Alright kids. Here it is. The update you've all been waiting for. Listen, rare are the people who will tell you the truth about things in life, and rarer still are those that won't pull any punches. So I'm going to tell you about my recent trip to the urologist to fix my own little wagon.
Yeah, so there I was, just back from my trip to South Carolina. I arrived home later on the evening of the 16th of December just in time for a weekend. First weekend I'd had off since the end of November. I'd had drill the weekend before leaving for South Carolina. Anyhow, Monday after I got back I just wasn't feelin' it, so I took a day of leave, then went in Tuesday to work. Tuesday I left early from work for my initial meeting with the urologist. Oh, let me tell you how that went down. So I'm sitting there right? Anyhow I figured they were going to want to take a tour or something so I made sure to update everything in the region. However, once I got there, I found myself meeting with a male P.A. whom did his darndest to play, "Stump the Chump" and try and get me to admit under great pressure that I in fact was not CERTAIN that I wanted to self-limit my procreative properties. Anyhow, after answering an increasingly hostile barrage of questions regarding my five children, my age, my wife's age, my favorite color, the velocity of an un-laden swallow, and a myriad of other questions, I apparenlty advanced to round 2.
So, two days later, I have Stacey bring me in to the vet for the inevitable. I'd pretty well realized that at near 40, with 5 of my own children, and no prospects of ever retiring or enjoying our golden years with any semblance of security, I reluctantly admitted to myself, and to others that it was time to hang it up. Figuratively speaking of course.
So anyhow, we're sittin' there in the lobby, ma in her kerchief and I in my cap, reluctantly accepting the work on my lap. So, the lady, I'll call her, "Mrs. Poole" at the counter, invites me back alone, and quite nervous to come back and have my vitals taken again. So, she puts the cuff on my arm then starts to overly cheerily talk with me. First question she asks me is, "Is that your wife out there?" So of course I say, "yes." Then she says, "Oh, you two look like you could be brother and sister." But she says it, quite convincingly. So, realizing the gravity of why where here, and the multiple levels of irony involved am now wondering in a split second: 1) WHO brings there SISTER to get a vasectomy???!; 2) Do Stacey and I have ONE characteristic in common that would EVER prompt ANYONE to every think we're even remotely related???; and 3) WHAT medication is this lady on that she's so cavalier with busting out accusations about my continuing to sleep with my sister in order to have five children then have the presence of mind to finally have a vasectomy so that our illegal and immoral union stops producing extra-chromosomal children??! So, all that goes through my head in a split second and I stammer out, "No, she's my wife. Really? You think we look alike? Huh.. interesting. Never heard that before."
So, about that time Mrs. Poole and her overly-chipper self(ves) lets loose her hold on my arm and invites me back to the foyer to sit with the other non-papered unwashed and unlucky vermine to await our final fate. So, we sit there another ten minutes, then this little petite blonde gal in blue scrubs comes out and invites me back. So, I of course ask if Stacey can come back with me, and away we go a walkin'.
We head about ten feet down the hall and make a left into this little closet of a room with counters along one side, Christmas music on a Bose radio, I think a refridgerator, and this operating table and a single chair. So, Blondie with the giant blue eyes, and all 100 lb of her tells me to take everything off from the waist down, lay on the table and cover myself with this folded paper-blanket thing till she comes back. She leaves and Stacey and I make small talk while I disrobe and assume le positione'. So, I'm lying there, rather uncomfortably, enjoying the irony of the breeze on my nether-region and Alvin and the Chipmunks singing about Christmas time awaiting my fate.
About that time Ms. Blondie comes in and starts some small talk while she prepares a little vat of iodine or betadine or some sorta dine and proceeds to rip off my covering without so much fanfare and proceed to wa(r)sh my newly Naired nethers with her concoction (pardon the pun) and then what felt like some sorta cream or something. But she did it all with what felt like a sponge of rather unforgiving dimentions and didn't so much as slow down around some of the more sensitive of areas. I remember thinking, "she must not be married, othewise she'd have learned to be a little more compassionate in that arena."
