“How did it go?”
I was ushered into a room, asked to strip naked and swab the pertinent area with disinfectant. Then I was laid out on the slab, er, table and grabbed, jabbed, cut and snipped. Twice. We were out of there within an hour. (Wendi, bless her brave soul, stayed with me through the whole ordeal.)
“How do you feel?”
Mentally, I’m just fine. I never had any qualms about the vasectomy itself, so it’s not like I’m having second thoughts or anything like that. Physically, I’ve felt better. Most of the time I feel like I was kicked in the nuts a half-hour ago. Occasionally there’s a bit of stabbing pain just like when they jabbed me with the anesthesia. There are stitches over which I keep a steady supply of gauze. I’ll probably be able to stop doing that in a day or three.
“How are you coping?”
Lots of rest, lots of ice, occasional doses of Vicodin. I’m under strict orders to take things very, very easy for the first few days. After that I’m to take things easy. Note the difference? I put in a couple of hours on the computer or in front of the TV, then I go lay down again (usually accompanied by the ice pack).
“When will you be able to, um, you know?”
Perv. Technically speaking I should be “able” by this evening, but only if I’m very very careful and gentle. In reality, I’m not going to try anything until I don’t need the gauze anymore. I don’t know when that will be, and I’m not crazy enough to rush the process.
That about sums it up, folks. Hopefully I won’t be compelled to bore or disgust you with any more entries on this subject. Thanks for bearing with me.