Okay, I’m going to do it. I’m going to bring up the V word. And before anyone gets too excited, I’m talking about the V word men *don’t* want to talk about, as opposed to the one that a lot of men can’t get enough of. Depending on who you talk to, the humble vasectomy can also be known as “the snip”, “getting fixed”, “virtual castration”, “the straight man’s scourge” or “that pissy little day-surgery procedure”.
A lot of people (i.e. my husband) warned me off this topic, fearing some unreasonably cruel taunting after such a brave self-sacrifice was made in the name of Family Planning (or rather Planning-For-No-More-Family). After all, there’s a very special relationship a man has with his balls that a woman should even try to understand, let alone use as basis for a humourous blog entry.
I learnt this the hard way a few months ago when I rang a friend and got her recently ‘snipped’ husband on the phone, whom we shall call J.
“Is that the man former known as J?” I asked. “Or should I say, is that the J formerly known as a man?”
He laughed at my little joke, good-natured man that he is. But when I repeated the quip to my husband a few hours later, he just looked at me grimly and said “You don’t joke about things like that.”
Listen, I’ve survived a 28 hour labour and as many caesareans as I’ve had children (uh, that’s three) – one of which without an adequate anaesthetic (now I’m just showing off) – and I can still crack a joke about it. I’ve surrendered my stomach, pelvic floor and breasts to pregnancy, childbirth and breastfeeding and let me tell you, there’s comedy gold in dem dar hills. So what is it about men and a minor procedure on their balls that makes it strictly off-limits for the making of funnies?
Of course, it’s not always a simple procedure and I’m big enough to acknowledge that. Our dear friend Uncle B couldn’t ride his bicycle to work for six months following his visit to the “Butcher of Altona” and has suspected for a while that the vet who fixed Genghis Cat probably would have done a much better job on him. Hell, Tiddles McGee probably would have done a better job with a pair of crafting scissors and some gaffer tape.
Not to belittle Uncle B’s pain or anything, here’s the facts: in 2006, the mortality rate for women in childbirth in Australia was 6 in every 100,000. Even with my superior googling skills, I’m hard-pressed to find a mortality rate directly related to vasectomies. And yet, light-hearted comedies such as “She’s Having A Baby” and “Nine months” keep being made, no doubt dreamed up by men. Can you at all imagine the same people would ever make “He’s Getting the Snip?” or “Thirty Minutes in Surgery plus Two Full Days in Bed?”
Now I promised myself I’d be good. That I wouldn’t gripe about the two full days in bed my husband got to watch “The Lord of The Rings” trilogy, following his minor surgical procedure, while his loving wife waited on him hand and foot. And I also certainly would never dream of mentioning that I – despite having undergone major stomach surgery – had to delicately negotiate a breast-feeding treaty with a newborn who Simply Would Not Sleep, all the while dealing with Midwives who either worked as dominatrixes in their spare time or just simply Had It In For Me. And whatsmore I did that not just once but THREE TIMES.
You see, I wouldn’t want to come over all bitter and twisted and grumpy. Oh no. I thoroughly appreciate that my husband has taken the birth control issue completely out of my hands, especially after I had to deal with years of dealing with pill-related migraines and those numerous ‘losing an eye’ near-miss experiences with diaphragms and putting up with endless complaints about condoms “just not feeling the same”… Oh, look at me, look at me and the litany of injustices I’ve had to endure… So before this all goes to far, let me just return to my original statement about never EVER being able to understand the bond between a man and his balls and let’s just leave it at that while I just quietly crawl back into my corner to lick my caesarean wounds.
I’d comment on this but I’ve got a bit of a headache this morning and my finger’s a bit sore.
Evolutionary biology. Pain threshold gender differences. Paging Dr Freud. We have no excuses really.
THANKYOU for putting that out there..now how do we get this on the front page of the age??
Or ejaculation control.
What a great post! You’re awesome!
Of course, the men friends that I have joke about getting two for one discounts and can’t wait for the day that they don’t have to be bullied into condoms or worry that the girl accidently missed the pill and oops hello daddyhood. But I’m also sure they will milk it for all its worth too.
hear hear for a calling a caesar what it really is: major abdominal surgery! and then YOU become the one who is waiting hand on foot!
Brilliant, NDM. Just brilliant. Loved the “formerly known as a man” joke. Perfect!
Wow, three cesareans? You should get a medal of honor.
absolutely brilliant. Came over by way Faemom. She’s touting your humour today!
Thanks zeemaid. That faemom is a good sort and I’m proud to call her my American Cheerleader – albeit my heavily pregnant American Cheerleader.
ha ha, yes us males really can’t complain about a minor(ish) op.
Finally had one after putting it off for several years, don’t know why I waited. Oh, yes, that’s right; the pain, the agony, the…. 🙂
… hear this? It’s the tiniest violin playing the tiniest symphony for your pains… oh, hang on, you really can’t hear it, can you?