The Vasectomy Consult Experience
A Daughter, A Son, and we’re all set.
So, this past week, I visited my local Urological office for a consult on getting a Vasectomy. This is where this latest Daddy Diary turns into a Seinfeld moment. Oh, you’ve had these too. We all have had our own Seinfeld moments, where a “should be normal” task or event turns into a 30 minute made for TV comedy. Set the DVR.
Scene 1 – Jeff (writer will draft in 3rd person at times, then switch to 1st person for funny moments when necessary) enters Urology Office at 9am. Jeff finds out from receptionist that Ann Bessinger will be conducting consult.
Jeff: “Is Ann a (gulp) woman?
Receptionist: “Um, yes, Mr. Smith, is there a problem with that?”
Oh, come on! A Woman is going to do this?! This is not good. I don’t know how to write this except to say that every man reading this does not want a woman to be doing a consult on his, ahem, you know, man parts. Sweat starts to bead on my forehead, stomach starts to churn, knees begin to tremble, and I respond with…
Jeff: “No!”
Receptionist: “No, you don’t want to see her?”
Jeff: “Yes!”
Recptionist: “Yes, you have a problem.”
Jeff: “No, I don’t have a problem. Yes, I want to see her. Well, I don’t want to see her. I just, well you know. I’m married.”
Recptionist: “Okay (shaking her head), so you want to see her, but you want her to know you’re married?”
Jeff: “No, I’m fine. I’m ready. Do not tell her that I’m nervous.”
Receptionist escorts (not escorts, but ushers) Jeff to his room; the consult room which is not really his room. Okay, anyway, he’s in a room.
Scene 2 – She walks in. Jeff takes a deep breath and wishes this was over.
Nurse: “Have you ever done this before?”
Jeff: “People come back twice? I thought this was a one-and-done. I have to do this again? Oh, wonderful.
Nurse: “No, I mean, have you ever had a consult about getting a Vasectomy before? Have you ever discussed this before?”
Jeff: “No. First time. I’m a Vasectomy Virgin. Hahaha…get it? Sorry, I’m nervous.”
Nurse: “Don’t be nervous. 95% of this is all me asking questions and letting you know what to expect.”
Jeff: “And the other 5%?”
Nurse: “Well, I have to check you out”
Jeff (thinking to himself): Good God, please let this end quickly.
Nurse: “On the day of the procedure, you’ll need to bring a scrotum protector.”
Jeff: “What?”
Nurse: “A scrotum protector”
Jeff: “A jockstrap?”
Nurse: “Well kind of, just not with the cup. Come to think of it, you have a 4year old son. You may want to wear the cup as well.”
Jeff: “You’re not joking, are you?”
Nurse: “Nope.”
Jeff: “So, how long do I wear the jockstrap?”
Nurse: “A few days.”
Jeff: “Have you ever worn a jockstrap? They’re not that comfortable.”
Nurse: “Mr. Smith, you’re getting a Vasectomy. This is not going to be comfortable.”
Jeff: “How soon after the procedure can I drink alcohol? I’m just kidding. Fine, I’ll bring a, what did you call it? A scrotum protector? This is incredible.”
Nurse: “Which doctor would you like to use?”
Jeff: “Whichever one does this with the least amount of pain to me. Oh, and is a man. No offense.”
Nurse: “None taken. Well, we have 2 docs that do it with IV anesthetic and 2 that do not.”
Jeff: “Holy Crap! Sorry! Okay, you mean to tell me there are doctors that don’t use anesthetic on a patient that is getting his penis cut into?”
Nurse: “Mr. Smith, first, we’re not cutting the penis. Second, some patients just don’t want the side effects of anesthesia.”
Jeff: “Yah, they’d rather feel someone sawing on them. Sounds like a blast. Let’s go with the male doctor that is going to put me under.”
Nurse: “He’s not going to put you under. He’s just going to give you something to take the edge off. You don’t need to go all the way under.”
Jeff: “I do. I’m a wimp.”
Nurse: “So, anyway. We’ll put with you Dr Shnip.”
Jeff: “Seriously, his name is Shnip?”
Nurse: “Now, what’s the problem?”
Jeff: “Think about that for a moment. No other patient has questioned a Surgical Urologist with the name Shnip?”
