An Open Letter to my Man Parts

Dearest Ballbag & Surrounding Area,

I sit here writing this on the day before my Vasectomy. First let me just point out the fact that I am actually sitting. Comfortably. On a wooden chair. I don’t think I will have this opportunity for the next week or so to be comfortable on wood. But I digress…

Anyway, I’m not sure really where to start on this. This day has been in the works since Oliver was born. Like most things in my past, I’ve procrastinated this (arguably too long). However instead of putting you off like some paper in college where my grade might reflect the lack of effort and last minute rush, procrastination of this event has rendered my wife prego with our 4^th kid and will no doubt be reflected on our bank account. However, I have to think you (and the man upstairs) had bigger and better plans for me than a mere 3 kids. I am going to trust that and go with it.

I am not one to dwell on the past or look back on things. However, I do think an event such as this warrants some retrospect. We have been through a lot together. Not too many close calls, zipper incidents, or blunt force applied. It has been a good time for the most part. Way to go.

 I would like to also thank you for your seemingly relentless reproductive qualities. It’s a really redeeming quality about you and I am sorry for removing it. My kids are really awesome and I appreciate you making some of the best genes this side of the Mississippi. If it wasn’t for them I wouldn’t be a dad and have had all the experiences that come along with that.

I’d also like to take this time to briefly thank the NCAA for creating March Madness. I will be a basketball expert by the end of the weekend.

Your Buddy,

John

P.S. Let's hope this goes better than Jamie's did. He still walks with a limp.

Well... There Goes Retirement

If you read our Bios on the About Page you'll see that I have 2 wonderful daughters. They are awesome. Emotionally unstable at times, but overall still the best kids anyone could ask for. Well their lives are about change drastically. Through mostly fault of my own we will be adding to our brood in October. I am thoroughly excited about this. However, that excitement is paired with equal amounts of anxiety & concern. Before anyone freaks out, everyone is healthy. The concern on my part is just the overall questions that come along with being a dad.

• Is it a boy or a girl? While some people insist on finding out the sex of their kids, my wife since our first child has insisted on not finding out. We tend fly by the seat of our pants and are terrible planners for stuff like this. So being surprised in the delivery room has been a great thing for us. Also the hospital staff gets into it too because they don't know either. That being said, with 2 girls already on land, I am a bit curious to see if I need to build a tampon closet in 10 years. +1 for gender stress


• Is the baby healthy? I know I have absolutely no control over this. But this is the number one-ish concern for me.  I want my kid to grow up with every advantage possible and want them to be able to live a normal life. However, it weighs on my mind daily. +1 for uncontrollable factors


• How the hell are 2 of us going to raise 3 kids? 1 kid is easy although you don't realize how easy it is until you have number 2. Right now 2 is good. Not easy, but we can each restrain one and not worry about a surprise folding chair to the back. +1 for WWE-like interference stress


• Please don't be a vampire... Admittedly I have read the Twilight series. In the last book the girl has a half-vampire, half-human child. A vampire kid would be cool, but is it worth the beating she receives? Its the pregnancy issues my wife goes through that I have a hard time with. She literally gives up so much physically to have a kid it is amazing that she would want to have more than one. The daily vomiting and constant nausea to me seems unbearable, but she does it. She's also has had preeclampsia & Bell's Palsy with the other kids too. She amazes me at how much she is willing to go through. I just don't want her to be in any pain. This is the other number one-ish concern. +2 for Twilight reference & wife stress


• How can we afford it? Not that I am Scrooge McDuck and have a room of money to swim in, but planning for the future has always been on the forefront of my wife's & my thoughts. Almost to a fault we put away money for ourselves and kids (mostly kids) leaving not much in the tank to have some extras we might want or go on vacations. We are fine with this rationale. However, I don't know how we can keep saving & pay for another one to go to Day Care (which is in my mind a Ponzi Scheme). We could buy another (larger) house for what child care will cost us. Somehow this blog needs to start turning a profit or I will be reduced to reviewing diapers in hopes I can get them free. +1 for not having a condo in France

Okay, it really isn't that bad, but you get the point. Also, let it be known (and if my wife decides to actually read something I write) that I am extremely happy about the new addition and wouldn't trade any of the stress above for the end result.

-S

They Call Him Dr. (Free) Love

This is a follow up to an earlier post where I talk a little about the decision I made to sign my manly bits up for a date with another man. Please be warned, this is all clinically accurate, so some descriptions may be more descriptive than you want to read or imagine. The better you know me, the more likely that is.

