Some say a vasectomy is the greatest gift a man can ever give to the mother of his children. A sign he’s happy with his lot, no longer has the urge to sow his wild oats, and never wants to have children with anyone else. Cynics, on the other hand, are somewhat less generous, suggesting it’s merely the act of a hopeful husband, daydreaming of spontaneous sex without any unplanned surprises.
Either way, I’m not sure a vasectomy is for me. Not because I plan on fathering any more children (whether with my wife or anybody else for that matter). Nor do I intend on committing to a life of abstinence from here on out. Honestly (and I should probably add, figuratively), I just don’t have the balls to go through with it.
One man who clearly has far bigger balls than me (figuratively and, who knows, probably physically too), who not only went through with his vasectomy but also wrote about it in excruciating detail for the world to read, is my friend Mike – AKA the brilliant @daddy_freckle. Mike is not only a lovely bloke, he’s also an incredible writer – honest, observant and laugh-out-loud hilarious in equal measure.
Mike’s personal story of his vasectomy will have you in stitches and I’m so happy he agreed to let me share it with you all. I hope everyone will learn something from it (whether you decide to have one yourself or not). Enjoy!
An appointment became available unexpectedly in September, for me to get “the job” done. Some poor fella had bottled it and they offered me his place. So I took it.
Apparently if your Mrs is pregnant, they don’t let you have a vasectomy until after the baby is born. But my wife Sammi-Jo (pregnant with our fourth at the time) was adamant that I needed one at the earliest opportunity. I’d like to think her eagerness was a sign she was keen to get riding me like a cowgirl, risk-free, as soon as possible. But, several years later, I can definitively confirm that jumping back in the saddle was pretty low down her priority list.
The closest place I could have the vasectomy was in Chester, nearly two hours’ away. They said you can’t drive for 24 hours after the procedure, which would mean Sammi-Jo taking me and picking me up, with all the kids, for a mammoth four-hour round trip. Not a chance. So we decided to stay at the in-laws; they could watch the kids whilst Sammi-Jo chaperoned me and my sore bollocks around.
The big day came. Sammi-Jo dropped me off. I checked in and took a seat. There were two other fellas sitting nearby.
A door opened, and a man entered the room, looking sheepish. I tried not to look but couldn’t help it. I could tell that he was in discomfort but was trying to mask it. He hobbled out and past me, followed by a strange and peculiar smell.
It’s hard to describe the aroma of another man’s burning nuts. It’s one that sticks with you. In fact, I can still smell that man’s burning bollocks now.
He took a seat…carefully. Then one of my fellow un-snipped men in the waiting area got escorted into a room for pre-checks, only to re-emerge several minutes later and be ushered in through another door. I never saw him again. I presume he made it out alive.
As I was waiting, a surgeon appeared. I wish I hadn’t, but I overheard the words she uttered to the admin assistant.
“It’s quite a bad burn but we’ve put some burn patches on and I think he’ll be okay. I don’t suspect he’ll need any additional treatment.”
Now, when you’re sitting waiting for your balls to be cut open, the tubes taken out and BURNT, the last thing you want to hear is that someone’s been badly injured and it’s touch and go whether they’ll need further medical intervention.
But, before I could find out the fate of said “burning man”, it was my turn for pre-op. This part was pretty uneventful, nothing more than a rather mundane conversation. They even let me keep my penis and testicles in my pants for this one (which was nice of them).
However, no sooner had I sat back down in the waiting room, when I was summoned into the operating theatre by a young female nursing assistant. I entered and was greeted by two female surgeons who asked me to drop my kecks and hop on the bed. No foreplay. Just straight in there. Kecks off. On the bed. I expected my first experience of being naked in front of several ladies to be a somewhat more kinky affair.
My fantasies of an orgy did not include me naked on a surgical table with a large light above my balls, with what I can only describe as a puppy training pad with a hole in it placed over my genitalia, as three women stared at my junk through face masks and goggles.
They all introduced themselves, which was nice. It’s always good to get the names of the ladies about to hack away at your scrotum. Pleasantries over, they set to work. A large injection went in, followed moments later by surgeon number one prodding my left testicle and asking;
“Does that hurt?”
It didn’t…but I felt it.
As I lay there spread-eagled, the two surgeons and nursing assistant happily chatted away whilst cracking on with the job in hand. Apparently they travel all over the country performing vasectomies. They were only in Chester for one day… like a travelling band, except they don’t play instruments; they just chop testicles.
