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Gather ’round for a tale of a vasectomy

There are many reasons why I love my husband. He’s a kind and loving man. He’s loyal. He’s good looking. He puts up with me. He called his urologist to schedule his own vasectomy.

Yep. Listen up men. My husband’s balls are so figuratively large that he signed up to get them literally snipped. Well, not the balls, the vas deferons. Right? Isn’t that what gets the clamp for v-omy?

I’ll never forget the day he came home from work and said he made an appointment. It went something like this:

McSweetie was on a lunch date with an old work buddy.

They joked about guys they knew who were getting fixed and then his friend revealed that they were pregnant with number 3. An oops.

Enter the sound effects of breaks screeching inside McSweetie’s head. Then all of a sudden both of my pregnancies flashed before his eyes and I think two terms of bed rest pretty much scarred this man for life.

He went straight to his office, got his referral and set the date. Boom.

Did I flinch that maybe I wasn’t ready for him to be ‘fixed’? Are you kidding me? Owen was already passed his first birthday. While I was pregnant with Owen I would announce daily that I was done having babies. My body doesn’t like being pregnant.

My body also doesn’t like birth control pills or a tubal ligation (not that I know this, but I’m pretty sure I don’t need another procedure). I feel it’s only fair, that if he wants to get the milk around this barn, he needs to come ready with his own bucket. That analogy actually didn’t work, but just go with it.

Sure, there are other ways of practicing birth control. The rhythm method is one option. This is not, by the way, any reference to white men dancing. Which when first explained to me in 5th grade, I thought music had something to do with it.

My point is that we (females) have enough to go through. Need I list them? Pregnancy- first trimester; nausea, constipation, insomnia, fatigue. 2nd trimester- voracious appetite, ability to eat from Old Country Buffet and swing by McDonald’s for a Big Mac on the way home. I heard this from a friend- of course.

3rd trimester- oh wait- BED REST for me. Yeah. Preterm labor with both anemia, high blood pressure and the ability to only be on my feet for 20 minutes a day. That was FUN. This is written in sarcasm font people.

Poor James barely wanted to have a second child after Emma was born. We thought and pondered long and hard up until the age of when she turned two if we were ready to do it all over again. We decided our family wasn’t complete yet. That having a sibling for her would be nice. So we went for it. All the experts, journals and medical professionals said each and every pregnancy is different. No two are alike. Okay, let’s spin the wheel and see what we get.

Bed rest at 28 weeks. Oh, boy. Here we go again. At least it wasn’t as strict and plus I was caring for a toddler. Let me tell you, Emma watched a lot of Winnie the Pooh and played with her princesses next to our family room couch, where I was laying with my feet up.

Owen came healthy and strong at 39 weeks and when I was pushing out the placenta, I basically announced that that was  my last go at the baby making factory. This shop had closed and I had punched my time card.

Now fellas, don’t think you are out of the proverbial woods just by going and having the snip-snip done. No. You need- the follow up. This is very important. I know someone, family of three girls. Went for the v-omy- and 2 years later, wife is pregnant from a little swimmer that really got through at all costs. If I was them, all my bets would be on this kid. Surely he was the sperm that won that race.

Anyway, the follow-up is very important. About a year or 6 months afterwards, they need a specimen to test that hubs is shooting blanks.

I remember James leaving for work that morning with a brown paper bag that contained a cup. I asked him what his strategy was since he was busy with meetings all day at work. Tight lipped and with very little emotion, he told me he would take care of it.

That night I asked how it went. He told me he didn’t want to talk about it. In a fit of giggles I tried to pry the information of him and how he slapped the monkey for the cup. But his lips were sealed and I let it go.

The good news was a week later he got the call that yes, he was firing blanks.

The weekend of frozen peas on the crotch and that faint smell of burning flesh and his ball sack getting shaved, was all worth it.

I was proud of him. He really took one for the team.

 

 

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Comments

  1. Jen says:

    I swear we’re brothers–well, sisters–from another mother. I just started a draft this morning on this topic. It’s so easy to write … I mean, what woman doesn’t enjoy the opportunity to talk about her husband’s balls and HIM being embarrassingly probed and poked. It feels like just a smidgen of redemption for us. :)

    • Frugie says:

      I doubt most men would survive visits to the gynecologist if they had to go. What is up with their whiney-ness when it comes to this procedure?

  2. Jessica says:

    I remember the frozen peas days as well. My husband survived, despite his complaining for weeks and weeks prior.

    • Frugie says:

      They are such babies! Can you imagine the weeks after childbirth if they had to go through it? Good grief!

  3. Christopher Tipper says:

    I guess I’ll be the first guy to speak up here. But as I’m actually somewhat shy-er in print than my sister, this will be pretty bland.

    And, sis, you’re right . We are huge babies. The race that had men giving birth died out during the first generation. And if we WERE giving birth, you can believe me when I say that there would be a mandatory 6 week hospital stay. None of this dropping the kid in the morning and hitting the Mickey Dees drive through on the way home for us guys.

    When Katherine was pregnant with our last child, I swear the first thing that went through my mind when Katherine told me her water had broken was, “hey, maybe I can get a vasectomy on our way in to the hospital. I am SO done here.” Didn’t happen that way.

    A year or so later I think it’s time. Katherine was working out of the house running a day care. A real Monday through Friday 7 am to 6 pm gig. My doctor referred me to a urologist who’s name was Dr. Gott. (That’s the German word for God). He took his name to heart. Since I was married, he’d only whip out the scissors if my wife came to the first consult – Monday through Friday 10 am to 4 pm. Um. Nope. Look for another doctor.

    This guy was totally cool. However, it was very strange to have just met the man and 60 seconds later he’s telling me to stand up and drop my drawers. I was told by my wife that the feelings I felt then were familiar to every woman who’s been to see a gynecologist.

    The procedure itself was only mildly uncomfortable. What was worse was the fact that while the nurse was covering me in iodine from my knees to my nipples (really. why? was the doctor that bad with a knife?) she left the door open. I made eye contact with a guy in the waiting room. I kid you not.

    At any rate, no swelling. No coconut balls. Just a quiet evening at home on the couch. Okay. The kids did seem to have an extra need that night to jump into my lap. But other than that…

    Bro

  4. When my husband made his appointment to get snippety-snipped, he was told he had to shave his OWN berries for the procedure. Since he has a bit (okay, a quite a bit) of a belly, he couldn’t really SEE his own berries, so he made ME shave them. That which has been seen cannot be unseen, that which has been seen cannot be unseen, that which has been seen….

  5. Another reason to add to the list of reasons you love McSweetie so much – he’s okay with you talking about this. I wish my Hubby would get the snippety snip. I’m too old for more babies and I hate being responsible for birth control. I’ve done it for too long!

  6. Kudos to your husband! Mine needs to do this. I have a violent reaction to hormonal birth control. And also I gain a ton of weight. An ectopic pregnancy has left me with one tube and it just seems like insult to injury to have the other one tied. Plus, it’s more invasive for me to have a tubal than for him to have a snip.

  7. I might leave the smell of burning flesh out of my pitch after this third child is born. Or not.

  8. Shelby K says:

    My husband has already “volunteered” for a snip after I had our first (and currently only) child. Purely because of how bad my mood swings were :P