My Vasectomy and a Hot Poker Leads to Happiness.

I’ve had requests to tell the story of my vasectomy. I wrote about it when it first happened, but I never gave anyone any updates. So, here is the full story:

On Thursday September 14th 2007 at 2 pm I signed a paper agreeing to sterilization and underwent a vasectomy. And although my sister just recently gave birth to a beautiful, smart, amazing little girl, I’m still glad I get to be an uncle and don’t have to be a dad.

I was 32 at the time and didn’t have children. The first doctor I saw wouldn’t even agree to do the surgery because I was childless. “What?” I asked, “Are you going to wait until after I cut my wrists to cut my tubes?” Because if someone tells me I’m a daddy, I’m going to jump off a freaking bridge if I can’t find a sharp enough razor.

There were many reasons I decided to make this step. So many reasons I haven’t the time to list them all. But I’ll give you a short list: Over Population – besides religion, this is the worst problem. Solve this and solve everything, Shit and piss and burbs and crying, pull-up’s, baby proofing the house, diapers, the expense of things like baby wipes (if they aren’t for myself), and cradles and cribs and bottles and having to replace everything and not being able to even remember when you could have nice things and keep them nice, hell, just the expense in general, I can barely afford to support myself…The smell of babies makes me gag, Bags filled with bottles and toys and cheerios (I hate bags of cheerios),Teenagers… It’s inevitable; all babies grow up into teenagers. What if my kid is all screwed up? What if my baby has flippers or is retarded? What if my kid listens to the kind of music my friend Eli listens to? What if he/she is left-handed? Worrying where to send them to school. Grounding them and looking like jerk or not grounding them and having them run all over you. Not being able to go anywhere without hiring a babysitter, unless you want to be one of those annoying people who bring their kids out in public. I hate those annoying people who bring their kids out in public (there is a very good reason for walk-in closets). Then there are the psycho babysitters that drug babies to keep them asleep or put them in a microwave. Then there’s the cost of replacing the microwave. Those baby slings people wear on their backs and chests. The knowledge that if I ever was in the situation where I had the time and money to attempt to raise a child that I so much more rather travel the world or just read a book for an goddamn uninterrupted hour than to try to keep a kid from swallowing something poisonous or wanting to join a football team. I’m sure there’s more, but I have to stop. It’s all so depressing.

I had some fear a day before the surgery. I started arguing with my girlfriend about stupid things. I was wound up very tight. I realized I was scared. I tried to think clearly: In the future, you never know… I could get hit by a car and suffer brain damage and the next thing you know I’ll want a kid to take care of me, because when I’m drooling after the accident no one else will want to. But I could always adopt later on, or try for success and have a reversal like my sister’s husband. Sure it’s expensive, but if I can afford to raise a kid I guess I could afford a reversal operation, right? I had a vision of myself crying as soon as it was over, regretting my decision, thinking I just screwed up the possibility of my legacy. What if my kid could have cured cancer or single-handedly eliminated all reality television, or what if he or she found a way to make a perfect everything… I’d love a perfect everything. I imagined myself old and without a kid to leach off of and I’d be on disability and living in a shelter.

Then someone walks by with a stroller and the sight of it makes me completely snap out of any fear I was spiraling into. Goddamn, they looked miserable with that huge stroller.

First the anesthesiologist put a big patch on my leg, this put into my bloodstream a drug to slow my blood down so I wouldn’t bleed out. He told me what the doctor would do, said it would take from 2 minutes to about 30 minutes for the doctor to find the vessel. You can never tell how long it will take. I was hoping for 2 minutes. Then he gave me a shot to calm my nerves, because he was about to cut into my testicles and that isn’t usually a calm situation.

I waited on the table naked from the waist down for about an hour. I peed first but waited so long for the doctor that I had to pee again. I told them I had to go again and they rushed out of the room to find the doctor. “Hurry! He has to go PEE-PEE!” (Actual quote). The doctor came in seconds later but said I had to hold it in for the entire operation. It’s one thing to keep your bladder still while taking the subway home, it’s another thing to have to pee while a doctor cuts into your balls.

I was swabbed down with iodine and given a local anesthetic. The doctor cut into my right testicle first. The pain is measurable to a tattoo. Then he prepares to cut into the left testicle. He warns me that the left is harder to do because it hangs lower and it will most likely hurt more than the right one. The pain is measurable to a tattoo, with a huge knife on your delicate testicle.

I made a bunch of jokes because I was a little uncomfortable being naked on a table with a knife in my sac. I told them to give me another few inches while they’re down there. The nurse comments that I have huge testicles. I do. My girlfriend likes to say at parties that my testicles are so big that in comparison it makes my dick look really small. Thanks babe, I love you too. I then ask the nurse if she wants children. She says yes. I tell her I can’t help her and then I laugh at the nurse for wanting children. Then I’m done. I thought it was odd that I never got shaved for the operation; I just assumed they would have done that. Maybe that was the first sign my doctor wasn’t the top doctor in New York.

