Free Sex!

There are all sorts of financial, health and social reasons for having a vasectomy. And they are all seemingly sensible motives for wanting to avoid another infestation of children. But let’s get real. Let’s get freaky.

We all like our sexy time. In fact, we physiologically need our sexy time. In Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, its right there with food, water, shelter and maintaining homeostasis. (That’s breathing.) Basically, Justin Timberlake was full of crap. He didn’t bring sexy back, because sexy never went anywhere. Sexy has been around since forever. One day a sexy Stegosaurus caught a glimpse of another sexy Stegosaurus bent over eating some sexy leaves and said, “Hey sexy. You wanna get all sexy on each other?”

You know what the answer was.


Unfortunately for the dinosaurs, they didn’t have a Urologistasaurus. But guess what – we do. We have opposable thumbs. And we can snip things. We can continue with our beautiful human love, passion and need for gettin’ busy without the coital consequence of breeding. I’ve done my share. Twice.

I no longer feel the instinct to propagate the species. I just like touching my lady’s lady parts. I mean seriously, my wife is a babe – a totally foxy, red-hot mama. I’d post pictures of her, but I don’t want wordpress to ban me for inadvertently creating a pornography site.

imgresImage too sexy for the internet

So here’s one of the perks I’m looking forward to most after having a needle and a knife taken to my testes. Spontaneity. Sure, we’ll still have to dodge our current offspring, so that they’re tiny little minds aren’t scarred for life – but it’ll get a whole lot easier. It’s ironic, really. Kids are the result of sex. Then, once born, they are almost immediately responsible for the hindering of sex.

Well, I’m bigger. And I’m smarter. And I’ve found a workaround.

Another bonus will be getting rid of birth control. Pills are expensive – and kinda wonky on my gal’s system. And condoms? Not only are they a pain in the penis to put on, but they totally break up the sweet lovin’ action. That’s why they never show that scene in any films of ill repute. Ron Jeremy ain’t got time for that. And the feeling, of course, is vastly different – no matter what the stupid package says. Oh, and the freakin’ smell. Is that really the best the condom companies could do? C’mon, nobody ever created a perfume wafting the enticing aroma of prophylactic latex infused with spermicidal lubricant.

So let’s do it. Let’s get to the doc and drop some drawers.

I’m feeling a bit randy already.

Who am I kidding?

While we’re waiting for my appointment with Dr. Featherhands, let’s dive a bit deeper into some of my reasoning for getting a vasectomy in the first place. I mean, it’s not like I just have a hankerin’ for pain in my patriarchal pouch.

First of all – I’ve got two kids already – one boy, one girl. The wife and I have successfully reproduced ourselves to carry on our genes and namesakes. And ultimately, we’ve created a couple of slaves to take care of us, once we’re breaking our hips and peeing ourselves.

$$ Financials $$
Yep, kids are expensive. Hey look, a chart!

Screen Shot 2013-09-09 at 1.49.09 PMAnd then they go to college.

It takes a village to rob a bank and raise a child. You see, on top of that spooky graphic, there are a few more teensy weensy costs we would need to endure. A new house. Our rooms are already filled with love and people and toilets. A new car. The truck has maximized its load. And all that ridiculously priced baby equipment like car seats and strollers and cribs and Tickle-Me-Elmos and crap – we already gave all that away. We’d have to completely start over.

Health – Our Bodies Ourselves
At my wife’s current undisclosed beautifully sexy age, her body will not think pregnancy is very awesome anymore. It adds weight and strain. It steals nutrients and rearranges all the hormones. Here are some stats:

1/3 chance of miscarriage
1/66 chance of chromosomal abnormality
1/106 chance of Down Syndrome
1/10 chance of birth weight lower than 5.5 lbs.
1/3 chance of kid growing up to be a neglected, pansy crybaby

Sanity – It’s Crucial

Oh yeah. And I’m not interested in anything like this:

family-largeThe vagina is not a clown car.

I do not want my life to be incessantly surrounded by loud, banging, clanging chaos. I don’t want there to always be a mess to clean up. I don’t want there to always be an argument to break up. Or a booboo to kiss. Or a snotty nose to wipe. Or a turdy ass to scrub. I want to get old with some peace and quiet and serenity. If I spent 20 more years yelling and griping it would become some sort of ingrained habit. Then I’d end up a grumpy old fart. And nobody likes that guy.

Now, as if health and sanity and money weren’t reason enough to make the snip – there’s another reason. There’s a much more yummy and sweaty and gropey reason. But that deserves its own post.

