The Vasectomy Song

After our third baby was born, my husband made the nerve wracking decision to have a vasectomy. Having been through childbirth three times, I had to hide my lip curl at his anxiety. ‘Try passing a bowling ball,’ I wanted to say. Okay, did say.

His only request was that I accompany him for the procedure. The doctor agreed, but said if I felt light headed, I should leave the room. Seriously, I thought. I’ve been to the pain Olympics, my friend. This is a day at the fair.

When we got to the hospital, I was handed a gown much like the one my husband was wearing. Only difference, he was lying on a table looking extremely vulnerable. Awww, I thought. Poor guy. He looks apprehensive. I really did feel bad, having morphed from wife mode into mommy mode.

His doctor was a good one, but without the city experience of a thousand previous customers. My Winnipeg brother in law bragged that when he had his vasectomy, it was done in fifteen minutes at his doctor’s office, and he obligingly held the family jewels himself.

As per my job description, I stood by Clarence’s side and held his hand. The doctor injected some freezing and then we stood around like we were waiting for drinks. When the doctor finally got started, it wasn’t long before I realized that the freezing hadn’t completely taken hold. I think it was the way Clarence’s eyes rolled back in his head whenever there was a tug on the merchandise.

With my husband, no occasion can proceed normally so, before long, he began loudly whistling television theme songs. Judy Betteridge, the nurse, gave him a startled look. I thought to myself, let the crazy games begin. Clarence wanted us to play, ‘Guess the Correct Show.’

“Quick, which one is it?” he gasped. Fortunately, I knew his full repertoire. “Ghost Squad, 1963,” I said hurriedly, in case our nurse beat me. He moved rapidly from song to song while Judy and I began shouting out wild guesses. “Gunsmoke! Bonanza! Gilligan’s Island! Surfside Six! The Barney Miller Show! And so on. Mostly older themes.

Meanwhile, unaware they’d booked appointments on the same day, one of his many brothers-in-law was nervously waiting outside the room for his own vasectomy. ‘Who’s the nut whistling in there?” he asked. “That’s your brother in law, Clarence,” they said. “Ah,” he replied, needing no other explanation.

While all of this was going on, I was indeed growing a little queasy. The doctor had pulled something like a telephone cord out of Clarence’s private parts, saying, “What do you think? Cut about this much?” He held his fingers a half inch apart. “I have no idea,” I said, gripping the table and ready to faint. My gown was lightly spattered with blood and I truly wanted to leave the room. Don’t get me wrong…this was still a walk in the park compared to childbirth. But I wasn’t prepared for the reality of it.

In the end, it turned out that the theme songs benefited me as much as him. We laughed, we held hands, and when it was all done, he was fine. At home, we applied the glove of love (rubber glove filled with crushed ice gently resting on the affected area) and watched television, possibly gearing up for the next theme song occasion. Our neighbor, Rick Hall, made up a song about the whole experience and recorded it for us. I can’t find my copy, but it’s nice that the occasion was marked in such a special way. I hope Rick still has a copy, but since I can’t paste his tune here, I’ll add the one that Clarence whistled first. If, dear reader, you’re a guy with your own vasectomy memories, please feel free to join in.

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