It Made a Vas Deferens

When we’re young we make big decisions in a heartbeat: “I think I’ll be a Realtor”, “Buy a pub? Yeah, I’m in”, “Wanna get married?”, “You’re pregnant? That’s cool.” You’re immortal in the first half of your life so it doesn’t matter what you do, you can always change it later because there’s lots of later left. When wife #2 said we had to get married - she didn’t want to live in sin anymore and the last guy left after a few years of co-habitation – I shrugged and said “Okay”. I figured I’d been through divorce before and it wasn’t that difficult or expensive. Not a good starting point but I didn’t want to move and felt there was a 50/50 shot at things working out (see my piece on luck). I was still sub-40 and the end of time wasn’t on the horizon yet.

But it was making its presence known when I contemplated becoming a father at 43. I walked the beach and stared at the ocean. I talked to my brothers and other friends about it, the same people that told me I should absolutely not get married just because getting divorced was easy. But I didn’t take their advice then and was probably only asking because I wanted to think out loud and show myself I was actually thinking before making a big decision. It was my brother Peter who said “Looks like you won the lottery”. He said it was exactly what I was looking for: a fresh start. Divorced from the mother of my children, there was no ‘co-parenting’, no discussions on what we could/should do in any situation regarding our children. As the non-custodial parent in the early years I had no say in what school, what activities, what anything. Here was an opportunity to be the father I wanted to be and I wasn’t going to count on luck, I was going to remember the mistakes I’d made and do everything necessary to make this work. I had the vasectomy reversed.

I explained to Deb, in business-like fashion, that I was willing to provide the sperm she was buying each month, that I was warming to the idea of being a father again and that I saw us creating a family and a future together. In exchange for my genetic material and support of her cause I wanted some sort of assurance this was going to work and the only mechanism I envisioned that could give me that was a wedding. Perhaps the most unromantic marriage proposal, ever. Her response was intriguing: “You sure you want to do that?” A cryptic yes followed by a note taped to her door when I went to see her the next day. It said “Ask me again”.

Vasectomies are covered by our medical services plan and can be done in your doctor’s office in about half an hour. I had mine done by an ancient vasectomist in West Van who said “Bring a jockstrap” and “Don’t forget to shave…everything”. In our pre-procedure conversation I mentioned that I’d read an article about prostate cancer and the suggestion that there was an 80% increase in those who’d had a vasectomy. “Yeah…well…” He hummed and hawed and suggested that it was more likely due to guys being seen by a specialist such as himself are more likely to be diagnosed, or some such thing. My brain was saying “You gotta think about this”. My mouth was saying “Okay”. A half hour later wife #2, who was convinced children would conflict with her tee times, was driving me home. It may be the poor memory but I recall little pain or even discomfort and I was back at work the next day.

Vasectomy reversals are the polar opposite. It’s not covered by MSP, it’s not done in a doctor’s office and there’s no guarantee it’ll actually work. But, convinced I was starting down a new path, I ponied up the $1500 and made an appointment at Lion’s Gate hospital. It was a few months away so I didn’t think about it much until the day of. Upon arrival at the appropriate counter, I was sent to a nearby room and told to strip and put on one of those ridiculous gowns. I slipped on the slippers and waited and let the anxiety build. The sounds, sights and smells of a hospital were giving me pause, this was a big deal and I was going to be awake. The nurse tapped on the door and I asked her if it was possible to have an Ativan before we began. She said she’d ask the doc but he declined. Dick. I shuffled into the operating room and I assumed my position with feet in stirrups, legs spread and torso leaned way back.

Three doctors hovered, chatting about their golf games and the optimal number of stitches for reattaching a vas deferens. One lifted my testicles and inserted a needle. Then another, and another. Most guys are sensitive, even protective of their boys. Me, I’m a pussy. I even think about my boys getting a bump and I feel a gut punch. And he kept going. Ten, maybe 15, injections to freeze me well enough to start cutting and then they started. That’s when it started to feel like a dentist visit. You’re frozen, so there’s no pain but he bangs around in there and you feel the vibration and squeak and smell and try to think you’re somewhere else. But this wasn’t my mouth, he was pulling on tubes in my groin and I couldn’t put my mind elsewhere. A few times it caused a knee jerk reaction as I tried to protect myself so one of the docs held down my leg, gave me a frown and asked me “How could that hurt?”. I’d like to yank on his tubes.

A couple of hours later I hobbled to the waiting room to await pickup by the woman who was hoping to benefit from the new plumbing. Unlike the vasectomy, recovery from this was also a big deal with the biggest attraction being the boys. They were now triple their usual rotundness and wanted to be left alone so they and I lay back and waited. And waited. The sun arced across the sky and my bed became a sundial as its rays came through the window and moved up my left leg. I watched it inch its way up my leg five times before I risked putting on pants and sitting down. But I recovered and was told that in a few months I’d be well enough that I could get vigorous with the equipment and produce a sample that would tell us if it was worth the effort.

So...a new address, new living companions, new roles and new plumbing. Big strides down the road of change but more were needed to get to the destination. And the destination was defining itself as I went.

 Stay tuned.