Nurse (growing agitated now): “No, no one has, and I don’t understand why you would.”
Jeff: “Forget it. What’s next?”
Nurse: “The non verbal part of the consult. Pull your pants down.”
I stand up, but this is also interesting. She didn’t say to pull my pants and boxers/briefs down. She just said to pull my pants down, and I don’t want to over commit. So, I stand up, back to the wall. She’s in a rolling chair staring straight ahead, and I pull my pants down. Insert awkward silence.
Nurse: “Mr. Smith, you have to pull your boxers down too.”
Jeff: “You didn’t say that.”
Nurse: “Please, pull your pants down.”
Temperature is much cooler in the room now.
Nurse: “So, what I’m feeling for now … is….”
Jeff: “Just an FYI, I really don’t need the play by play. Just do what you need to do, and I’ll pull my pants…and…boxers back up.”
Nurse: “Well, I just want you to know that I’m searching for a spaghetti type string inside your scrotum.”
Jeff: “Psst. I’d like to refer you back to my prior statement. No audio needed.”
I’ll never eat spaghetti again now. I really liked spaghetti.
Nurse: “Okay, all done. Pull up your pants…and…boxers. So, when would you like to do the procedure?”
Jeff: “Never.”
Nurse: “Mr. Smith?”
Jeff: “I mean, Thanksgiving week looks good for me.”
Nurse: “It’s July. That’s 4 months away.”
Jeff: “Yep, I’ll be thankful that it’s over. There are discounts on Scrotum Protectors on Black Friday. I’ll watch a lot of football, and get 4 days of pity from my wife and kids. Done. I’ll take the Tuesday or Wednesday before Thanksgiving please.”
Nurse: “Um, okay, we don’t usually book that far out, but okay.”
Jeff: “Thank you much. See you in about 4 months. Enjoy your summer.”
To be continued …
The Choice
Dear Daddy Diary-
Today, May 23rd, 2010 was the toughest day of my life since July 10, 2004.
I made a career decision today that I’m not sure was the right one. Do we ever know? I’m a mental wreck. My mind has gone back and forth so much in the last 24hrs that I feel like a politician. I flipped a coin 15 times. I flipped my 3-yr old son! Luckily, he landed on tails. I chose the safe, conservative route. I took the job that I was supposed to take. Yet, still something is missing.
I used to be the guy that would be a risk taker, with a “bring it” kind of attitude. I never did it for the money. I never did what I was “supposed to do.” I was a sportscaster for goodness sakes. I made no cash, lived in small towns, and rode a bus from town to town calling Minor League Hockey Games. I did things to be the wild card. Now, I play things close to the vest. I’m holding on too tight. I need to turn in my wings. I feel like Cougar in “Top Gun.” And you want to know why? Because of the happenings on July 10th, 2004.
That was the night that I became a daddy, and almost became a widow. My first was born, beautiful, healthy, and I was on top of the world. At the same time, my first and only love was fighting for her life. Delaney, the scrapper that she is, caused some serious internal problems for the toughest woman on the planet aka her mommy aka Extraordinary Mommy. One minute we’re celebrating our first little miracle. The next minute I’m praying for a miracle that my wife will come back from emergency surgery with enough blood inside of her to see her little girl.
Lucky for me, this story has a happy ending. The doctors were able to finally stop the bleeding, and my beautiful bride made a full recovery after many weeks of rest.
So, that brings me to today. Each time that I’m confronted with another major life decision, I think back to 7/10/04. I thank my lucky stars for the conclusion to that highly stressful day, and think what I need to do in order to take advantage of that day each and every day thereafter. Yes, I put way too much pressure on myself. That’s my biggest problem. I’m trying to live the rest of my life as a “thank you note” for the present that I was given on that wonderful Saturday, 6 years ago.
There’s a lesson here, and I’m still trying to learn it, but I do know this, I love my wife, I love my daughter, and I love my son more than any love that I know that I ever had, so for that, I’m thankful. And, since they’re all healthy and tucked into bed, then that makes today, May 23rd, 2010 one of the best days of my life since July 10th, 2004.
PS…Sorry to be so serious with this Daddy Diary. The witty, funny ones will return next time around. As my 3yeard old says “I had a hard day.”
