Random musings from my awakening dementia...
12.27.2003  
Disengage Fertility Mechanism
 

Thoughts I've thunk while sippin' at a cup of tea and reading something provoking, often get dropped here for the benefit of humanity and my own hubris.

© 2003-2005, Howard Abrams



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This evening my daughter hopped on my back and said, “Go, Hee-hor” (I have no idea why she calls horses that), and while I was trotting around the room, I said to my wife sitting nearby, “Hey, take a look at this stud.” (Yes, I can get away with comments like that since my children are under the age of two).

She deadpanned a reply, “Yup … until Monday.”

That’s right … I’m going to be, er… fixed. And unlike a dog who is excited to see the vet and get tutored, I know full-well what will happen Monday afternoon.

Symbol for a Fixed Male

My New Symbol

When I mentioned the news to my Mother, she wasn’t very excited over my decision to have a vasectomy, and mentioning all the care-free sex I can have didn’t seem to make much of an impact. I don’t blame her… I would love thousands of grandkids because I wouldn’t have the responsibility of actually raising the spawn. Oh yeah, the grandparents life is the life for me!

But raising two kids seems to be the work of three. I’m exhausted, my wife’s exhausted, but the children only sleep while I’m driving… you know, when I can’t sleep. I used to be a light sleeper, but not now. I’m amazed how I can catch a brief nap in between the pages of a bedtime story or between verses of the “Itchy Bitchy Spider.”

Yes, childbirth can be its own form of contraception, but perhaps in five years when the children are in college (my kids are advanced, you know), and we’ll forget about the sleeplessness… I just don’t want to re-experience this.

Of course I would love each an every rug-rat that crawled across my floor, but my decision is mostly cerebral. From my point of view, the world is quite full, and having lots of babies won’t help. Raising a couple of well-adapted, intelligent adults, however, just might.

Well, maybe my decision isn’t fully cerebral. I wanted the experience of fatherhood, and intend on enjoying it completely (and have so far). I also want to give as much attention to my children as they need. And being one child in a herd of twelve meant that to earn any attention you had to be either really good or really bad. Yeah, flip a coin…

While I’m confident in the outcome, the procedure is a bit unnerving, and I can’t get any sympathy from my wife who experiences of childbirth is still fresh in her mind. But with the miracle of modern medicine has come the miracle of really good drugs— “Pass the doobie, Doc.”

I’ll be fine.

A comment to this from Postop Howard

The operation wasn’t too bad… for what was going on, that is. I’ll admit that 8th grade fears and feelings flood back in such a situation, but I tried to be a grown-up and not whimper… too loudly.

I did raise an eyebrow when I saw smoke. Smoke? Oh yeah, I think I did read about the cauterizing of the vas. Hmm… I smell like bacon. (Yeah, I was going to make a “hot dog” joke right about now, but I’m an adult).

It was my wife who asked about the nurse. Of course, there is going to be someone in attendence to help out (but remember those 8th grade emotions). I told her he was a man… a slightly effeminate man.

She asked, “Was that better or worse?”

“I don’t know.”

Regardless, the operation was a success… well, I survived— we won’t know for a little while if I’m still a stud-muffin or not. But I’m recovering fine. My wife’s sister called and asked how I was doing, and my wife said, “Oh, he’s just hanging around icing his crotch.”

That just about sums up my activity lately.

The best thing about this vicodin is the kicking dreams you get. They are especially trippy when you didn’t even realize you were asleep. Good thing I can’t remember them, as they don’t call it a subconscious for nothing.

There’s this one dream where I’m fighting a bag of frozen peas in a karate outfit, and it ends up kicking me in the groin. OK, maybe that dream doesn’t require any Jungian interpretation. I wonder if I’ll end up cooking this bag of peas?

Comment posted on Tuesday, 30 December 2003