My vasectomy: Part 1

I knew my vasectomy would hurt, but I didn't think it would feel like getting kicked in the nuts. In hindsight it makes sense: the urologist is twisting and turning and snipping and soldering.

So I am lying on the operating table, when some guy comes in and shaves my balls. (Back home he might have been a judge or a government minister, but in Canada, he shaves balls. I guess that is the price of freedom.)

You are so shocked by this turn of events so you barely notice the doctor when he grabs a nut and gives you the needle. Under the local anesthetic you know something is going on but you can't feel anything. (This is kind of like when your hand is asleep or having sex with a condom.)

The female nurse, who sadly, has been staring at my flacid, white penis this whole time, asks if I would like to see the severed tissue. I say no, but then change my mind because when else do you get to see what’s inside you?

There is a misconception about the snipping, as it isn't so much one snip as two snips. He removes a segment of tissue about the length of a piece of cooked rice and with the thickness of a piece of cooked spaghetti (or maybe it was spaghettini). I asked what becomes of the tissue. It seems they bring it to pathology where someone tests to make sure that the doctor cut out what he was supposed to cut out.

After a few minutes, there is this smell: 'tis the smell of burning as the doctor cauterizes the ends. Next, while stitching me up, the doctor tries to lighten things up by telling me a penis joke that he claimed to have heard the other day – but has likely told a thousand times.

To be continued.