We are done with children. The two that we have are pretty awesome and even though my wife never had the daughter that she wanted for future hour-long phone conversations and jewelry swaps, we are good.
Any thought that we weren’t went by the wayside when our friends revealed, with a defeatist shrug, that they had “whoopsed” themselves into a fourth child. They said it was about as close to an immaculate conception as one could have, and that was enough of a push towards making the appointment as we would need. The truth is, we don’t like infants.
Don’t get me wrong. We have loved our children since the moment we saw them. We just didn’t like them until about three months after that. The “baby coma” of EAT, sleep, CRY just didn’t do it for us. The thought of having to go through it again, especially when we are now firmly ensconced in grade school life, is less than palatable. So, I finally made the call to Planned Parenthood to get the big “V.”
I don’t know why I hadn’t scheduled a vasectomy sooner. I have awesome insurance. All it would cost me would be a $10 co-pay and the cost of a jock-strap. Perhaps it was physical trepidation. Or perhaps it was the personal point of pride that I had all my original parts, in working order; my appendix and tonsils still sitting in their original positions. All of my wisdom teeth firmly planted in the back of my mouth. Whatever the reason, it was now overshadowed. I was firmly intent on disarming the only “weapon” I had ever personally fired.
I chose Planned Parenthood for multiple reasons. Unlike the majority of Americans, I live five minutes from the building. Like I said earlier, my insurance covered the procedure and Planned Parenthood accepted my insurance. But above that, I wanted to make a statement. I stand with Planned Parenthood. Everything they do is for the benefit of all human beings. Also, I am not afraid. Of course, being a white male, the people in that office had more of a right to be afraid of me than I ever would to be afraid of being there.
I arrived for my appointment around 8:30 a.m. The first thing you notice is the 8 foot tall iron fence surrounding the building, which became a necessity after the Center fell victim to arsonists in the late 1980s. The parking lot was virtually empty, as my appointment technically began a ½ hour before normal business hours.
When I entered the doors, I felt like I was in the lobby of a big city bank. I know when I usually go to the doctor’s office, I don’t have to begin my conversation with the receptionist behind six inches of bullet proof glass. But this is modern day Planned Parenthood, and therefore not surprising in the least.
After my initial sign-in, I was “buzzed” into the actual waiting room. It was sterile and non-specific, much like an other medical waiting room would be, complete with a TV, set to local news and a couple of vending machines. The only difference was the homemade sexual assault and STI informational poster hanging up on the wall, that looked like something you would see in a dorm room hallway. This also makes sense, since this particular center is located in a college town and most likely has many college-aged volunteers.
My next step was to be brought into an interview room by a nurse, and receive the standard blood pressure, height and weight checks. I was asked all the normal health history questions, but also a couple more about the procedure I was electing to have. When did I decide to have this procedure? Did I know the risks? Was I aware of the difficulty and non-guaranteed success of reversing this procedure? I answered all the questions honestly, and that was that. I was an adult making an informed choice. I highly doubt any women across the street at the “Alternatives” medical center would receive the same respect with their decisions. I mean, if those people even gave them the option to discuss all the options in the first place. But that rant is for another day.
I won’t go into much detail with the actual procedure that happened next. Just know that things went fine, and in about three months, I should have absolute verification that it was successful. The only thing that I will mention was during the procedure, the PA who was working on me asked an interesting question: “So your insurance is completely covering this. Did you look at going to any other place? Why did you choose us?” I answered honestly, talking about the convenience, my connection to this particular center (my mother had worked their for a couple years over 25 years ago) and of course, the politics. “That’s nice,” she responded. That was it. No political monologue needed from her. After all, she was there to do a job, not make a statement.
After my procedure, I put on the jock strap, moved to the recovery room for a few minutes and was then given my after care information. Within 10 minutes, I was home on my couch, being served lunch by my wife. (Because she is kind, not because she is sub-servant.)
So now that you know what happened, let me tell you what didn’t happen. When I walked into the office, the first thing I didn’t see was a waiting room full of “whores” waiting, assembly line style, for their latest abortion.
I didn’t see a room filled with money with various doctors swimming, Scrooge McDuck style, in all the ill-gotten gains they had received from selling baby parts.
I didn’t see a room with a piece of paper on it that said, “Secret conspiracy planning, stay out.”
I wasn’t told after my procedure that I needed to recruit other white males in order to help hasten the demise of the race. I guess Stormfront was fed faulty intelligence on that account.
Fortunately, I also didn’t run into the next Robert Dear. That was the only concern gnawing at the back of my wife’s mind throughout the whole process. Because in today’s world, you never know.
So, I currently sit on the couch, a little sore, but a lot more at peace with the knowledge that my time as a breeder on this planet has ended. All thanks to a professional organization, providing a necessary service and benefiting myself and humanity because of it.
Now if you will excuse me, I have an ice pack to replace.