-Daddy
Bedtime and Basketball
Bed Time. Lights Out for the kiddos. Time to watch my alma mater, the Mizzou Tigers play some high flyin’ hoops against our rivals to the west, the dreaded Kansas Jayhawks.
The ball is tipped, and there I am imploring the team in black and gold to get the ball to tickle the twine, make it wiggle and giggle. Then, out of nowhere, a gold headed 3 yr old boy dressed in black basketball pjs appears at the foot of my bed. “Daddy, can I watch the basketball game with you?”
Now, how do I say “no” to my son who wants to root on the Tigers especially when we’re heavy underdogs on the road at KU? We need all of the help we can get.
“Daddy, where do the Tigers live?” Answer: In Columbia, Missouri.
“Daddy, I thought Tigers lived in a jungle?” Answer: Yes, in a Jungle in Columbia, Missouri.
“Daddy, what’s a Jayhawk? Answer: An Ugly Bird.
“Daddy, can I go put my basketball jersey on?” Answer: Of course.
“Daddy, does LeBron play for the Tigers?” Answer: I wish.
“Daddy, does Kobe play for the Tigers?” Answer: I wish again. And, for my third wish, I’ll take D Wade.
“Daddy, can you find me? I’m hiding under the covers.” Answer: Hold on, Coop. We’re making a run. We’re within 8.
“Daddy, are we rooting for the Jayhawks?” Answer: No!
“Well, Daddy, the Jayhawks are winning.” Comment: Thanks Cooper. I know this already.
“Daddy, I think the Jayhawks won.” Comment: Yes, Cooper. The Jayhawks won.
“Daddy, thank you for letting me watch the basketball game with you. I love you very much. I had a lot of fun. Can you please take me to my bed now? I’m tired.” Comment: It was the best game that I’ve ever watched. Bed Time. Lights Out.
A Christmas gift for Daddy
It’s Christmas Eve. We just returned from a Christmas Mass-Christmas Dinner combo. I melt into the couch completely stuffed from eating everyone’s food. I’m conversing with my father-in-law when out of the corner of my eye I spot a shadow near the fireplace.
He’s short, about 3 feet tall, dressed in a red sweater with a sweet little smile. He has something in his hand. Is this an elf bringing me a Christmas present just a few hours too early?
“Daddy, do you want one of your daddy drinks,” asks the 3yr old elf that looks a lot like my son Cooper.
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I’ve heard about this day from some of my buddies who have older sons. I never thought it was real though. I thought it was only one of those dreams that dad’s tweet about in their sleep. Christmas is a time of magic though; maybe the story is a non-fiction.
My wonderful son stands in front of me holding a cold, frosty, bottle of all American (well, it used to be All-American, now it’s half American, half Belgian) Beer.
Okay, crazy anti-beer zealots, I drink maybe 2 beers a week, so let’s not get carried away that I’m one of these beer guzzling, couch potatoes that ferments himself in between the cushions. I just like a nice sip of an adult beverage once or twice a weekend, so relax.
Now, let’s get back to the Christmas miracle.
I look up from my seated position and see a halo around Cooper’s head or maybe that’s the glow from the TV, but either way, he’s an angel in my eyes, always has been, always will be.
I grab Cooper, and give him a big bear hug. I tell him how thankful that I am for him thinking of me on this Christmas Eve. He has really grasped the concept of giving during this holiday season. He then shakes my hand (yes, he shook my hand), and says “Anytime, Daddy.” A single tear runs down my cheek. I grab the bottle, take a drink, and puff my chest out. That’s my son!
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night “cap”.
Holiday Shopping at Hooters (this post was written by a dude)
Happy Holidays to all of you Dads out there. This Daddy Diary is strictly for you. Moms who continue to read, you have been warned.
My 3-yr old son, Cooper and I, are off to find a gift for PaPa (Cooper’s Grandpa, My Dad).
PaPa’s perfect night is a couple of cold ones while watching a baseball game and a plate full of chicken wings in front of him. Every male reader knows where we’re going to get his gift.
Hooters!!!
And, this is where the Daddy Diary begins.
Cooper and I enter through the double doors. The Neon Orange blinds us. We both trip right into the hostess stand. (That move never worked in college). Cooper looks up with his big, blue eyes “Hi, my name is Cooper, we need a present for my Papa.” Wow, he’s smooth. I really could have used him back in the day. I’m so proud of him.
