's some good coin if you don't mind working with gonads all day!

Everything is ready. Dooogh! He grabs this Star Trek-inspired injector. It uses jet-propulsion or something to fire the anesthetic into you, so no needle (yay!). They don't even 'cut' you in this clinic (my wife asked if they laser it...um...no, only on Goldfinger is a laser even close to a guy's twig and berries), they just draw the tubes out and cut and sew. (Sorry, no nice words for that.) The doc said I'd feel something like an elastic band when he injected the freezing. What!?!? An elastic band? I had no interest in being whacked with an elastic down there, but it was too late. Good thing it worked fast. Then he started to take a tube out. "You'll feel a slight pain or pulling now." Ya, I guess so! It was like a cross between getting kicked in the balls (no idea what the female equivalent might be) and an ice cream headache. Took a while for it to recede. #2 was even worse. I let out a couple of mild expletives on that one. Holy crap! That was more like falling on a bike with no seat. But, it too subsided. All I could say was, "At least I don't have to give birth." That got a chuckle. The doc pulled again and I said, "There's another contraction!" Well, it was over like that. About 10 minutes of actual 'surgery' and then out to the waiting room again to sit for a bit, drink some juice and fill out a survey.

The best part of the whole thing? In the waiting room (guess what, it's all men in there; funny, the guys signing in speak in quick, staccato voices as if they're buying drugs or something) the VCR had the best of Eddie Murphy on Saturday Night Live. Bloody hilarious stuff. Who couldn't chuckle after 2 minutes of that. He even did the 'dressing up as a white man' and the 'Buckwheat's been shot' bits. Hahaha.

Well, that's it, I drove home and am now upstairs on the Wi-Fi connection; ready for my wife and sis-in-law to wait on my hand and foot (at least until they read this). I can't lift anything over 15kg for a week and it takes a couple of months to confirm that everything went tickety-boo, but looks like I should be alright (where's that wood to knock on, no pun intended).

Here's your Korean connection. In the old days (when Park Chung Hee was in charge of the country) doctors would go to the armed forces reunions (every man in Korea needs to serve about 2 years, and have some refreshers) and say: "You! You! You! Come here!" and give them the chop on the spot. Apparently, they still go there to find men who are in need of cutting, but not as aggressively. Makes sense, I guess.