I always need to warn potential readers that my posts are probably completely inappropriate, but you clicked on it.
I am going to jump right into this, starting at the pre-consult. I was sitting in the office and the doctor walked in. “So, we’ll bring you in, put you in the stirrups, and then I’ll begin to shave you,” said the doctor.
Wow, that is something I would have never thought I would ever hear. And I get to pay for that? That is where the comparison to Ironman begins…”and you pay for that?” The second most popular question I had while training for the Ironman after “how far is it?,” was “and you pay for that?” Until now I didn’t quite understand why people would ask me that, and now I get it. Why would someone pay for that uncomfortable and painful experience?
A few days later I was on my way to the actual procedure with some queeziness in my stomach. I turned to Emily and told her that I felt the exact same way as I did when I slowly walked towards the swim start of Ironman St. George seven months earlier. Thoughts of what am I doing, this is going to hurt, is it really worth it, this is stupid, it is going to be torture, my body will be mutilated…and it is all voluntary. Every thought can be said for either event…an Ironman or a vasectomy.
While sitting in the waiting room I sat nervous as I was about to start my big endeavor. I turned to Emily and asked if she wanted to run away with me, avoid it all together. She smiled just as she had when she dropped me off in St. George to head to the lake for my swim.
After a few minutes the nurse called my name and I headed back into the procedure rooms. My stomach was turning. The nurse gestured toward the restroom and asked me if I needed to go one last time. Any of us who have done a triathlon and marathons know what it is like to go to the bathroom one last time before the gun goes off. Luckily there was no line for this bathroom and it wasn’t a port-a-potty…if it had been I might have stayed in there for a good long while.
I went into the procedure room and was told to get ready. The nurse left as I dressed down to my shirt and socks. I sat on the table, covered myself with a giant paper towel and waited. In all reality I was still covering more skin than many of the triathlon shirts and shorts that are out there.
I was still thinking about running away. I bet I could get dressed and bail before the doctor makes his way in…but what if he opens the door just as I am heading out, that would be so embarrasing…I’m stuck now. Just like with the Ironman, while treading water at the start line, I thought about turning around and stopping the entire thing before it ever began. But I knew I was already at the start line and there was no quitting now…oh crud…the gun just went off…i’m in it now, and I started swimming. In the doctor’s office, all of a sudden, I heard a knock at the door, it opened and it was go time.
From this point forward it really had nothing to do with an Ironman, except that it was what the Doc and I talked about the entire time while he was operating down there.
Friends of mine had said they were given a Valium before their procedure to calm their nerves. I was not given the option, and when the Doc took the needle to inject some numbing stuff it was quite painful. And then there was the constant feeling of a kick to the nuts as he worked down there.
I think I’ll stop here and spare the details, but he did show me the pieces of the Vas that he cut out. For a split second I thought about asking to take a picture…but my gut told me not to, and believe me the pain in my gut was ruling any decisions at the moment.
I have spent the rest of the weekend in bed with ice packs. I’m still not feeling that great when I get up and move around. I think I’ll probably take a day off of work and make sure everything is good to go, so people don’t see me walking around so gingerly, as I was after Ironman.