So I met the doctor who would be giving me the big snip (or, as I later learned, the one incision, two snips, four cauterized ends, four clamps, and five stitches) and I was really comfortable. We reviewed all of the same stuff I had already learned (I'd still be firing live rounds for 6-8 weeks, it might magically work again at some point in the future, it was WAY safer for me than the missus) and went over some new stuff (I wouldn't be developing bigger breasts, everything else would be normal except for the swimmers).

The Pre-Game

Easily the most important thing I took away from this meeting was my pre-op instructions, which was awesome in several ways. First, I could eat and drink normally before the exam, which is perfect for me, as I actually have a to-do to eat and drink more normally. Second, no blood-thinners the week before the procedure. I know someone who didn't listen to that particular rule and looked like a a pair of grapefruits choking out a baby carrot for a week (which is probably actually really, really cool right up until the pain kicks in). Also, for the very first time I got to take a Xanax.

Xanax Rocks

I have a reputation for being pretty laid back. I'm mostly just riding on fumes from college when I was actually laid back. Now, trying to raise kids, work, blog, yada, yada, and yada, I'm a raving freakin' lunatic and I have one heck of a time relaxing. So I usually don't. Let's just say that if I ever need to lie down quietly while someone manhandles my manhandles, I'm going to need something that can instantly relax me, Xanax is that thing.

The Procedure

Xanax rocks. I could feel some tugging, some pressure, but honestly, nothing too bad. My wife even watched the whole thing (with minimal laughing and NO pointing). Other than that, nothing really that you wouldn't expect from a procedure where some dude and a parade of nurses spend 10 minutes huddled around your berries.

The Recovery

As is so often the case, the recovery is much worse than the actual procedure. One bit of advice here: your doctor will tell you to buy an athletic supporter, and you will think "Nah, I've got some grippy drawers, I'll be fine" to which I say "buck up for the jock strap."

Early on the recovery was fine. Sure, I spent a day and a half feeling like I had been kicked in the {insert unused euphemism here} unless I was positioned just so (and I got very, VERY good at positioning myself just so) and another day and a half walking like a cowboy (admittedly more Dirty Steve than Dick), but still largely not too bad. Until a few days later when I noticed a dimple in my dangle. The medical term (and I'm speculating here) is a "double chin, you know, down there." I called the nurse the next day, and after 2 minutes of trying to explain it was told "if it is that hard to describe, he'll want you to come in and see it." So I went in to see him. It turns out that a stitch had stuck.

The Pain

I'm not going to fret on this too much, but let's say I'm impressed that a procedure centered around fixing a stitch could be so much worse than the procedure that produced said stitch. I had no Xanax and no wife, just an open mind and a doctor with the wherewithall to keep pumping in anesthetic (for which he should get a refund from the manufacturer) and the uncanny ability to get two hands elbow deep into a 1/4 inch incision.

The Recommendation

Despite my one-in-10,000 complication, I still totally recommend the snip. I just recommend getting it right the first time. And if that isn't possible, I'd try to have the doctor operate on them while they still sit securely in your wife's purse.

The End of My Era

Last week I got myself snipped. It seems a little counterintuitive to use one of the first posts in a blog about "fatherhood" to go into not being able to father any more children, but for all we know my parents briefly considered "Counterintuitive" for my middle name before finally settling on "Samuel."  So, in this first post, we'll address the reasons I signed myself up for the big "V" (As an aside, when writing statements like that, is it appropriate to preface a capitalized letter with the term "big"? Seems redundant to do so, but it seems too subtle to not do so.) and the questions I'm assuming you'll have for me (based almost entirely on the questions I've been asked so far).

Why don't you want any more kids?

I have four kids, each of whom I love dearly, and I really wanted to not have to love any of them any less (as we all know, every man has a finite amount of love to give his kids, and he just has to keep spreading it out with each new child -- it's a scientific fact). Also, my kids seem to be getting dumber. My 4-year-old can count to 100. My 3-year-old can't make it past 20. Not exactly evolutionary progress.

Why not just keep on using the birth control you've been using?

I'm like a damned Special Forces sniper -- one shot, one kill. My wife and I have 3 kids together (the oldest of my 4 is my step-son; it's a little confusing, so I'll probably be sure to call that out anytime the math calls for it) and it never took us more than about 2 hours of trying with any of them (editor's note: that included dinner, a movie, and the cuddling after). I refuse to trust any sort of non-surgical, non-permanent method for the next 10-15 years of her being active.

Aren't you scared for your boys?

Hell yes I'm scared for my boys. Painfully scared, as a matter of fact. But I really want it done, and it is about 10,000 times safer for the man than the woman.

So what next?

In my next post we'll explore meeting the doctor for the first time. Please note the next post is now live.