Despite assurances from all our doctors that Dan and I clearly cannot conceive naturally, we decided to err of the side of caution and shut that shit down.
Dan had an attempted vasectomy earlier last month. What’s the difference between an actual vasectomy and an attempted one, you might ask? Well, there’s a vas deferens. That’s not a typo. It’s a terrible medical pun.
Due to so much existing scar tissue from previous surgeries, they were unable to find Dan’s vas deferens, the little duct that delivers the sperm to the urethra. After lots of digging, his doctor didn’t make the cut. Literally. And Dan got the shaft.
You might think that this only further proves our doctor’s lack of concern regarding potential pregnancies. And you would be right. But as a redhead, I take great joy in doing things that others tell me I can’t. And in case my uterus follows suit, we felt it was best to tie up loose ends. We certainly don't need anymore of these cute kids,
So, we are back for round two, this time with a specialist. Dan’s been in the OR for almost an hour as his doctor plays a brutal game of hacky sac to search out and destroy that tiny duct.
Per usual, we have made all of our nurses and the doctor uncomfortable with our inappropriate puns and casual, joking manner. The humor wasn’t lost on us that we, the infertile couple that spent most of our 30’s trying to make babies, are now thrilled to be closing up shop.
I kissed Dan and told him I loved him. As they rolled him away in his little hat and booties, I shouted “and don’t come back until you’re sterile!”
Update: it’s been a week since Dan’s surgery and it’s fair to say he definitely has the biggest balls in the house. He’s recovering well, despite some major swelling, and to celebrate his new-found sterility, we are taking his balls to the happiest place on earth. DISNEYLAND.
I’m sure we’ll have a ball.