Snip-Snip Part 2, "The Vasectomy"

Authors Note: The content of this column will be graphic at times. The language will not be explicit, however, the material may be uncomfortable for some people at time - It is not my intention to offend anybody.

The snow fell heavily as my pregnant wife muttered, “Well Andrew, it looks like your balls might be saved after all.” As many of you read before, my vasectomy was scheduled on February 1, 2010, but on the beginning of “D-Day” it looked as if my testicles would live to see another day.

With heavy doses of snow blanketing the Baumholder area in the days leading up to my surgery, road conditions were fair to say the least. With the accumulation already on ground toppled by the heavy snowfall on the day of my surgery, Celia boldly said, “I’m not driving you to the hospital today. Not in this weather.” Clearly this was a premonition and my way out.

I destroyed myself psychologically leading up to my vasectomy. Countless people who received a vasectomy in the past assured me the most pain was in my mind and the actual procedure itself carried mild pain at best. I knew their intentions were good at heart, but their kind words did little to ease my worries. I spent roughly a month and a half in fear of “D-Day” and if I backed out of the surgery, due to weather, I honestly did not know if I had the stones to make it back to the hospital.

I made up my mind; despite the current weather conditions and the warnings posted by various websites and news agencies, I would make the half hour drive to the hospital. Celia stood true to her word about not driving me to the hospital, with the risk being too great. I instead asked one of my neighbors to make the unforgettable trip, who obliged me.

The roads that day were absolutely fine, wet at best. Due to the worries of the hazardous conditions, I left early, and arrived very early. I checked in at the receptionist office, smiled and said, “Hi. I’m having surgery today.” The nurse, who loved her job sniped back, “No. You’re having a procedure today.” Toe-Mae-Toe, Toe-Mott-Toe woman!

I waited 25 minutes untilit was my turn; and then I waited 15 more minutes because the doctors weren’t ready for me. During the 40 minute wait I managed to find my way to the men’s room three times. I was a little nervous!

When the nurse approached the doorway and said, “Mr. Romick,” with a smile on her face, I stood up with a doomed look on my face. AJ, the neighbor who drove me to the hospital said, “Good Luck,” or “Have Fun,” or something along those lines. At that very moment I was in another world and don’t remember much.

After the last few instructions by the nurse I found myself lying on the operation table wearing a pair of socks and a hospital gown. The nurse did her best to ease my nerves as I moved my gown up to my chest, to prep me for the surgeon.

Leading up to the surgery it was my responsibility to shave my testicles to reduce the risk of infection. I shaved in the shower the day of my surgery, but not well enough. The nurse held an old, single blade, blue BIC razor as she told me I missed a few spots. Prior to the nurse grabbing the razor, we stumbled across the subject marathons, and the preparation a marathon takes. Now, with the razor in her hand, the conversation continued. The nurse rotated my testicles around like they were poker chips, shaving every inch, carrying on the conversation, without missing a beat.

Dr. Tran, the surgeon, walked in, he asked me if I had any last questions – I didn’t. Before any other part of the surgery could take place, my testicles had to be numbed.

This is where my tale will take a graphic turn.

I was hoping to receive an anesthetic of some type but all I would receive would be a numbing agent by way of a very large needle; inserted into my testicles. A panic overcame my entire body followed shortly by a cool sweat. The doctor firmly held my testicles in his hand as if he were trying to get the proper grip on a hammer. My body squirmed and my muscles became incredibly tense.

“You need to calm down,” said Dr. Tran in a very calm voice.
“I know, I know! I’m trying,” was my response with my eyes fixated on a single ceiling tile.
“I won’t stick you without letting you know. There will be no surprise, ok.”
“Ok. How bad can I expect this to hurt?”
“It’s not too bad. It’s comparable to a bee sting…on your testicles,” Dr. Tran said as his comparison did little to ease my tension.

I gulped and exhaled a long and slow breath.

“Great.”

After minutes of positioning on left testicle the needed spot was found, and I was seconds away from insertion. I saw the doctor lean in to deliver the numbing agent and instinctively my body began to squirm; my butt flexed and I leaned back on my shoulders. My feet rotated in every direction imaginable while each of my toes popped over and over. I could feel the pulse in my neck as I put grabbed my head with both hands and muttered, “I’m fine. Do it now!” My wish was their command.

