The Big Snip
Oct. 5th, 2013 10:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsI had a vasectomy yesterday.
I'm 47 years old and have two children. I also have a beautiful wife who's 46 and epileptic. Pregnancy would be devestating for the control of her seziure disorder, and the risk of birth defects at her age would be sky-high, and I absolutely don't want to be trying to figure out how to pay for college when I'm 65. Because of her seziure disorder, she's on a lot of meds-- some of which prevent her using hormonal birth control.
The procedure was interesting. I lay flat on a comfortable padded chair/table combination. They isolated the bits that mattered with sterile towels. The doctor was a comptent, handsome fellow in his mid-40s, and the intern was a cheerful young woman clearly starting her own career.
I have to say the way the prilocaine is distributed is unnerving. She actually holds the bottle while he maneuvers the needle through the sterility seal. They're both checking time and again to make sure it's the right drug, which is good, but it seemed a risky maneuver, two hands docking in space.
He confirmed what my dentist already knows: it takes a lot of prilocaine to numb me up. At one point early on, when he was doing the injections, I was complaining and saying, "Rrrrrr..... mateys!" Which made the cute intern laugh.
He worked on one side at a time, snipping and cutting and tugging. I didn't feel much once there was enough prilocaine, just an ocassional weird, vaguely nauseating sensation in my lower adbodmen. The cauterizing pen was an interesting device: a sterile, one-use, battery powered thing that seared connections closed.
Omaha came for moral support, although her busted shoulder meant she couldn't do more than that. LisaKit gave me a lift, presuming that I would be too stoned or too much in pain to drive home. Neither was true; the prilocaine didn't wear off until an hour later. We ordered delivery from the yummy Thai place on the other side of the woods.
So now I'm lying in bed with an ice-pack between my legs. Along with ibuprofen, he gave me the choices of codeine or wine; I chose the more traditional stuff-- a nice local Merlot, nothing too challenging-- although I had to pay for it myself, and it seems to be working nicely. I tried to watch Tom Cruise in "Oblivion," but the opening monologue was so bad ("routine memory wipe" is a phrase to get your supposedly AAA script thrown across the room) that not even the tech eye candy could sustain my interest.
I'm 47 years old and have two children. I also have a beautiful wife who's 46 and epileptic. Pregnancy would be devestating for the control of her seziure disorder, and the risk of birth defects at her age would be sky-high, and I absolutely don't want to be trying to figure out how to pay for college when I'm 65. Because of her seziure disorder, she's on a lot of meds-- some of which prevent her using hormonal birth control.
The procedure was interesting. I lay flat on a comfortable padded chair/table combination. They isolated the bits that mattered with sterile towels. The doctor was a comptent, handsome fellow in his mid-40s, and the intern was a cheerful young woman clearly starting her own career.
I have to say the way the prilocaine is distributed is unnerving. She actually holds the bottle while he maneuvers the needle through the sterility seal. They're both checking time and again to make sure it's the right drug, which is good, but it seemed a risky maneuver, two hands docking in space.
He confirmed what my dentist already knows: it takes a lot of prilocaine to numb me up. At one point early on, when he was doing the injections, I was complaining and saying, "Rrrrrr..... mateys!" Which made the cute intern laugh.
He worked on one side at a time, snipping and cutting and tugging. I didn't feel much once there was enough prilocaine, just an ocassional weird, vaguely nauseating sensation in my lower adbodmen. The cauterizing pen was an interesting device: a sterile, one-use, battery powered thing that seared connections closed.
Omaha came for moral support, although her busted shoulder meant she couldn't do more than that. LisaKit gave me a lift, presuming that I would be too stoned or too much in pain to drive home. Neither was true; the prilocaine didn't wear off until an hour later. We ordered delivery from the yummy Thai place on the other side of the woods.
So now I'm lying in bed with an ice-pack between my legs. Along with ibuprofen, he gave me the choices of codeine or wine; I chose the more traditional stuff-- a nice local Merlot, nothing too challenging-- although I had to pay for it myself, and it seems to be working nicely. I tried to watch Tom Cruise in "Oblivion," but the opening monologue was so bad ("routine memory wipe" is a phrase to get your supposedly AAA script thrown across the room) that not even the tech eye candy could sustain my interest.
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no subject
Date: 2013-10-06 03:08 pm (UTC)