But for a while all was great. My girlfriend took the day off for moral support and to help me back home via taxi. She did a lot of running around for me… pain pills, ice packs, food, and seltzer water. She was wonderfully sweet and caring. Considering I was robbing her of mother-hood. But she really has her heart set on a black baby, so we’re all good.

The first week I have to abstain from sex. No problem I think. I’ve gone longer than a week before. But I think one of the side effects of the operation must be thinking that you are going to lose your mind unless you can fuck. That’s all I thought about. I had more erections in that week than I have had in my entire life. It was as if my body was getting revenge for treating it so badly. It was teasing me. That week was horribly long; it felt like at least 6 months.

As I healed I noticed no pain. Everything worked the same as before. Better actually. I never realized what a burden I carried my whole sexual life (although lets admit it, the burden wasn’t on my shoulders for very long. I’m kinda a late bloomer, surprise, surprise). But damn, knowing I wasn’t going to accidentally get my girlfriend pregnant was such relief. I feel bad for the girls, before my girlfriend, that I had sex with… after sex I was always worried, and even if I didn’t think it showed, I’m sure they could tell.

My left side took a while to heal, it was still a little sore for months, but the right side had no signs of violation after a week or so. My ejaculations were the same as they were before; there was virtually no swelling because I was smart enough to keep ice on it all the time for at least 4 days. Sometimes I feel asleep with the ice on my balls. I took a lot of baths.

A few weeks later I had to go to the doctors again and ejaculate into a little white cup for them to test it to see if any little parasites (sperm) were still present. If they weren’t any then I’d be free, if they were, that’s would be okay too, I’d just have to go back a month later and have them test it again. Sometimes it takes a while to get the poison out.

I’ve never had to cum into a cup before. Well, you know, not for professional reasons… I thought of bringing my own porn just in case all they had there was those 70’s big bush movies. Maybe, I thought, I could even persuade a young candy striper to inspire me? My girlfriend wouldn’t mind if it was all for science, right? Well, probably not…

But turns out they didn’t have in-house services. So I had to jerk off into the sterile cup at home and then rush across town by subway to the doctors. I had an hour or the sample would not be fresh enough. The subways always suck when you are in a hurry and this was no exception. Every train I needed was delayed. People were shoving and pushing me. I wanted to tell them to back off; I had a cup of sperm in my man-purse, you assholes! But this is New York; lots of people were probably carrying cups of semen. Somehow I made it in time and the results were perfect. I was now 100% sterile.

A few moths later, after I ejaculated (I’ll pretend I was having sex, but I was probably jerking it), I immediately felt a terrible pain, I can only describe it as a hot poker being shoved up my ass and exiting through my dick hole. The pain ran through my body. It was horrible. Tears came to my eyes and I couldn’t see straight, I called the doctor. And then waited two weeks for an appointment.

When I saw my new doctor and told him my issue he asked me why I had elected to do it surgically, instead of the simpler way where they just make a little hole, no knife. I said “WHAT? THERE WAS ANOTHER WAY?” I had no idea. The new doctor asked who performed the operation, when I told him he said “Oh, him”. What do you mean, OH HIM? I was getting worried. He said that he used to work in the same practice as my old doctor, said he didn’t like him, that he got the impression my old doctor just wanted to get everything done with as soon as possible so could so he could leave for the day. But he checked me out and said that although I should have been shaved that it wasn’t the issue, he said that there was probably just scar tissue that could have been avoided with a more careful hand doing the cutting. Or I could have avoided any problem by doing it the non-surgical way, had I been even given the choice. He said the pain would go away on it’s own.

It took about a year for the hot poker to disappear after sex. It wasn’t every time I came, so I always thought it was getting better, that I had healed. I’d go months without any pain, and then BOOM! The pain lessened every time though… eventually it was just a dull annoyance. It’s been 4 years since I had the vasectomy and despite everything I’d highly recommend it, hell, I’d do it again. Non-surgically of course… And the pain hasn’t come back, so I can thankfully say that I can cum without pain. I know that sounds weird, but what part of my life doesn’t?

They say you aren’t supposed to have the operation unless you are 110% sure this is what you want. Reversals are expensive and don’t always work. The adoption process is difficult and all the good babies are always taken before you get to the orphanage. I walked into the doctor’s office with my mind made up to only about 95%, but now I’m 200% sure I did done the right thing for me.

After all, I always say: “Make Love, Not Babies”, might as well make sure I live up to it.


Published by: marc calvary

eternally residing in new york, the carbon based mistake currently takes the form of zines, photography, writing, blasphemy, design, art, and printing. - publish and be damned


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