The Big V

Well, I failed.

Test results came back yesterday and my little swimmers are hanging on for dear life.

Yes, I had the Big V(asectomy) a couple of months back. It was not the most pleasant experience of my life, but I survived. The process has been a study in maintaining dignity while all around you, life is conspiring to rob you of same.

It began with the "consultation" process. My family doctor told me I had to meet with the surgeon, the kindly Dr. Bob, so he could go over the procedure, outline the risks and be sure I was ready to proceed. Bob, I was told, had neutered thousands of us. He knew what he was doing. So off I went to the consultation . . .

Where I met Dr. Bob's young, attractive female assistant. I'm not sure which is worse, having an older male doctor inspect the boys, or a young female who said she had to "make sure everything was where it is supposed to be."

Well, she found nothing out of place, and it certainly was not for a lack of looking.

"Think about something else, think about something else, think about something else."

And so it was that I found myself, working to avoid eye contact with anyone in Dr. Bob's waiting room, a few months later. I had been told the procedure would take 12 to 15 minutes and a few days to recover. Now the fact that they said "12 to 15 minutes" made me just a tad nervous. It sounded like someone was keeping track and trying to beat their best time here. I really didn't want the boys to be treated like a worn out tire at a Nascar pit stop. This is not a race. Take your time, do it right, and don't forget to put everything back where it belongs.

As I had been told, the worst part was the anesthetic. If you've ever had stitches, say, in your finger, you know what I'm talking about. It's kind of like a prolonged bee sting. On your finger, not so bad. Where he stuck the needle . . .

After Dr. Bob finished the first side, I was introduced to his intern, who was to do the other side. I learned the intern was from Saudi Arabia, where this procedure, he told me, was illegal. Um, okay. But let's all remember that this procedure is both legal and in full keeping with MY religious beliefs, okay? Let's not get all Jihad while we're wielding a knife in an area I am very fond of. And I'm sorry, but these thoughts did, in fact, run through my mind, given the world's political climate these days. My apologies if you consider that racist.

Bottom line is, he was a nice guy, we had as nice a conversation as is possible under the circumstances, and I was relieved to note that Dr. Bob did not take his eyes off of the subject the entire time.

Well, with a bag of frozen peas and Tylenol 3s as my new best friends, I got through the recovery phase in about a week.

Which brings us to Thursday.

Two months after the procedure, one must bring a "sample" to the lab to be sure the swimmers have all left the pool. Having lost the instructions, I phoned Dr. Bob's office to make sure everything was done right. I was somewhat dismayed, however, when his office person, told me the sample had to be one hour old.

"Any wiggle room on that?" I asked, given that I live about an hour and 10 minutes from the lab.

"No," she answered firmly. "One hour."

I explained my situation, to which she replied, "People get very creative."

See, I fell for what TV had taught me. You know, there was a room at the lab with "reading material," maybe "a video" and that's the way it went. Not so. I was to get intimate with the specimen cup, apparently somewhere between my home and the lab.

Well, I figured it would be easier to explain why I was speeding to a police officer, than it would be to explain why I was, well, spending a little quality time with the palm sisters, on the side of the highway at 11 a.m. on a Thursday.

In any case, I made it to the lab on time (130kmh in a 100 zone most of the way), turned in my cup and was told it would take 2 days for results. Huh?? What exactly was the rush then? If I had to be here in an hour, seems to me we'd be firing the sample under a microscope ASAP, wouldn't we? After all, there were only minutes to spare.

Well, I called the lab Friday and apparently there are still some tadpoles in the pond. And that means, oh joy, I get to make another mad dash to the lab in a month. Oh, and if after six samples, there are still fish in the sea, I get to start all over - from the beginning.