The day was finally here.
We had planned for this moment. We did the research. We read the articles. We found the perfect doctor. We watched the videos.
All of our preparation had reached its culmination. It was our vasectomy day.
Travel
My uterus was a jerk for our two labours: it chose the dead of the night x2 to evict our children. My husband decided to return the favour by booking his spermatic highway detour for the morning…which wouldn’t have been too bad if the clinic wasn’t across the ocean. So, we started our day at an ungodly hour, hopped on the ferry, and away we went. With coffee. SO much coffee
The Office
When we arrived, the waiting room was filled with other men, all sharing the same concerned expression as my husband. Their female partners stood sentry, blocking the exits in case of a last minute change of heart. We shared knowing glances: the next few days were going to be some of the toughest of our lives. But we were strong…resolved…and had an intense need to never have to push another baby out of our bodies. We would persevere.
I was also acutely aware of all the heavy knit cotton being worn. I don’t think I have EVER seen that many pairs of sweatpants in one room before. I could appreciate the practicality and the roominess, but my inner Joan Rivers was cringing.
The Package
Did you think I meant Bryan’s junk? Nope, but we will get there eventually…not to worry.
After checking in, the lovely receptionist handed my husband a box. Inside was a wonderful assortment of information pamphlets, a week’s supply of Tylenol and Ibuprofen, soap and antibiotic cream, a reusable ice pack, and….to my horror….a pair of incredibly expensive underwear.
Not that I am complaining or anything (just kidding. This bothers me to my very core), but I’m pretty sure I got none of those things when I pushed out two watermelon sized babies. Don’t get me wrong, those mesh hospital undies were pretty comfy, but Victoria’s Secret they were not.
And the ice pack! I remember spending a full day of arts and crafts making my padsicles before my due date. Nobody handed me pre made soothing devices.
I closed the box. I vowed to deal with my deep emotions on another day. Today was about Our Vasectomy.
The Procedure
I envisioned my role as support person extraordinaire for an entire HOUR the day before. I was going to fluff his pillow, help him breathe through it, hold his hand, and fetch him ice chips. This was an important role, and I would be there for him.
Bryan’s name was called. We both stood up. It was time.
“You can stay here,” the nurse told me.
“Ok,” I said.
So, I sat back down, and in my husband went. I scrolled Facebook, laughed at videos on Instagram, and played an intense match of Yahtzee. It was the most peaceful 15 minutes I have had in a long time.
The nurse came back (wow! That was quick!) and I was allowed to go into the treatment room. We had done it!!!!
After
I remember that feeling I had right after I delivered our children. It was a mix of shock, awe, and “I can’t believe I just did that”. Bryan’s face said “I can’t believe I just did that”, but in more of a I-just-had-4-people-scrutinizing-and-handling-my-testicles sort of way. Nevertheless, I felt strangely connected to him. We had both sacrificed our unmentionables for our family. I call that dedication.
The nurse brought in a jar of cookies and a San Pellegrino for Bryan.
Seriously? SERIOUSLY??!!
It was entirely possibly that I turned into a walking side-eye emoji at that point.
I took two cookies to make up for the absence of baked treats at my deliveries. The nurse said nothing. She understood.
The Recovery
I don’t ride horses, but I am assuming that if you spent an entire week on one and tried to walk on land after, it would be similar to how Bryan was moving. I think that if he could have popped a hip out of its socket he would have, just to avoid a potential leg-against-scrotum graze.
I asked how many stitches he had. Maybe we could commiserate about how much stitches itch in the future, as I had EXTENSIVE experience (😳😭) with our first born. Except, he didn’t have any stitches. Just skin glue.
How can this even be called a “surgical” procedure? It was basically just cutty-gluey time for the doc.
We made it back home, where Bryan declared that he would be spending the next 3 days in bed. My side-eye emoji/face was still in full effect, so he quickly corrected his statement to spending the rest of the evening in bed. Acceptable.
My fellow mamas, we are all very aware of the dreaded Man Cold. Now, picture a Man Cold, but instead of it being in his lungs or nose, it’s in his balls….the most sacred part of his body. I promise that it is not just his recovery, it is OURS as well. The whining, the grunts and groans, the “Saraaaaaaaa. Can you pass me my water bottllllllllle” when it is LITERALLY an arm’s distance away….it near destroyed me. There were moments when I thought it would have been easier for me to just get pregnant again. That was definitely easier than this.
Eventually, though, he started walking like a real human again. He could get his own water bottle when the thirst hit. He stopped asking me if one testicle looked bigger than the other. Things went back to normal. Minus the constant anxiety of getting pregnant.
*********************
As much as I make fun of Bryan and his experience, I am so thankful that he did this for us. I’m sure it wasn’t a comfortable experience for him, and I hated my life for a SOLID 5 days, but he shared the load in our baby making journey (he signalled the final curtain call), and I love him so much for that.
Cheers to no more babies!