Cutting The Swim Team

So I had planned to write something cute and witty yesterday, about a situation that I felt might be comedy gold.

Instead I just sat on the couch and watched TV and whimpered.

This weekend my family and friends celebrated my ability to keep babies alive, and the fact that my wife and I had somehow managed to get through it with at least some shred of our sanity still tenaciously clinging to our battered heads.

And on Monday I went and got myself fixed. Because frankly two children is enough. Any more than that and they will outnumber the adults. And then they will win.

So first things first, I had to visit the Dr. for my initial consultation. And while I understand that what he described to me was medically accurate, and not all that bad in actuality, I still feel that the words “stab”, “tearing”, and “cauterization” should probably be avoided when describing what you are going to do to another man’s scrotum.

I also had to purchase an athletic supporter, which was a small adventure in and of itself. Mainly because I had never owned one before and really had no idea how to go about getting one. Is this something that involves knowing what size you need to wear like shoes or pants? Am I expected to just know what this size is, or do they have some sort of contraption to rate the size? Sort of like that giant footprint-shaped metal thing with all the slider and dials at the shoe store. I wasn’t sure which was more worrying. The thought that I would have to guess which size to purchase, or that I might actually have to cram my junk into some sort of “measurement iron maiden” device.

So it turns out they just sell them in small, medium, and large. Which seems strange, because frankly, what man is ever going to admit to needing the small. Personally I would make the smallest size available be the Large, and also offer Extra Large and Kaiju. I went with large myself because according to the doctor it was just going to be stuffed with gauze to keep things immobilized, and dammit, I was going to use an impressive amount of gauze. It now looks like I am attempting to smuggle the world’s least fortunate Care Bear across a border.

On the morning of the big event, I had to trim the hair level down, presumable to make it easier for him to see what he was working with. Although he may have just been screwing with me. Which I can respect, because I would totally do that if I was a doctor. (Chest cold? Shave your pubes. Peanut allergy? Shave your pubes. Broken leg? You guessed it.)

I was leery of shaving due a previous incident when I was a teenager. So I started off just working on the area that would actually be involved in the procedure. The problem being that it basically went: “bzzzzzz…Well now it’s uneven…bzzzzzz….crap now it’s uneven the other way…”
Without going into more detail than anyone here would be comfortable with, it left me with an effect that I must say looked remarkably like Astro Boy.

I also got to try Valium for the first time in my life. The stuff works pretty well too, considering I went from stressed and uptight about the upcoming procedure to, “Hey you’re going to cut a hole my nuts and insert what appears to be a soldering iron, that’s sounds wonderful” within minutes of the pill kicking in.

The main event itself was actually not to bad. I had enough local anesthetic that I couldn’t feel anything the doctor did, although having the anesthetic applied is just as nightmarishly painful as you might imagine an injection going into the bean bag to be. Also it is a bit surreal when you reach the cauterization part. Because you can see the smoke coming up out of your crotch. Which, unless you are a sex worker in Thailand, is probably an unusual spot to see smoke coming from.

Also, the doctor used to tiny incisions to get inside and accomplish the work. According to my wife it looks like the worst smallest vampire went to town on my stuff. Presumably one of those sparkly Twilight type vampires, based on the location.

So I got home and watched Iron Man 2, and everything was fine until the local wore off. Whereupon it felt remarkably like a tiny demon had taken a ball-peen hammer to my groin. Therefore I have plied my body with painkillers and have only gotten coherent enough to consider typing anything today. I plan to spent the rest of the week on the couch, milking my damaged crotch for all it’s worth.

And I just realized how that last part must have sounded, sorry about that.

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 26th, 2010 at 6:07 pm and is filed under Family, News. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.