The Big V

An exerpt from The Spirit Guide Bar

“The Big V"

by W.Z Snyder

© 2008 William Snyder

The daySophia was born - the day I held her in my arms the first time, I was so completely happy that I spoke Italian.

“My Baby Sophia, mi mada bambina gumbare y batta fuchina con mattta gufando con Manu Gianoble y Don Vito Corlioni de pasta fazool. Vesa me, mi Corazon de amore!”

OK, it wasn’t legitimate Italian; it was my own goofed up version of Italian, but believe when I tell you baby Sophia brought a priceless lode of happiness to our family.

The day we brought Sophia home, Gail made a second appointment with the doctor of slicology. Protocol called for an educational appointment attended by Gail and myself. Gail was babysitting four kids the day of the appointment. So we showed up to the doctor’s office with eight kids. The exam room was absolutely packed when the doctor walked in.

“Are these all yours?” he asked.

“Yes,” I lied as he pulled down his educational wall charts and handed us colorful pamphlets entitled Are You Sure You’re Sure?

Sophia started crying and one of the kids tipped over an aluminum trash can. Handing the pamphlet back to the doctor, I said, “Listen doc, I think we can save each other a little time here. Have you got something for us to sign?”

The doctor nervously handed me the clipboard and Gail and I both signed on the dotted line.

The day of the vasectomy was absolutely frightening. The appointment wasn’t until 1:30 in the afternoon so I went to work at Canyon State Academy for Boys that morning. But I wasn’t in any shape to do any teaching. All I could think about was the cutting that was to in store. From time to time I doubled over in anticipatory pain. Of course I told the whole story to the boys and they kept asking questions like, “So you’re goanna let the doctor slice you – down there?” and “Will they use a razor blade or a pair or really sharp scissors?”

I walked into the doctor’s office with Gail and the epic collection of our own and other people’s children. The receptionist rolled her eyes. The kids were a little loud and a lot rambunctious. Barit, my three year old asked a woman with blue hair to read her a magazine. The old woman didn’t answer.

“This is a doctor’s office.” The receptionist said bitterly.

“Yes, it is. That’s why I’m here – for a vasectomy.”

“There really isn’t room for all of these children in the waiting room.” she sneered.

“Are you saying you’d like them to leave? Is that it? I could have my wife take them away. Maybe you could give me a ride home.”

If she appreciated my use of sarcasm, she did a marvelous job of hiding it. By this time, the Tylenol with Codeine I had popped in the car was kicking in. Things were a little fuzzy. The next thing I knew I was laying on the cold sterile paper, undressed from the waist down. The nurse was a big hairy guy with tattoos of skeletons and naked women on his forearms. He told me to relax, that this procedure would be nothing to worry about. The door swung open and the doctor abruptly entered the tiny room. The first thing I noticed was she was a woman – and she looked a little pissed off. So there I was, naked from the waist down in front of scary looking biker and an angry woman.

“Hello doc” I said.

“We’re going to start by giving you injections of local anesthesia on both sides of your scrotum.”

She didn’t look me in the eye.

“With a needle?”

She didn’t answer. The biker produced a monstrous aluminum needle.

“Oh my God!” I said, “That looks painful.”

“Well, it’s not.” she said, shaking her head with condescension.

Closing my eyes, I tried to concentrate on my breathing. A gloved hand took hold and lifted my testicles and then - ZING; there it was - white hot pain on the left side. The needle remained in my scrotum for a few seconds. There was nothing painless about this. It hurt – a lot. Then the needle came out and I breathed a sigh of relief. But the white hot pain returned – to my right side. The breathing business was out the window. Now, I was grinding my teeth and groaning in pain. In retrospect, the pain was comparable to local anesthetic delivered to the mouth before dental procedures. There can be no doubt that the location of the penetrations had an added psychological effect. When the needle was removed from the right side I collapsed and groaned.

“It’ll be just a few minutes before the anesthetic takes full effect.” said Doctor Angry Pain Lady before hastily leaving the room.

I opened my eyes and biker nurse’s hairy face came into focus. He wore a paper surgical cap and his beard was covered too. This man had the bushiest eyebrows I had ever seen. The bristly eyebrow hairs jutted out two or three inches in every possible direction.

“Are you OK, man?” he asked.

“Anyone who says the big V doesn’t hurt is lying.” I whispered.

“Whoever said a vasectomy don’t hurt?”

The door flew open and she was back. This woman couldn’t have been older than thirty.

“OK Henry,” she said to her biker nurse, “let’s get started.”

“But wait,” I said “It hasn’t been a few minutes; shouldn’t we wait for the anesthesia to set in?”

“And where did you get your medical degree, Mr. Snyder?” she snapped, unadulterated man hating fire boring diresctly from her eyes into my soul.

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back and hit the pillow. I felt her make the incision on the left. Anesthetic, my left molar! This hurt. I went back to the yoga breathing. I could feel her yanking on vessels, first in my scrotum, then in my gut and finally in my shoulder. I breathed hard, like a woman in labor.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m trying to do yoga breathing – to control the pain.” I squeaked.

“That’s not yoga breathing. And you’re not in that much pain.”

Opening my vocal chords seemed to wrench my testicles, causing extra pain, so opted not to say anything.

Then I felt the slice on the other side – followed by a sharp jerk on some kind of testical vessel causing my arm to fly up in the air. This young woman truly was a man hating doctor. No doubt about it. I could only hope that my kids were out there absolutely trashing that waiting room.

At home, I lay on the couch with ice pack on my groin for two days. Yeah, the big V hurts, baby. Don’t let anyone tell you different.