Monday, 28 March 2011
I don't have any kids. To me sex is a pleasurable experience and not a reason to fill the world with upgraded versions of myself. With the population of the world now over six billion my input isn't required.
After much discussion with my wife (and the fact that the pill was having a detrimental effect on her) we agreed that I would get a vasectomy.
And so I found myself sitting nervously at the local hospital one Friday afternoon, gulping when my name was called.
I expected a bright, sterile room full of masked and scrubed up surgeons and machines going ping. Instead I was inside what looked like a school five-a-side court with some curtains sectioning off some gurneys.
An Asian man and woman dressed in civvies beckoned me to one of the gurneys, next to which was a table covered in sharp, shiny blades and a syringe like a drainpipe.
I could hear someone else going through a vasectomy behind one of the curtains and as there was no screaming or fountains of blood spraying over the top I took comfort and lay down while the woman went through the procedure.
First they would inject my gonads with anaesthetic and wait a few minutes for it to take effect before getting hands on with my tubing.
"Don't worry love, we've done a few of these today and you're the last one" the woman said, picking up the syringe.
I grimaced as she stuck the needle in me, all the while chatting with the male about who they would be meeting in the pub when they finished work.
Still chatting she put down the needle and without waiting for the anaesthetic to take effect picked up the scalpel and sliced open my scrotum. Now I don't know how to describe it but imagine a cold steel blade cutting into your genitals and that pretty much sums it up.
Once they had coaxed me down from the ceiling and apologised for diving in too early I watched the rest of the procedure like a queasy hawk as bloody fingers delved inside my sac but all I could feel now was a slight pulling sensation.
"There we go, all done. You should be back to work in a couple of days".
Yeah, right. Two days later I was back at the hospital with bollocks that looked like they had been kicked by a horse. I was off work for two weeks and had to keep my knackers in a sort of string hammock and walked like John Wayne.
Now if you are thinking of having this procedure, don't let my experience put you off. Mine was a Friday afternoon job and their minds were on the weekend.
Thankfully this is a once in a lifetime experience.