Hump Day should work.

My boys deserve a Dr. with references.

Now, it’s not too often that I deal with the phrase, ‘scrotal incision’ – but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to entrust just anybody with the task.

1ce1e6_2390540Free heartworm medication with every vasectomy.

The good news here is that I’m not blazing any new trails. I have quite a few friends who have already undergone this procedure . So, I just take out my handy rolodex, spin it back to the ‘sterile’ section – and start making some phone calls. Everyone was eager to help – perhaps a little too eager. As one might expect, some had good experiences, and some had bad experiences. And, as I heard more and more of their stories, I learned that when it comes to a man’s nethers, simple words can take on new meanings:

Good experience =  uneventful
Bad experience = balls on fire

Doug said his anaesthesia didn’t take. Balls-on-fire. George said his recovery time was months rather than days. Balls-on-fire. Jason said his urologist’s name was Dr. Richard Chopp. Well that’s potentially even worse than balls-on-fire. So these options were quickly eliminated. Mike, Greg, Chris, John, Jin and Clint all had much more delightfully uneventful snips. And in the end, good or bad, every single one of my interviewees told me they were ultimately glad they had it done. And then they limped away.

A couple of docs were dropped due to distance. Apparently you don’t want a long bumpy car ride after all the fun.

And then there’s insurance. Check this out – it’s rather important. If you have the procedure done in a surgical center, boom – you get punched right in the deductible. That would be about $2,000 for me. Wallet-on-fire. BUT, if you have the procedure done in the urologist’s office, you are only responsible for the copay. That’s right. Twenty bucks. Ten per tube.

Enter, Dr. Kim. Referred by a friend, insurance compatible, a cozy 1.7 miles from my house, and bargain basement, value-menu pricing. Bingo.

I call. I shakily mumble the word, ‘vasectomy’ a few times, and then they set me up with a preliminary appointment. They called it a ‘consult’. I guess a person can’t just walk in and order the Cut’n Go Special. Dr. Kim wants to get to know me first. And get introduced to the fellas.

Oh, what to wear?

My health teacher warned me.

I’m not going to lie to you – both of my kids were accidents.

IMG_6043-LWonderful, happy little accidents.

Technically speaking, the wife and I have always been extremely careful when it comes to business time. In our fifteen years of marital entanglement, we have literally only tested the fates once. Yep, one single unprotected roll in the hey-hay in fifteen years. That turned out to be my son, Sam.

22165_305609576584_7317110_nJust look at that handsome little lack of judgement.

Three years later – still very much aware of our previous amazing, perfect and glorious mistake – the wife and I were in the midst of another intense business meeting. We chose to be careful. Again. And to be honest, we didn’t even really do much of anything. I mean, if we were on Cinemax, you probably would have changed the channel. But, as it happens, one tiny incredibly determined Navy SEAL sperm managed to survive. It crawled and dragged and battled its way into the motherland and conquered its ovarian prize.

Halloween - Angry Wonder Woman-LLilly. Strong like bull.

Yes. Yes. I love my kids, I’m glad they’re around and all – blah blah blah. But the real issue here is the fact that my wife and I seem to have an incredibly potent combination of baby-making equipment. I’m packing some serious heat – I mean, every time I sneeze, somebody gets pregnant. And Sierra, she is the fertile crescent – teeming with placental nourishment. Plus, I think she’s pretty smokin’ and I have a hard time keeping my hands off her. Throw all that together and we could potentially have already produced (let me do some math here) a brood of over 20 kids to this point. Note: includes Irish twins.

20 freakin’ kids. That sounds exhausting. And expensive. And kinda noisy.

Time to find me a doctor. One with soft hands. And good aim.

Closing the baby factory.

I am about to embark upon two things I have never done before. First, a blog. And second, a vasectomy. Wish me luck.

My name is Kyle. I’m 40 years old. I’m married. I have two kids. And I have decided to pay someone to grab me by the jumblies and sever my ability to reproduce. Now, this decision wasn’t necessarily an easy one, but it was something I quickly came to terms with several years ago. About six years ago, to be exact. My precious, lovely daughter will celebrate her seventh birthday next year.

No. It’s not her fault. Nor the fault of my son or wife. I blame science. And magic.

Over the next several weeks, I will be sharing my journey through the decision, the procedure and the ultimate outcome of tinkerin’ with my fuzzy tenders.

Photos to come.