While reading a blog recently I was reminded of the fear I felt after my wife alerted me to our most recent pregnancy.
My wife is a hotty. Plain and simple. At over 40, she looks better than most women half her age. So its no big surprise that I just can't keep my hands off her. Its been that way most of our marriage.
My Hot Wife - OK, she just looks like Gena Lee
Me and the wife shortly before conception of our last child
But I digress. After she announced the pregnancy of our last child, I fell into a horrible depression. Grad school, meager finances, my surviving on 4-5 hours of sleep each night due to working full time and attending school full time. It just hit me. The next day, after I sobered up, I called a urologist and made an appointment.
He insisted on a "consultation" appointment first. So we could weigh the consequences of permanently damaging the pipes. I insisted that 7 kids was plenty, and that I was looking forward to shooting blanks. That in fact we had agreed to take the wheels off the baby carriage.
So it was, I should come in the next day for the procedure.
Having been in on all the births of my kids, and cutting the cord no less than 4 times, I felt it my god given right (and because i just like to mess with people) to guilt my bride into going into "the room" with me to have the procedure done. It was my finest work, and she was mortified. Although I rejoiced in my work, it would come back to haunt me.
When we arrived the next day, it was the Friday before the Cowboys' Super Bowl (not sure which one). I had been a good patient and taken my pills the doctor had given me to relax. I was majorly stoned. There is just no other way to put it. Having avoided pretty much all drugs for a very long time, these worked thier majic. Not being one to waste a good buzz, I located a ZZ Top CD and my personal CD player and rocked out all the way to the doc's office.
The nurses outfits that dreadful day
To celebrate the Cowboys good fortune, the nurses all wore Cowboys T-shirts and it appeared had gone to someplace that paints blue jeans on you. They were the tightest jeans ever, and left little to the imagination. The prospect of having a hot nurse in skin tight jeans wash Mr Winkie was not an altogether unpleasant thought. I had been married for a very long time, and Mr Winkie had been a one woman Winkie for a very long time. The thought of having another woman touch Mr. Winkie made me dizzy.
Me on the operating table
Well, this is where the tail goes bad, very bad actually.
As it turns out, I was not the only one who had noticed how hot the nurses were in that office. After we had arrived in the operating room, the hottest of the nurses came in to "prep" me for surgery. At this point the wife speaks up and asks the nurse, "you aren't going to wash him? are you?" WHAT?!?!?!? SHUT YOUR BIG MOUTH UP?!?!!?! I thought silently to myself. My Christian sensabilities prevent me from ever cheating on my wife, so my only chance to be touched just vanished before me.
"Well, I was GOING TO" the nurse replied. She left the room and returned with a very annoyed doctor. Apparently, he likes to cut on guys weiners, but prefers not to wash them. He began the wash with a pissed off look at me, right in the eye. He then turned his attention to Mr. Winkie, who had gone from a state just south of excitement, to "cave dweller." He washed my scrotum with such force and verocity (yes, it fits) that I felt compelled to say something, even in my very stoned state.
You know how you tend to talk really loud when you have headphones on?, well I yelled out, "I usually like to wash down there, but I tend to not be that vigorous about it!" I looked up again, to see my wife with her head in her hands, and she appeared to be very white, like she might vomit at any moment. The nurse was bent over the counter laughing uncontrollably. The doctor paused to giggle for a moment, then resumed his torture, but only for a brief moment. At last I was "clean." My nads were already hurting at this point, and nothing had even been cut.
So the surgery begins with a syringe of topical pain killer. He dripped it on my scrotum, and it ran into/onto my rectum. At this point, I felt compelled (I just could not stop talking) to yell, in my best headphones on voice, "AAAUUUGGGGG, my ass is burning!!!" More laughter from the nurse.
Well, the burning didn't last long, and after a few snips, a slight tugging sensation a couple of times, and the smell of burning flesh (since we were sure, we had him coterize the tubes) we were done. The nurse had to help me put my clothes back on because wifey still had her head buried in her hands. She walked me to the front desk, and we were on our way.
My wife taking me home after surgery
I spent the remainder of that day, and half of the next day sitting on bags of ice and popping my pain pills from the good doc. I watched 4 movies, and when I later watched them again, I did not remember seeing them that weekend.
It was a good move and I am glad I did it. It was very liberating.
OK, now you have heard one of my favorite stories.
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