My Thick Ballsack and other things that go bump in the night

Good Eeeeevening....

I have no idea what I am still doing up. It's like I wait all day for bedtime to roll around, but then when everyone is finally asleep, I just sit here like a lump on a log. Let me tell you, I'm not the smartest sometimes.



I really should finish posting about our trip - there are some really funny gong-show moments, as well as a new catch-phrase all y'all can use, but I don't know if I'm up for it tonight. It just takes too much effort to remember what we did when.



I realized the other day, after I had a visit to the doctor, that I never filled my dear readers in on my vasectomy saga. It all began back in the spring. I have been tossing the idea around ever since it became clear to me that I do not want to have any more children. Up until this year, a part of me really wanted baby number 5. However, as the kids get involved in more activities, and as I get more and more broke, and more and more tired, I've come to realize that a 5th would really be a challenge - no room for a 5th to sleep upstairs, no room in the van, etc. And you know, we've been so lucky with our kids: we've conceived during the first month of trying for 3 of the 4 (baby number 2 took 3 months), all pregnancies were great, all babies were healthy, all deliveries were great, etc. So, we've been really lucky. But the older we get, the more there can be complications. If we had another baby, I'd be 41, Rachel would be 40, and we don't want to risk anything. So, I've realized we are done. And I am completely fine with it. It's a good feeling not to see a baby and think "oh, I'd love one too." So it's all good.

Now, I am pretty confident that since we know the precise moment we CAN conceive, we also are smart enough to AVOID that moment. Rachel usually knows when she's ovulating, so we could probably do some freaky Catholic voodoo birth control thing, without the charts and thermometers. Birth control is a complicated thing when you get old. Rachel was offered the pill after the last baby, but we don't feel comfortable with that at our age. My sister almost died from blood clots from the pill, so we are cautious about it. So, in between babies, we use condoms, which are a royal pain in the ass. I mean, I'm fine with them, but I keep thinking that I really wouldn't want to be 46 years old and have some condom malfunction, and have a surprise baby. So, I thought, what the hell, I'll get fixed.

For some reason, I am kind of weirded out about it, why I do not know. However, I think it will be wonderful once it's over and done.

