Going under the knife


I recently had to go under the knife for an operation.

To the best of my recollection this is the first time I have had surgery. For two months prior to my appointment, the range of my emotions went from fearless to terrified and everything in between.

I began looking through my past; there were daily reminders that led me to my decision and I started to wonder if my life would ever be the same.

As the day quickly approached, I began making sure everything in my life was in order.

On the outside, I maintained a cheerful countenance and tried to laugh often, joking about the procedure, the recovery and life in general.

Friends and co-workers, for the most part, did a wonderful job helping me maintain levity to the situation. But occasionally I would run into someone I knew who would share a horror story, and again I would find myself doubting my choices.

The day of my operation, which was scheduled to start shortly after noon, I found myself so nervous I couldn’t eat and I had a hard time sitting still.

When I arrived at the facility and checked in at the front desk a nurse brought me out a small pill to chew so it would absorb and react faster. Did they know I was worried?

After I said goodbye to my loving wife Shannon, they led me back to the room where the procedure would take place. I considered running, but then I realized that would make me look like a coward, so mentally I decided to grit my teeth and bear it.

After stripping myself of my clothes and putting on a gown, they had me lay on the table, and when I looked up I saw the fluorescent lights had been covered with a picture of a cloudy sky that had a kitten, a Pomeranian with his tongue sticking out and some creepy-looking parrot-like bird looking down at me.

Was this some sort of mind game they were playing with me? Did they know I loathe most small dogs, I am not a fan of kittens and parrots are downright annoying? Was I destined to end up in some sort of hell with these animals?

Fortunately, shortly after I noticing the beasts that were looking down on me the doctor walked in — and there was no way I would make a break for it then, leaving my biscuits showing out the backside of the gown as the doctor, with some sort of Vincent Price-ish laugh, heckled me.

After the numbing, or possibly the Xanax they gave me kicked in, I found myself pleasantly relaxed although still creeped out by the beasts looking down from above.

After a short conversation with the doctor and some very slight tugging, the operation was complete. They sent me back out to my wife a mere 30 minutes after I entered the room, with a few prescriptions, a small cup and a set of instructions.

The instructions were the best part of the procedure. I had it — on official paper from the doctor — instructions to do nothing, keep my feet up, and keep a bag of frozen peas on the crown jewels for the weekend.

This was a big deal! With three kids afoot in my house and one on the cusp of learning to crawl, I had on official order — that may as well have been from the Lord himself — that I was to do nothing for the weekend.

The recovery wasn’t so bad, because the horror stories I was told leading up to it painted a very clear picture for me: follow the doctor’s instructions.

In two months, I will head back to the doctor to drop off a sample that will verify if the vasectomy was successful.


Please review our community guidelines before posting

Please keep comments on topic and appropriate for all ages. Remember that people of all ages read our website. Those that are not appropriate will be removed. Please read our full community guidelines before posting.

No comments on this story | Please log in to comment by clicking here
Please log in or register to add your comment

Copyright © 2018, Sunrise Publishing. Powered by: Creative Circle Advertising Solutions, Inc.