Go Forth, but Don't Multiply

BlogHer Original Post

As Told to Mona by Mike, Her Husband

I’d like to tell you I’m sharing this story in the hopes that one other guy will read it and feel more fully informed or that the subject will be somehow demystified. But the truth is, I need to write about it to process it myself.

The tadpole party is over! I had a vasectomy today.

Mona is pregnant with our second child, due in early 2010. I will be almost 54 when that magic moment arrives. My first child, Nathan, was born two days after my 50th birthday. What a wonderful surprise! I didn’t think fatherhood was in the cards for me, despite the fact I always wanted desperately to be a dad. So now to have a second on the way is a double blessing that makes me so euphoric I can hardly breathe. Without question, being a father is the most important and rewarding role I have ever experienced, in part perhaps because I have never met my biological father. But I will be 72 years old (God willing) when our second child graduates from high school. By then, I may be incontinent and without hair or teeth (hopefully I will still have my wits), but it would be reckless to think that reproductive common sense isn’t now obligatory.

Plus, I hate condoms.

Mona and I arrived right on time and were led to the operating room by the nurse’s aide, a hot, young woman I’ll call Bev. She handed me the gown, told me to get undressed and to crack the door open when I was ready. I complied and then another nurse entered the room, a very nice woman probably around my age, who I will also call Bev. She glanced at Mona and said, “It’s perfectly OK if your wife wants to stay throughout the entire procedure. Many couples elect to do that.” To which I replied, “I just met this woman in the lobby, but if she wants to hang around, it’s cool with me.”

This is what is called “an icebreaker.”

Nurse Bev then washed me down and applied iodine. The whole time with both Bevs I kept praying I wouldn’t become aroused. Mentally, I focused on baseball -- who was the better hitter, Hank Aaron or Willie Mays -- and luckily my happy horse stayed in his corral. (BTW, Aaron was the better hitter, Mays the better fielder –- secretly I was sure you’d want to know.)

The doctor came in, and he was all business. The procedure took less time than the prep. He explained exactly what he was doing in a methodical and reassuring voice that would be perfect for “books on tape” or audio instructions from your car’s navigation system. With him, I wasn’t worried about arousal but flatulence, though again my southern hemisphere did not betray me.

Here’s a question for you: Does anyone besides me find it ironic that throughout the procedure, Mona was reading a magazine called Real Simple? I mean, couldn’t it have been Guns & Ammo or, at the very least, Field & Stream? I mean, if the surgeon had sneezed at the wrong time, I could have ended up singing soprano in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Even more disconcerting, she was reading an article entitled, “The Ultimate Small-Space Makeovers.”

In less than an hour, it was over, with minimal discomfort or pain, and I knew I had done the right thing. Then, I took off my gown to get dressed, and I almost passed out! There on the pad below me was blood everywhere! It was an old-fashioned ball-sac bloodbath! Thankfully, Mona informed that it was just the iodine and not blood at all. She really had been paying attention! That’s my girl!

When our newest bundle of joy arrives, our family will be complete. If Mona wants any more additions, there are regular goldfish sales at Petco. And guys, if you’re convinced this is the right decision for you but you’re still hesitant, all I can say is get an ice bag and plenty of your favorite beverage because you are about to relax on the couch for a week guilt-free knowing you’ve done the right thing.

Also, while I’m thinking of it, remember to get your pet spayed or neutered!



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