So, in April or something, I go for my yearly physical (that I faithfully have done every 5 years or so), and after the turn and cough and the "let's talk about the weather while I finger your ass" moment, we start talking vasectomy when he asks if I have any concerns with the plumbing. He really put my mind at ease, because I told him I thought I wanted one, but was still a little hesitant. He said that these sort of major life decisions can be hard, and said he didn't have his until he was 42 (he has 5 kids). He reassured me that there is absolutely nothing different sexually, and blah blah blah, and to see him when I was ready. Anyway, he's a friend of ours, but still, I really appreciate his advice.
So then the next time I went in with one of the kids, I told him I wanted it done, and after making sure "I was there yet" he told me he doesn't do them, and he refers patients to the town urologist. He made the referral and life went on. I had heard about the urologist in town - some like him, some don't. I read his reviews on rate your doctor, and some say he was a little rude, some say he didnt like fat people, but most liked him. The few people i know who had one from him had no complaints.
So, I get the referral in the mail, and had to go to see him in June. Well, his office is this odd place, full of macrame and shit, and it was like a blast from the past. It sort of reminded me of my childhood livingroom, and it sort of reminded me of the set of a 70s porno movie - you know what I mean - macrame, ferns, brass, fur rugs....but minus the ugly naked people.
Anyway, I show up and figure the consult will be run of the mill. It sort of was, but it sort of wasnt. I get there before he gets in, and so it is me and this old guy who must have prostate problems or something waiting and watching soccer. Then this Mexican dude comes in, and I realize Ricky Ricardo is the doctor, and think "hmmmm" and wait my turn. He calls me in, and I am pretty sure I walk through those louvred swinging bar door things into his office. He tells me right away to go into the back room, where there is this examination table, and he tells he needs to examine me, and to take the stuff out of my pockets and to pull my pants down and get on the table. So, I start to take my pants off and he goes "NO, just pull them down", so I think "whatever floats your boat" and pull down my pants and get on his table, and comes over and starts the exam. WELL. He starts yanking and pulling on my nuts and tubes within my sack, and all this other disturbing stuff, and goes "OH.... You're thick skinned..." and then he starts yanking on my balls like they are a Pez dispenser, and mutters, and then tells me to come into the other room and tells me in this Mexican English of his that he is going to put me out to do it. He says "you're thick skinned.... I'll be yanking and you won't be happy" and then tells me he just put two guys out yesterday to do their snips, and that he'll authorize a week off for me, and to sign the consent form, which I did, and he said "i'll be pulling and you won't be happy. This will be easier." Now, I don't have any experience with ball sacks other than my own, but I'm pretty sure my skin isn't any thicker than the average Joe. At first I was thinking "OMG, I am a fucking FREAK, with this thick-ass nutsack - they probably will need a saw to break through it." But then I thought "I call bullshit to that". Hell, it's not like I just got out of the pool or something. Also, I don't know if I ever told you this, but i have a huge fear of being put under. A HUGE fear. If I sleep on my back, I have sleep apnea, and hold my breath and know I am not breathing but can't wake up and feel totally paralyzed and yada yada, and so I've always thought "if i ever have to be put out, I may not wake up." It's a neurotic fear of mine. So I am disturbed, but whatever, I let it go. He even gets my consent on his dictophone.
So fast forward to when we get home from California - I get these pre-op papers in the mail, telling me I can't wear jewellery, and can't drive, and have to sign to say I won't sue the hospital if I die, and it says I need bloodwork, and ANOTHER physical, and my weight recorded, and on and on, by my doctor. I am pissed and scared.
So I just wait.
But on Tuesday, we take 3 of the kids to get warts burned off - they each had a wart, and so we wanted to get that shit outta the house, so we got them burned off, and I told the doc about him wanting to put me out and if i had other options, and he looked at me like I was crazy and said "you don't have to be put out." I didn't even mention the thick skin thing, but said it was inconvenient to get another physical and to fast and whatever and he looked at me and said (this is why he is the greatest doctor in the world), "It's not that it's inconvenient. You don't take anesthesia lightly, and a general especially. You need to weigh the good and the bad, and don't take it lightly. If you can avoid it, avoid it." And then he said "it will be inconvenient, but i can refer you to some great urologists in the city" and I said "AMEN BROTHER" and he wrote on the req. that I was a 40 year old with 4 kids who needs a vasectomy with a LOCAL.
So now I am waiting for my city referral. I'll let you know how it goes when it happens.
I can't believe I told all y'all about all of this. I have no shame.
I should go to bed. I am reading three books at once. I am finishing the Kitty Kelley Oprah book, which is sort of good, sort of boring. It's supposed to present Oprah in a bad light, but it's nothing we didn't know before - just shit we forgot. I dunno - I'll write a full review when I am done.
I am also re-reading the Mick Fleetwood bio - my freakin' IPOD does NOT play random when you put it on shuffle. It is always chock-full of weird shit, like Anita Baker, and the early Fleetwood Mac, the late 60's/early 70s albums - the pre-Stevie/Lindsey stuff. I actually like that stuff, but can never keep the changing line-up staight, so I thought a reread would help. My sister lent me a book called something like "Orange is the new black: my year in jail" or something like that. I started it camping last weekend, and it's fucking good too. I also keep rereading parts of Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang, because this one chapter makes me almost piss myself. Chelsea Handler, you are one funny bitch.
Hey, question - I am 40 - am I too old to wear a tight shell-looking necklace? You see, when we were in the states, I found an Aeropostle outlet (me and my thick fucking nutsack love us some Aeropostle) and bought a shell necklace thing. I put it on, and since it sort of ties on, you cannot untie it. So, other than trying to rip it off in Tracy, California one night, in the midst of a panic attack I'll explain later in my vacation post, I have left it on. However, it occurred to me that I might be too old for this shit. Am I?
Ok, I am going to read something. Me and my thick-ass sack bid you all a good night.