Monday, January 2, 2012

Chapter 6: Vasectomy

I´m not sure this chapter will be part of the book as I have a feeling it doesn´t move the story forward, but here it is for your enjoyment:

Chapter 6: Vasectomy

A superior once said to me that “if the potential gain is high enough and the risk of getting caught is low enough, we´re all thieves.” At the time, I protested, but today I´d have to agree. It´s like we have a basic urge to get what we want with no regard for others. Ethics and norms are built on top of our true nature due to society´s pressure and are working against it. Don´t get me wrong, it´s a good thing. Without these inhibitions no society can survive and no man can live without society. It´s just that we need to see things as they are in order to understand ourselves and our surroundings.

Why do I share these thoughts with you? Well, as my story goes on, I´m sure you will see how the above is important to understand why I did what I did, regardless of my actions being totally inexcusable.

A couple of months before John asked me to mind his profile I was at a clinic to get my strings detached so to speak. It was an experience like no other to sit in that waiting room being less of a man. It hurt like h… but I tried to not scare my fellow sufferers greeting all the incoming casualties of the women´s liberation with a forced smile on my face. No one ever told me how to do this. It´s almost as if it´s printed into my genes how to conduct myself as I wait for the final go from the nurse: “the anesthesia have worn out and you seem to be OK, so you´re good to go. Do you have someone to drive you home?” the white lady asked one of my predecessors. He didn´t say anything, just nodded. It´s easier. Bodylanguage and facial expressions are controllable, but the voice is a whole different matter. The pitch alone discloses the excruciating torture they put you through in there and somehow a secret society rises among those who had the incision done. It´s unspoken of but we all do it. We pretend it´s no big deal. Like there´s no real pain. Piece of cake with whipped cream on top. No reason to scare the uninitiated potential members of the eunuch society.

But perhaps it´s about something else. Perhaps it´s just pre-cut me appreciating my predecessors’ acting performances and wanting to return the favor with a hiding smile and a bit of close-up newspaper reading.

The day the doctor informed me about the procedure this never came up. It was a whole different agenda. “Just relax,” my doctor had said, “Your libido will not be affected and your erection will be the same. So will your ability to ejaculate and you will have orgasms just like before.”

I´m not a male chauvinist, but that day I would´ve preferred a male doctor. Having some woman taking about my privates like that made me feel a bit uncomfortable and I´m quite sure I didn´t ask about all that. But I suppose she just ceased the opportunity.

We did our part to populate the world and we love all of our five children. I suppose two or three would´ve been enough and every time we had another one we decided to stop. But somehow, when we get in that mood, it´s like our brains are disconnected. I´ve tried to hold on to our decision: “No, honey” I´ve said numerous times, “we already are a family and we aren´t going to have any more children” but it doesn´t help much when her uterus is screaming for more work. So I give in. But after our youngest boy was conceived we decided to put a cork in it. I put in for the vasectomy and made sure that surgery would be scheduled before he was born, so that there was no way we could change our minds.

When the next poor sucker came out from the O.R. his face was torn in agony, but immediately after he saw all the men in the waiting room the statutes of sterilized men were effectuated and all of his muscles fell into a forced relaxation. Then he walked in a slow paste towards the coffee vendor and grabbed a strategic hot cup while doing some recon on the softest spot to sit.

The next victim was called in and I followed him in my thoughts. When it had been my turn, I didn´t even get the chance to say hello to the surgeon before the first pain shook through my body. It was a different experience to enter the O.R. where a hot nurse said hello. Did she just wink at me and lick her lips? “Please take of your trousers and panties. I am going to get some anesthetic ointment to lubricate you with” she said. Panties? I fought my urge to defend my manhood and did was I was told and then laid down on the operating table. Then she returned with a yellow smudge on her hands, grabbed my thingy and started lubricating as if she was preparing a Thanks Giving Turkey.

Auch! It hurt like being continuously stung by a giant wasp the size of a dog! My entire nerve system was put on full alert flashing lamps in all the colors of the rainbow in my head and my heart was beating in a paste that almost rose to an A-pitch singing like the fat lady in an opera.

“What´s happening?” the doctor asked bewildered when he came in. “Nothing,” the hottie said, “he´s adjusting to the anastethic… [Murmur, murmur…]” I couldn´t hear that last bit exactly, but I´m almost sure I heard the word “sissy.”

I didn’t feel the knife making the incision but it hurt all the way to my teeth every time he pulled one of the strings and detached them. And every time my eyes twitched I got the sissy-look from the nurse.

“Right!” she said, “You´re done. You can put your clothes on again and take a seat in the waiting room.” Are you sure about that? I thought to myself, but I didn’t say anything. She still had absolute power and I wasn’t about to question her authority.

Then the same procedure as everyone of my fellow victims: tiptoes, a hiding smile and strategic withdrawal to a corner with a clear view to potential attackers.

“Hi, honey.” It was Kate. She hadn’t brought the kids. Good call. She looked at me with sympathy and for the first time I wished I was back with the nurse giving me the sissy-look. “Are you done?” she asked. What a choice of words! “Yes, I´m done. I´m just waiting for the anesthetics to wear off and the nurse to give me a go.”

We sat there for a while saying nothing and once again I appreciated Kates wisdom. I was glad it was over. Never again would anyone put sharp steel to my genitals!

Then Kate looked up from her news paper.

“So…” she said, “have you been scheduled for removal of the stitches yet?”