V-Day

Not the WWII code name for "victory".
Not V-E Day (Victory in Europe)
Not V-J Day (Victory in Japan)
Not V-Day as in - some cute, lovey dovey name for Valentine's Day...
Today was my V DAY - as in Vasectomy or to the ladies at the clinic, "vas". (Best when spoken with some sh*tty European accent - like rich people talking about the thing you put flowers in.)

(DISCLAIMER - STOP HERE - MOM, GRANDMA, AUNTIE, and any others who don't really need to know!)

Not here for a History lesson but I am reminded of an incident from the mid 80's. To be precise, the year was 1987 and I was a jerk of a 7th grader at Traughber Junior High. I say "jerk" only because I cared about bikes, girls, and making my friends laugh more than I cared about studying hard and making good choices in life. The one particular moment in time that keeps coming back to me this week, returns with a queasy tingle down below. It was a day not unlike many others as my knucklehead friends and I roamed the hallways before the school day began. I don't exactly remember what I said to the young lady as she passed but I recall that my intent was to solicit laughs from the knuckleheads at her expense. In hindsight, I wish that I would have picked a different victim to pick on because the gal that I belittled on this day just wasn't having it. No sooner had I ran my mouth and basked in the chuckles from the knuckles than she stepped right up to confront her assailant.
Let's just say, that if she was an NFL field goal kicker - it woulda been good from 50+ yards. A slap to the face would have been preferred. Or maybe a punch in the arm or maybe even a slug to the mid-section to show her disapproval of my sense of humor. But NO - this young lady skipped many steps in the "Escalation of Force" and deservedly so, hit me so squarely in the tater tots that I crumbled in a defenseless heap into a pile of nearby backpacks.

The masses stood in stunned silence as this 7th grade idiot lay gasping for air. I tugged in search of my testicles that I were sure were now in my throat. The bell rang and the knuckleheads melted into the crowd as kids scurried for their 1st hour classes. I was left in the fetal position, wondering if I would ever be able to father children, yet alone walk again. I contemplated going directly to the nurses' office but couldn't imagine the humiliation of explaining what transpired. I faced the grim reality that my locker and homeroom were both on the second story, past the Mt. Everest of stairs in front of me. I somehow made it through the day. I almost immediately bruised from my navel to my kneecaps. I walked funny for weeks. In fact, I lived a good portion of my teenage years worrying about the possibility of infertility.

The excruciating pain of that single incident has stuck with me all these years. Luckily, my tater tots survived to produce potent sperm. Well, two, to be exact. Two swimmers that accomplished their natural function. I fathered two of the most beautiful and precious kids I could ever imagine. The woman of my dreams has given me the family of my dreams and for that I am proud. I am not proud of my 7th grade story, however.

My wife and I discussed family planning from time to time and concluded that there's never really a good time to interrupt our hectic life and electively go under the knife. There is though, the need for smart financial decisions. 2011 has left my body and my deductible scarred from an emergency appendectomy and an unexpected facial laceration. 17 stitches scattered around my body were good reminders to my bride and I that unless we wanted to start the deductible over again at the turn of the new year, there was actually no better time than the present to "get it over with". It was time to make birth control a permanent thing. After idle threats, ultimatums, a list of excuses and some intentionally failed attempts, I finally scheduled an appointment. Michele accompanied me to the consultation a week ago and as I followed her down the Interstate that morning I laughed because it kind of felt like she was leading me to the clinic by the ear. You know, the way grandma grabs your lobe when you're due a right consequence?

Vicki was the no-nonsense, front line nurse assigned to my case. It became apparent that it was her job to ask a few preliminary questions to insure all involved were of a sound mind. She was also tasked with telling me like it is - to include a frightening simulation of tucking and shaving on the eve of the snip. Vicki stands 5 foot nothing and through casual conversation about life and nuts, I learned that she's a 55 year old mother of 2. I'm sure she was a "looker" back in the day but now she reminded me of a cross between Mae West and Flo from Mel's Diner. Thankfully, her businesslike demeanor set me at ease. At that same consultation, I met Dr. Gleich who's steady hand shake and natural educational conversation also served to calm any insecurities. We agreed to meet again one week later.

At 9:30 am, I geared down to my t-shirt, hat, socks and a smile. Covered at the waist, I sat my bare ass on the table's edge as Vicki instructed. With the push of a button, I was reclined. In an instant and without warning, Mae West was swabbing my nether regions in surgical antiseptic like I was an infant with an explosive diaper. With a little more bedside manner, Flo used a few towels to cover my thighs and safely tuck away Private First Class Terry Tickles. She double checked the necessary tools of the trade and dismissed herself.

It's actually a pretty simple outpatient procedure. Some anesthesia here. An incision there. A pinch and a snip. But honestly, nothing can really prepare you for the smoke and smell of an actual soldering iron cauterizing the ends of your severed vas deferens. (TMI? I sincerely apologize.) Dr. Gleich remained on his educational mission and talked me through the entire process. Did you know that Lidocaine is the synthetic equivalent of COCAINE? And that actual cocaine was sprinkled on the eyelids of patients undergoing cataract surgery? The Dr. described the same vascular clamps used to stop the bleeding in others were now used to shut off the 4 severed ends of the "vas" (Remember bad foreign accent.) He admitted that slicing, pinching off and burning of the ductus deferens was probably "over-kill", but we agreed that it was better safe than sorry. I found myself wanting to watch the man's handy work but I could only catch glimpses of reflection in the shiny parts of the surgical lamp. I can't quite remember how conversation drifted to the Detroit Red Wings of the 1960's or why we discussed skin cancer and gutting deer but we did. And in no time, everything was tucked back in place and a couple of stitches closed things up for good.

Given the "go ahead" to clean myself up and put my pants back on, I actually worried if the strength of the anesthesia would allow my legs to work correctly. Thankfully they did. The nurse, doctor and I parted ways shortly thereafter with an awkward handshake and the thought for the day... "there's no such thing as a wasted ejaculation." No Doc - there's not. With that, I slipped out into the clinic to see my waiting wife. I kid you not...the sun was shining directly through the hospital window onto my gorgeous wife. She casually leaned against the wall and was elegantly dressed for work. I momentarily forgot about the fire below as I admired her from afar. 10:15 now showed on the clock and for the first time in a million years, sex was not the first thing on my mind.

15 miles from home, the Lidocaine began to wear off. I felt flush. A dull roar began below the belt. My breathing became erratic as beads of sweat formed on my forehead. It seemed like an eternity passed before we reached home where I could rip of the restricting blue jeans and feel for testicles that I was sure, by now, rested somewhere in my throat. The pain of 7th grade came rushing back. It was time to pay the Piper. Time to face reality. By choice, I did this to myself. In the event of catastrophic Armageddon, it would be very hard for me to learn that I was the "Chosen One". Given the opportunity, I would not be able to re-populate the universe. I am now carrying what we refer to in the Marine Corps as a Blank Firing Device. The guns have gone silent.

I love you, Dear.