and other irrelevant chit-chat 
I got me a vasectomy today. It's been planned by Wife and I for a while, and the irony that it was done, for all real intents and purposes, on Father's Day is not lost on us. She made the appointment for me a while back with a doc in Frederick. I never would have made it. I can't be bothered with phonecalls, consultations, time off, etc., so she found a doc that fit the bill: consultation and procedure at the same time, Saturday appointment.
I have no real fear or worry about pain, so I didn't fret much going in to the office at 11 this morning. At 11:15, we were escorted to the doctors real office and sat down in front of him. Dr. Couch is an old man, maybe 75. His credentials from Duke lined the walls, and he came strongly recommended. Now I see why.
Dr. Couch is from The South. The DEEEEP South, graduating Duke in 1950. His speech is the deep drawl of Foghorn Leghorn, with the creak of age. He cuts right to the chase. He asks questions: How many chidrin y'all have? Y'don't want none? Whatchoo do fo a livin? What's that? He is straight up funny too. He whips out his diagram to show me how it's done (and where I must be shaved). He asks the same question repeatedly. Either he doesn't understand our yankee Chicago dialect, or he's senile. Either way, it's fun.
Off to the procedure. Now I have pause. Like I said, no fear - but these are my nuts we're talking about. My wife is there, so I'm not going to look like a wuss. Off with the pants, and into the position that most women have to assume at their own doctor's office. What the hell, right?
Dr. Couch gets to shaving, which is uncomfortable and makes it hard to sit still. Then to the cleaning and anaesthetising. The little needle was definitely noticeable, but nothing shocking. What made this better was that Dr. Couch spoke the entire time. And not about technical stuff. About other patients, about piloting his plane, about the gas prices. Eventually, the talk even turned to marijuana and hookers in Amsterdam (which Dr. Couch ensured us that he could not partake of because his wife was there). We are laughing the entire time. He is cutting, snipping, pulling, and sewing away, and my wife and I are laughing to the point of tears. Everything was pecker, balls, shit - but more like "peckahhh, baaawls, sheeyit"). Either the man is crazy/senile, or he is an absolute bedside-manner genius. I sensed a razor sharpness in his eye when he thought I was in pain, and my wife noted his hands of stone for a man that age. He was efficient, fast, and no BS (other than the dialogue). Either way, it was a surreal but fantastic experience. Maybe you had to be there.
30 minutes later, I was done. I felt almost nothing. Some pressure here and there, a little discomfort. Nothing. It's 8 hours later now, and my nuts-Novocaine has worn off. I have ice on my boys for safe measure, but I really feel no pain. When I move, there's the slight sensation of being kicked in the balls two days ago, if that makes sense. Tomorrow may be sore, who knows? But all in all, it was nothing.
If you decide to get fixed, see this man. He's old, so you may not have that much time. I would gladly have him cut another hole in my sack just for the entertainment value. Seriously.
I hope you enjoyed reading about my privates. And for the ladies of DAMN, I hope you see this for the lighthearted, fun tale of testicular misadventures that I intended it to be.
Not so sure about riding a motorcycle tomorrow. :?
