Ow, My Balls

The vasectomy appears to have gone well. My ovarian fertilization launching mechanism has been successfully disarmed. The first few hours have been a wonderful world of luxurious medicated laziness. But, all good things must come to an end. Let’s talk about some of the sweet post-op side effects of having fun-bag surgery.

pumpkin-carve-24That’s gonna leave a mark.

Please note: I was given some vicodin to use if the pain gets too bad. I will attempt to power through without taking any. Why? Because I’m a man. I’m 40. And my wife managed to pull off natural child birth. Twice.  — Also, the pain will help me remember to be careful. Every time I go to the dentist and get a shot of novocaine, I end up chewing a giant hole in the side of my cheek. And I don’t need another hole in my scrotum.

Soreness.

The most noticeable side effect is the hitch in my giddy-up. My boys are tender. It’s a dull ache deep in my innards. Sure, ice can keep the swelling down, but it doesn’t really help the core problem of dense discomfort. Plus, ice is freezing. It’s frozen water, you see. And it’s touching the balls, so – not cool.

Important: Gravity is not your friend.

Sitting down is absolutely the best medicine. But not too fast. Use your arms to hover for a second and then slowly ease into position. They actually recommend that you wear a jock strap for the first day. I don’t own one. And I’m not going to buy one for a single day. Instead, I just found the smallest pair of nut-hugger undies I own and went with that. Maybe I’ll try my son’s Spiderman skivvies if I get desperate.

Bruising.

Common decency prohibits me from posting a photo of my technicolor rainbow of testicular contusions. But trust me, it’s impressive. And it changes like the sunset – a constant ebbing and swirling of purples and blues and greens and pinks and yellows and reds and wrinkles. Kinda like an old man who just got the crap beat out of him.

injured-man-1-942x530You should see the other ball.

Urinating.

Just go ahead and have a seat, buddy. This is no time to let pride get in the way and make a mess of yourself. Especially for that initial tinkle. This will be the first time you get the chance to see your little victim after the mugging. The image of your twig and berries all mangled and beat to hell can be quite a jolt to the system. Personally, I got a little woozy. And secondly, your parts are pulled up tighter than a bull at the rodeo. Not only does this make things awkward, but it also sorta points your pee-shooter in a less-than-natural direction. Just hunker down and pretend you’re on vacation.

toilet signBaseball cap not necessary.

Beyond that, most other things seem pretty normal. I still have an appetite. I still like beer. I haven’t been noticeably angry or irritable. And I still can’t play the harpsichord. Which is rather remarkable considering the circumstances.

Oh. One more thing.

Don’t get a boner.

Back from the nuthouse.

So, the vasectomy procedure is complete. I’ve returned home from the chop shop and am now sitting comfortably numb in my rocking chair. As far as I can tell, everything has gone according to plan. I mean, I can’t really feel anything, but I can see that I have all the important stuff still intact.

I have been prescribed about 5 days worth of antibiotics and a little Vicodin for good measure.

And for the next 48 hours, the doctor has very specific instructions.

Slob on CouchTake six football games and call me in the morning.

Well now, this ain’t so bad. I have license to be a complete lazy slob. The wife is being extra nice. The kids are bringing me beers and drawing me pictures. I even have a few friends coming over later to help me watch t.v. Plus, they’re bringing food – including some testicularly themed Deviled Juevos.

I don’t have to cook anything.
I don’t have to fix anything.
I don’t have to put anything away.
I don’t have to wash or clean anything. Not even myself.
I don’t have to let the stupid dogs out.
I don’t have to let the stupid dogs back in 30 seconds later.
I don’t have to watch Dragonball Z.
I don’t have to watch The Suite Life of Zack & Cody.
I don’t have to watch Jessie or Barbie or any other singing and dancing bullcrap.

I just have to sit here, kick my feet up and concentrate on creating a dank, aromatic cloud of sedentary bliss.

Well, at least until the anaesthesia wears off.

Or the wife’s patience.