Well, in strolls Dr. C. with his pony tail and sixties groovy-guy look. I'd come in uniform on Tuesday, and apparenlty that had made it around the office. Oh, let me back up a tad. So, the P.A. I met with on Tuesday was such a condescending sonofabitch I almost punched him in his left ear. But after a while it became comical. The first time he was talking about a, "Scrotum" which apparenlty is such a large word for an Army guy that he had to dumb it down with a noticable correction as, "..you know? Balls." Then as he's talking again he says, "sutures" he apparently again catches himself and states, "you know, 'stiches'." So about this time I'm just flabbergasted at his attitude and I start to play along with him. About the time he started to educate me on the, "indent at the base of a penis" wherein the Dr. was going to make an, "incision" or "cut", I was just smirking at how I at least would walk out of here still in the Army, HE would walk out of here as a friggin' male NURSE with an additional concentration of study in writing tablets and how to prescribe antibiotics. Ass bag.
Anyhow, so Dr. C. and I rap a little while he's prepping stuff about this and that and how he was in the Army Reserves for a while and how we both used to make home-made explosives and etc. So, Blondie, whom has her surgical mask over her mouth is on the left hip, and Dr. C is on my right hip. So, Dr. C, without aid of previously numbing the area, nor having even so much as offered me a valium, places this 3' square sheet of blue paper, about the texture of the one your dentist puts around your neck over my boys. I then realize there is a perfectly round circle in the center of this sheet. I've quickly surmised that SOMETHING of mine is going to pass through to the one side and the rest of me is going to stay quite separated on the other. Well...see, this particular hole, is about the diameter of one of your lesser bottles of Gatoraid openings. Suffice it to say, I was not thoroughly convinced that the boys (Mr. James Westfall and Dr. Kenneth Noisewater) where going to fit through their. Well, much to my chagrine, and quite suprised I might add, the boys did. The Octogon on the other hand, was left guessing on MY side of the blue Tarp of Death.
Well I thought that was the worst part of the procedure. Except of course, as my nekkid legs and feet involuntarily move at my wincing as Dr. C searches for cords and what not quite unapologetically. A couple of times my military bearing was almost lost as I quite literally straighted my whole body out like a board as Dr. C. and the lovely Ms. Blondie went to tuggin' and pullin' on stuff. Oh, also particularly humiliating was how Dr. C. asked me in front of Nurse Blondie when I shaved that area because apparently I'd nicked myself. Well, not having a special mirror and razor set for the specified purpose I'd thought I did a rather fine job, all things considered. Anyhow, rather thoroughly humiliated (or so I thought) they "sutured" up my..."scrotum" (these big words are on the test by the way) and then replaced the original paper sheet back over the affected area.
So, then Ms. Blondie, with my wife in a chair and me on my back starts to explain to me for, "like the 100th time today" that this bottle of soap is LABELED as 'Hand Sanitizer' but is in fact soap, then went on and on about the pump in their other bottle ..blah blah blah blah. So, I kept my composure and she tells me I can get dressed now, and she leaves. So, I get all the way dressed, and she knocks on the door and comes back in, then informs me that I now am encouraged to wash the region before leaving in the very sink here using paper-towels, the aforementioned "soap" and some good old college enginuity considering that the counter was just over belt-level. So, as she's esplainin' this to us, she says that her and her husband (turns out I was wrong) were looking at moving into the Riverton area if they were successful on a bid for a condo. So, of course, already humiliated beyond repair, we say, "where about?" So, she says, oh, just south of 12600 South, about 4500 West. To which we realize...is most likely within our Ward boundaries. So, now I'm picturing our joyous reunion in which she has ZERO idea who I am, but I recognize Ms. Blondie and those cat-like blue eyes and the less-than-careful way she handled our...situation.
Anyhow, the next 48 hours I watched every conceivable combination on The Netflix with a bag of mixed veggies (with btw, you STILL need to put in a ziplock or they'll leak all over your undies when they melt). I received a lot of good natured ribbing, but Stacey was a total angel in bringing me grilled cheese sammiches, Diet Luv, or whatever else I could order as I sat there for the next two days. I didnt have to wear the cone of shame like I've seen other dogs come home from the vet with, so I counted myself fairly lucky in every regard.
Well, true to form I was only down for a couple of days, but I waited a few days before I walked more than a hundred feet or so. You're supposed to wait, "10 DAYS" before attempting a personal release, and I'd say we almost made it 3 days. Which by the way, was probably the second scariest thing I'd ever done. 1st scarriest thing is getting shot at, 2nd scarriest is of course the possibility you've lost your ability to shoot back.
Anyhow I gotta put this in the mail and get engaged in family life again. All the best of course. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas, and that your New Years is prosperous and that you and your family enjoy the greatest blessings that God has to offer you.
All the best,
J
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