It was a warm Monday afternoon, and I was fifteen minutes early to for my vasectomy appointment. I swallowed my single Valium just as we arrived on the second floor, and I checked in. I filled out a few forms, kissed Nervous Wife and the kiddos, and had a seat in the waiting room. Ten minutes passed before the receptionist approached and timidly informed me the doctor was running “about thirty minutes behind”.
“No problem,” I assured her, Valium haze just beginning to gloss over my eyes.
I utilized the next few minutes to go over the handout I had been given after my initial consult a few weeks prior (something I probably should have done before coming to my appointment). Let’s see, pre-game todo: bring an athletic supporter - nope; shave downtown- nope. Two strikes, no balls. Weird how every male genitalia diagram I’ve ever seen has the balls hanging lower than the penis. It’d be hilarious to see just one poster of a dude hanging way down, making everyone who looks at it feel inferior. Damned Valium … stop making me think about penis.
One of the few benefits of the military health care system is the amount of time we are afforded to sit and people-watch as we wait for doctors who have difficulty keeping to their schedules (I’m looking at you, Dr. Kim!) (some names have been changed - it’s up to you to guess which ones). Wow, look at this guy, I thought to myself. Nice high and tight, and awesome moustache, dude. Oh shit he’s coming to talk to me.
“Excuse me, Mr. Terry?” he asked.
“Yessir?”
“Hi, I’m Dr. Ferguson. I’ll be working on you today. This may seem like a strange request but … the doctor who initially did your consult didn’t leave me any notes (that’s YOU again, Dr. Kim!) so … I’d like to check you out myself. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” I told him. “My business is your business.”
Dr. Ferguson escorted me to the exam room and told me to rest easy: despite being behind schedule, I was the last appointment for the day, and was assured there was no pressure for him to rush.
“Well once you finish with me, you get to go home, so …”
“Trust me,” he again insisted me, “I am not in any hurry.”
With the door closed, the gloves on, and my pants around my ankles, Dr. Ferguson made a half-hearted attempt at small talk. NOTE to any doctors reading this: talking about how you just returned from three months in the Philippines does not put a patient at ease - at least not this patient!
After he had satisfied himself with the feel of my testicles, he tossed a gown at me and had me strip down, lay back, and wait for the nurse who would come “prep” me. (I resisted the urge to equate “prep” with “fluff”, thinking this a poor circumstance for an erection.) A male nurse entered the room, followed by a female nurse, both in their early 50s. Training day in Family Practice! Fortunately, the only prepping to be done was cleaning and disinfecting my junk. And flopping my penis against my stomach and taping it down. Least sexy thing ever.
Cleaned, taped, drugged and ready for action. But … wait, who is she? Just as the two nurses left the room, an attractive young Army Specialist came into the room, shuffled a few papers around, and took a seat in the corner, purposefully averting her eyes. I see you, I thought, I’m just not sure why you’re here. Family Practice Secretary? Recording the minutes of this week’s session? Ya just like to watch? Whatever, makes no difference to me. I’m not here for a date.
At long last, the doctor re-entered the room, Higher-Ranking Doctor in tow.
In order to distract me from what was going on, Dr. Ferguson again began making small talk. Again with the Philippines. Turns out he worked with a good friend of mine from Fort Bragg while he was out the–OUCH! What the hell, dude?!
“Sorry about that. The lidocaine is the worst part, I promise.”
Whatever, man. A little warning would have been nice.
I’d heard rumors of peer procedures involving mashing and flicking and poking. All I got were two shots of lidocaine, which took effect surprisingly quickly. Everything else, which certainly could have been mashing and flicking and poking, was just a sensation - an awareness - but certainly not painful.
The poking and tugging continued for over an hour while both doctors discussed different “approach techniques”. (By this time, Cute Young Specialist is no longer trying to avoid looking - she is full on staring now.)
“See,” Dr. Ferguson explained, “sometimes if you have large veins, it’s easy to get them confused with the vas deferens. If you make a mistake and cut a vein instead, you’re going to have a problem. There’s going to be a lot of bleeding, and it could be very bad.”
“Uh huh,” I replied.
“Chris, you want to try for a few minutes?” Dr. F asked. “I can’t isolate it.”
“[Long, audible sigh] Sure,” Higher Ranking Cranky Doctor responded.
It took another twenty minutes or so before I was given a decision to make:
1) continue mashing around for another hour and possibly not getting it
2) continue mashing and get it, but possibly cutting the wrong piece
3) giving up and letting urology give it a go another day
Door number three had a much shinier knocker, so I went with that one.
To his credit, Dr. Ferguson appeared genuinely disconcerted he couldn’t help me. In the end I appreciated his ability to mark his own lack of experience and pass me on to a more fully-equipped, surgical clinic.
Testicles: 1
Army: 0
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