What I Discovered After My Vasectomy
I was indestructible.
During our lives, we all make a few really stupid decisions. Reflecting back we don’t know why we made them but we did. We just need to live with the consequences going forward. Mine was having a vasectomy 3 years after the birth of my second child.
Why did I do this? Was I really expecting more sex with my wife? I think looking back, the sex was declining by then anyway and this was the last desperate attempt to restart getting physical with her. I know, how stupid can you get?
I spoke to my family doctor and he booked me in for the procedure. In the UK minor operations such as vasectomies are often carried out by other doctors at their facilities rather than in the main hospital.
I had a brief consultation with the man who would do the cutting. I should have stopped it there and then. He wore a colorful bow tie! Never ever trust a man with a bow tie, of any type, is my advice to you. Especially not one you are going to entrust with such delicate and treasured objects.
On the day of the operation, my wife accompanied me. I waited nervously with her, and when my name was called I went in alone.
The room was small, the doctor still had a bow tie on and was assisted by two female nurses. I undressed and lay on the operating table. Manhood exposed. The first thing he did was inject me with an anesthetic. Now that made my eyes water.
They then made a small incision in my scrotum and went looking for the first tube. I swear blind I heard it crunch as he cut it, with what I can only presume were garden secateurs. Fuck me. I was bracing myself on the table, one nurse trying to soothe me, tears welling up in my eyes, whilst the other assisted the doctor in giving me an additional injection of an anesthetic in my scrotum. Whatever they were using as an anesthetic it did not work.
I know you ladies will complain about the pain of childbirth, but this really fucking hurt. Just to make the point again, this really fucking hurt. I am sure I was screaming.
Afterward, when it was over, I apologized to the nurses and limped out of the room, embarrassed at my unmanly display.
They give me a cup of tea and a paracetamol tablet. How British. Then 10 minutes later I was discharged and told I could go home. The wife drove, whilst I whimpered in the passenger seat.
The wound healed quickly, I was riding my road bike in just over a week.
You can’t rely on being infertile for a relatively long period after the operation. I am sure they told me 6 months and they sent me for post-operative testing to count my diminishing sperm.
I went to the local Fertility Clinic which was a separate building on the hospital campus. They seemed to give you a relatively tight time slot. The waiting room had loving couples who I can only presume were there to conceive. I was there for a different reason, to check all hope of creating life was over.
I was shown into a small room with a chair, television, a low table, and a magazine face down. There was a wall hatch into which I would place my sample.
Let’s get down to work. I turned over the magazine out of curiosity, expecting it to be tame like Penthouse or Playboy. “Sophie does Anal”, I was definitely not expecting that, I immediately put it back just as I found it.
I am blessed with a good imagination so this would not take long.
It is at this point, I would like to moan about the mechanics of the arrangement. The instructions were very clear they wanted a full sample. Now it is generally known that the penis points upward when erect. I placed the small perspex collection jar over my helmet. Fortunately, it fitted. The collection jar was now upside down.
As I stood there jerking off and the inevitable happened, I came and my sample hit the end of the jar, ran down the sides, and landed on the floor. I did not have much left in the jar! That would not look good. I hastily scooped up what I could from the floor and placed it in the hatch in the wall. It probably contained the DNA from many men who had visited the room that day. I really must invent a better collection jar. It just needs a neck and a second collection chamber.
I believe my first test was encouraging, the sperm count was less.
However, there was something odd with the second test. I was advised my tube had rehealed. Its called recanalization of the vas deferens after vasectomy. This is very rare.
I was actually quite proud. I was beginning to think of myself as Captain Scarlett from the kids series “ Captain Scarlett and the Mysterons” the 1967s “Supermarionation” by Gerry Anderson (better known for Thunderbirds).
They crash him, and his body may burn.
They smash him, but they know he’ll return,
To live again.
I was indestructible. I liked that.
All of this meant more testing. It was around this time my optician noticed a problem with one of my eye pressures which required me to have a more comprehensive examination at the hospital. I decided to be efficient and book my eye test followed by sperm count all on the same day. The inevitable happened the eye clinic was running late. Even though I ran across the hospital complex I was very late at the fertility clinic.
I tried some humor with the stony-faced receptionist. “I have had to give so many samples, I needed an eye test”. That went down well! Not a flicker. Personally, I think it was one of my better jokes.
It was all inconclusive, after a year a senior consultant at the fertility clinic advised me he thought it very unlikely I was still fertile. But by this stage, we did not have sex very often anyway.
What was the end result? Well, it certainly hurt every time I came for many years, that has only stopped in maybe the last five years.
How do I feel now? In truth less of a man and if I am 100% honest I wish I was complete again.