The V Monologues: Part 2

I called a couple days ago to schedule my vasectomy. The receptionist said my normal doctor didn’t perform them, but there were two other doctors in the same office that did. I told the receptionist that I’d prefer to have the procedure performed by the doctor with the most experience. I also asked if the doctor had had a vasectomy himself… you know… so he could sympathize. She laughed a little and said something about how it was her first day, but that she’d ask. Before I could tell her I was joking, I found myself on hold.

I guess she decided not to answer my questions. When she came back on the phone she told me I had to have a “vasectomy consultation” before I could have my actual vasectomy. I asked if I could schedule the consult for the same day as the surgery. Nope. I guess there’s a mandatory waiting period… like if I was buying a gun. She scheduled my consult for today.

When I got to the doctors office, I was surprised when they told me I had to pay my regular $15 co-pay. Seriously? They’re gonna make me pay $15 to have a doctor try to talk me out of having a surgery that would end up costing me hundreds more? It seems like they should be able to roll the co-pay into my vasectomy bill.

The lady came out a few minutes later and escorted me back to the doctor’s office. She started taking my vitals and decided to make some small talk. “So you’re getting a vasectomy consultation, huh?” I was a little surprised the nurse/assistant felt comfortable enough asking me. “Yeah. I am.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“I have three kids.”

“How old are they?”

“Five, two, and six weeks.”

Then she says, “You’re happy with just the three kids then?” It was at this point I started to wonder if maybe she was the one doing my consultation. Why else would she be asking me these types of questions?

“Yeah. I’m happy with the three. We decided we’re done.”

“Oh. Ok. I mean, we live in Utah, so it’s kind of odd to see a vasectomy after only three kids.”

“Um… I can see that, I guess. We’ve just decided that we have our family and didn’t want to bother with other forms of birth control.”

“Ok. Well the doctor will be in pretty quickly. He’s just right out in the hallway.”

A few minutes later the doctor came in and sat down. He had my file but decided to ask anyway. “What am I seeing you for today?”

“Well, I’m here for the required vasectomy consultation. My wife and I decided this was the best way to go.”

He expresses his peace of mind knowing my wife had agreed to the procedure. Then he goes over all the details that I’d already read about on the internet. He told me about every little detail about the procedure. Details that I’m not really sure I needed to know. I mean, really… if he just answered the basics like “What kind of pain can I expect?” “Is this really permanent?” and “How long afterwards before I can use it for something other than removal of liquid waste?” I think I'd have been fine.

Luckily I know enough people who’ve had a vasectomy that I knew the answers to most of these questions. However, this doctor is really serious about his vasectomies. Everyone I’ve talked to explains the procedure like this: “They numbed me up, made a little slice in my sack, snipped both tubes, tucked the severed ends back into my scrote and threw in a couple stitches.” Good. Great. No problem.

Not this guy. He started talking about NOT cutting… but using what’s called a “tissue separator”. He made a peculiar hand motion when talking about the “tissue separator” using the fingernails of his index finger and thumb. Then he started talking about how it takes a hour and a half because of the EXTREME measures he takes to ensure the tube stays severed. Stuff about removing a segment of each tube, peeling back the tissue from the ends of the tubes, cutting off additional vas deferens, then wrapping the "pulled back" tissue up over the top of the vas deferens… (I envisioned it kinda like wrapping a miniature bottle of Sparkling Grape Juice with tissue paper at Christmas time. You know how you pull it up over the top and tie it all together? Except MY tissue paper will be living tissue that will eventually grow together creating a permanent seal that can’t be broken without freezing it and thawing it repeatedly for several days followed by a sharp blow with a claw hammer).

Ok. That’s cool.

Finally the doctor explains that there will be no stitches because, luckily, the scrotum has the ability to constrict itself to close the opening created by the “tissue separator”. I know this is true for several reasons… one of which is because my scrotum was the size of a quarter for our entire conversation.

Then he scheduled my vasectomy for May 29th... right after he made sure he could find my vas deferens. I hope that's routine. If not, I owe him dinner.