“Nothing but good news….
There is a frog in South America whose venom is a cure
For all the suffering that mankind must endure
More powerful than morphine, and soothing as the rain
A frog in South America has the antidote for pain
That’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way I like it….”
–From Senorita With a Necklace of Tears, by Paul Simon

This medicine makes me feel like Charlie Sheen looks.

Alright, so I’ve learned a few things since my little procedure. One of those things is that I don’t type well while taking Percocet. The combination of terrible spelling skills, snail-like typing abilities, and a debilitating case of undiagnosed ADD are usually enough of an obstacle for me to overcome in publishing this blog, but add to that a pretty intense narcotic, and it would take absolutely herculean blogging skills to get this baby done. Luckily, I am up to the challenge. Apparently, I blog with my heart, and not with any other part of my anatomy to which a connection has been recently severed.

You don't want a painful childbirth, Ladies? Maybe you should have thought of that before Eve listened to the snake and took a bite of that fruit....

Another thing I’ve learned is that women LOVE to pick this time in a man’s life to talk about how much pain there is during child birth. You know what? We get it. No one is arguing that a couple of incisions in a man’s sack is anything close to the pain of pushing a football-sized kid through a golfball-sized hole. I watched all three of my kids being born, and to say that it looked painful would be a really big understatement–Like saying that Rick Perry looks like a moron every time he speaks. But here’s the thing: Women are designed to handle pain in that part of their bodies. They spend most of their lives kind of “prepping” for it; whereas guy spend their WHOLE LIVES trying to avoid pain in that area. From the very first experience that a boy has with getting hit in the nuts, the lesson is deeply ingrained in his very being–DON’T EVER LET ANYTHING LIKE THAT HAPPEN EVER AGAIN. EVER.

On the bright side, after things are all healed up, I'll be able to wear short shorts.

Then, next thing you know, you’re sitting on a table with your legs in stirrups and a giant light shining on your crotch, while a stranger checks the job you did shaving and washes your junk. Then, to top it all off, I had to make my way to the doctor’s office to get prepped for my vasectomy! I kid…. It’s definitely weird, though–the whole “Nice to meet you. Please drop your pants and let me check how well you shaved” thing. I did fine, by the way. I didn’t want any nicks, so I just dipped everything in Nair (When I told the nurse that joke, she didn’t laugh either. I figured she just didn’t find me funny, but she explained that it wouldn’t surprise her at all).

I heard it through the vasectomy grapevine (A less successful version of the classic Motown hit) that Dr. Concepcion had performed his own vasectomy, so during the surgery I asked him if it was true. Turns out it is an urban myth. He said that one of his partners did his own, but for some reason it has been attributed to him. I told him that it was probably due to the fame his last name affords him. He asked me to use my significant blogging influence (He’s a big fan of the blog) to put these rumors to rest. So there you go.

My peas are definitely frozen.

All in all, everything went really well. I didn’t have any Valium, but the wife still gave me a ride home. The part that hurt most was the giant needle going in and poking around to numb things up. The whole procedure only took about ten minutes. He even showed me the section of the vas deferens that he removed–I guess to ease my mind that he was just faking it. The recovery process has been slow, and things are a little more sore today than yesterday. I’m not sure if things are bruised or if it is frostbite, but I’ve got everything I need to heal up the right way: A real nice jock strap, Two bags of peas, Prescription narcotics, and a wife who loves me enough to refrain from calling me a sissy for not being able to handle the pain.