It’s a funny sensation, a vasectomy. There’s a lot of pulling, then the sound of scissors, before they start to burn. They then repeated the whole sordid process on the other side. In reality, it wasn’t too bad, but the smell… the smell does really get you.
All in all, it took about 20 minutes. And then, like that awkward moment after a one night stand, when you don’t really know each other but you’ve shared something extremely intimate and know you won’t see each other again, we said our goodbyes.
The nursing assistant took me to the recovery room where I was greeted by a man with his top off and some large bandages over his stomach. It was the guy the surgeon had mentioned earlier…the one with the “bad burn”. But rather than being from the vasectomy, which had gone well, it turns out he’d then got a bit flustered while in the recovery room and spilt a cup of boiling hot tea all over himself. It would have been helpful to know this information before I had my procedure.
After 10 minutes in recovery, I was given the green light to revisit the pre-op lady to discharge me. Unfortunately for her, I now had to drop my underpants and display the surgeon’s handiwork. She was very pleased with how the procedure had gone. I, meanwhile, was very unhappy. My penis had decided to get some sort of post traumatic vasectomy disorder and had retreated back inside my body for safety.
Before I left the clinic, I was given some rather unusual homework to complete. To ensure the procedure was effective, and we didn’t end up with any unwanted surprises, I would need to achieve at least 20 ejaculations over the next 12 weeks, to flush out any residual sperm in the old tubes.
20. In 12 weeks! Those are pre-kids, pre-marriage kinds of numbers. Don’t get me wrong; I was game. But I got off to a bit of a slow start.
Firstly, I was recovering from surgery, so didn’t feel up for anything for at least two weeks (new target: 20 expulsions in 10 weeks).
Then Sammi-Jo got Covid just as our fourth (and final) son William was born, which knocked me behind schedule again by another couple of weeks (new target: 20 ejaculations in 8 weeks, or 2.5 self-loving moments per week – still achievable but not easy when you have four kids, let me tell you).
Eventually, I made a start. There was a lot of apprehension at the beginning. I was worried I’d cause some damage, but I pulled through fine. And, once I got the “hand” of it, I soon found my rhythm.
Just within the deadline, I managed to get the golden number under my belt. I even managed to throw out a few spares, just to make sure no one was left behind.
My sample day was just before Christmas. Unfortunately I “donated” my deposit into the designated pot just as the post office was closing for the holidays. Then, with all the bank holidays over Christmas and New Year, I never got the chance to post it. Instead, the sample stayed in my car, untested and alone, well beyond the seven day expiry limit.
Eventually I managed to send off a fresh sample, and then just had to wait for the results…
Needless to say, I smashed it! “No sperm present.” And now my wife and I are free to Netflix and Chill without a care in the world!
I hope you’ve enjoyed that little tale of my vasectomy. For any guys out there hesitant to get it done, I hope it’s made the decision a little easier. All in all, it’s not that bad; far worse in your head than the reality. Just get it done. In the grand scheme of childbirth and parenting, men basically do naff all, so this really is the least we can do.
For more from Mike, give him a follow on Instagram here!
TOP QUESTIONS ABOUT VASECTOMIES
Does a vasectomy hurt?
Although the initial numbing injection will be uncomfortable, once you’ve had it, the procedure itself should be relatively pain free. Understandably, your balls will be a bit sensitive afterwards too, so expect to feel a dull ache for a few weeks while they recover.
Will a vasectomy reduce my libido?
A vasectomy doesn’t affect the production of testosterone so it should have not impact on your sex drive or your ability to “perform”.
Is a vasectomy reversible?
In almost all cases, yes. You can have a vasectomy reversal many years after the original vasectomy but the longer it has been, the less likely it will work.
Is a vasectomy free?
In most parts of the UK, you can get a vasectomy free of charge on the NHS, though you may have to wait a while depending on where you live. In other countries, the cost of a vasectomy ranges from nothing to $1,000, depending on your health plan and insurance cover. Even so, it’s still a bargain… female sterilisation is, on average, six times more expensive!
Is a vasectomy 100% effective?
Pretty much. A vasectomy is considered more than 99% effective… slightly more than condoms (which are 98% effective themselves). In short, once you’ve had it done, you won’t have to think about contraception again.