The pain I anticipated was every bit as bad as I thought it would be, and then some. The needle penetrated into my left testicle as I let out a loud gasp of the remaining air in my lungs. If anybody remembers how Steve Carell looked on the 40 Year Old Virgin, when the first strip of wax was pulled off his chest, I can only imagine my face resembled his, in some fashion. My face turned red as I lied on the operation table, motionless and breathless.

“Sir, you need to breathe,” reminded the assistant.

My breathing resembled a pregnant woman about to encounter a major contraction. Fortunately the pain lasted for maybe 30-45 seconds; although my perception of time was not the most reliable then. Once my left testicle became numb I did not feel much of anything, mild tugging at best. Dr. Tran, doing his best to keep the mood light asked, “If you’d like, I can place mirror above your scrotum so you can see what I’m doing.” I chuckled but did not take him up on his generous offer.

I thought the worst part of the surgery was over, and then I learned my right testicle still needed to be numbed. I thought with the pain the first numbing agent would cause my entire scrotum to be numb for days. That was not the case. The pain I went through only minutes ago would happen all over again. The only difference between my right and left testicle is I almost passed out when the needle numbed my right side.

A few more minutes passed and my vasectomy was over. Dr. Tran showed me what my vas looked like; it was the width of a spaghetti noodle and a few centimeters in length. I then slid a jock strap on to provide maximum support, replaced my hospital gown with my clothes, and hobbled to the waiting room where AJ waited. I picked up my pain medication, antibiotics, and then moved to the car to head home. I took a Percocet in attempts to get ahead of the inevitable pain as AJ delivered jokes about busting my balls and my reproductive ability. It was a fun ride home.

If you remember, February 1st was Hailey’s birthday. Even though my surgery was on her birthday we still insisted on a small get-together to celebrate Hailey’s birthday. The guests began to arrive, and around the same time, so did the pain. I began walking with a limp and had frozen vegetables attached to my genitals most of the evening. Even though the pain I felt grew increasingly worse with each passing minute, I tried my best to enjoy every part of Hailey’s birthday.

I woke up the next morning in more pain than when I laid my head on the pillow the night before. I expected to see my testicles swell but I was amazed at how large they were. The day following my surgery I would venture to say my testicles were as large as a grapefruit. On the same day I began to develop severe bruising which had spread to almost every part of my scrotum. I continued to take my antibiotics, Percocet, apply ice when needed, and relax as much as possible.

Since staying off of my feet was an important step in recovery I spent a lot of time watching TV; but not on the TV. A few days prior to my surgery, Celia discovered a website that allowed users to watch almost any TV program desired. The website I’m referring to is http://www.fastpasstv.com/ and it absolutely helped my recovery.

On Wednesday, two days after surgery, the pain in my testicles remained the same. It was on Wednesday I began to worry. I heard from many vasectomy recipients that two days after the surgery the pain was quite minimal, it was not the case for me. The swelling persisted and the bruising began moving up my body; by this point covering almost my entire penis. My right side felt normal but my left side felt a sharp pain. My steps were slow and small. I walked with a limp that mirrored a broken ankle/foot but was due to the pain I felt in my left testicle. In addition to the scrotal pain, I also had abdominal pain. The only time I felt comfortable was when I either lied in bed or lied in our recliner. Before Celia and I went to bed Wednesday evening, I told her if I still feel this pain in the morning I’m going to call my doctor and get checked out. I cannot begin to describe how much pain I was in; and that includes being on Percocet.

Thursday morning (Day 3) saw a little improvement. The swelling was down and the pain was not as severe as the days prior. I still decided to visit the doctor, as a precautionary measure, simply to ease my mind. I thought I was fine and might be overreacting, but I wanted to get a second opinion, from somebody

other than my wife.

The doctor took one look and said, “Wow. You had reason to be concerned.” I was not in the midst of a slow recovery from the vasectomy; my pains were complications from the surgery. I learned I had developed a scrotal hematoma, which is a lot of blood built up inside the scrotum and then clotted itself up.

There is a lot of medical jargon I could use to describe a scrotal hematoma, but in short, it looks like I have a small third testicle, as hard as a rock. It hurts so badly and there is not much I can do about it. I do have the option to have my scrotum opened up to remove the hematoma. However, at this point, I do not feel comfortable getting cut open again, psychologically or physically.

I’ve been on a lot of pain medication lately and I’ve spent a lot of time in bed. Walking is painful, each step feels like I’m getting flicked in the testicles, I cannot help out around the house much, I cannot work out for at least 30 days, and I’m technically not even supposed to lift my children because I could rupture the hematoma.

I’m sorry to say there is no happy ending to this story, at least not yet.