“Well, sure, Cooper, would you like a gift card, so your Papa can come here whenever he wants?” She’s smooth too. What a great salesperson. “Yes, please, he told me that his favorite restaurant is Hooters.” This is great stuff. Cooper is in charge of the conversation, making good eye contact, and accomplishing our goal. I stand back and admire.
“You’re very pretty,” says Cooper. “Well, thank you,” replies the Hostess, “you’re handsome too. Will you be my boyfriend?” Really? It’s that easy when you’re 3? “No thank you, my mommy is my girlfriend. She’s the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.” Yep, that was the old 32-A move, “Play hard to get.” Women have perfected that move over the years. “Oh well, your mommy is a lucky lady, Mister Cooper” says the Hostess in a fit of jealousy, but never once looking at me. My ego is hit, but I’m the “wing” (shameless pun) man here, I know my role.
Then, Cooper goes in for the close. “Do you like baseball? It’s my favorite. I love playing baseball with my Daddy.” Yep, here we go, I’m finally introduced to the conversation. “I like baseball too,” says Cooper’s new friend, “Here’s your gift certificate for your Papa. You come back and see me, okay?” Cooper’s first trip to Hooters and he lands the 2nd date. Amazing! “Okay,” says Cooper, “Merry Christmas.” He grabs the gift certificate himself, takes my hand, and we exit the Owl’s nest.
Atta boy Coop, you accomplished something that most of us Dads cannot ever dream of doing. You bought a Christmas present with one whole week to spare.
Happy Holidays!
The Potty Dilemma for Daddy
When is a little girl old enough to enter a public restroom by herself?
That’s the question I was posed this week. The women’s restroom is uncharted territory for this Daddy (rightfully so). It reminds me of Noah’s Ark.
Users enter in pairs. They’re gone for what seems to be 40 days and 40 nights (what takes so long?). And, when they exit, tears of laughter or tears of some sob story that I don’t usually understand are raining down their freshly powdered faces. I’ll take my chances in a flooded men’s room.
So, on Monday night, my 5-year old daughter, 3-year old son, and I went to Home Depot. We’re there about 8 seconds when both of them need to use the potty. Cooper comes with me, and Delaney says “Daddy, can I use the girl’s room by myself?”
What? Really? She’s 5. Isn’t there an age requirement? You know something, she said “girl’s room” and I said “potty.” Maybe she is old enough, and I’m the one that needs to grow up some (that’s true, but a story for another Daddy Diary).
“Okay, honey, but don’t read the walls, stare straight ahead, and don’t look down.” Oh, she’s going into a women’s room, not a men’s room. “Just make sure you wipe the seat (do you women do that too?and every time I guess?, huh, wild).
Cooper and I leave the restroom in about 3 minutes, and Delaney is no where to be found. Oh geesh, what have I done? She was too little to go in there by herself. She must have fallen in or worse, she’s listening to some story that a woman is telling from watching Oprah. Oh, no, I’m a terrible Dad.
The Women’s Room Door opens. “Hey Dad.”
“Are you okay?” I ask.
And, I want to ask all of these questions that I’ve always wanted answers to. What was it like? Are there groups of women in there telling stories? Are there really no urinals? Are the walls all freshly painted? Is there no graffiti? Does it smell like a rose garden? I start to ask…and you know what she says.
“Yes, Dad, I’m fine. I just had to use the girl’s room. Where did you think I was going? On a boat ride to the Zoo?
Ah, kid’s imaginations are a wonderful thing. She read my mind.
Kindergarten Soccer
0-0 score. Halftime. Tournament Quarterfinals. And, my daughter gets the call to be the Goalie to begin the 2nd Half.
And so it begins, my new career as a Daddy to an athlete. I’ve played in thousands of sporting events in my life. Never did my palms sweat, eyes twitch, knees rattle as much as they did while my 5-year old was in net for her Kindergarten School soccer team.
You have to understand. Delaney is the youngest girl on the team. She’s the smallest girl on the team. She’s not the most aggressive girl on the team. The team she joined played together last season. They have a great head coach, a terrific supporting cast of assistant coaches, dynamite parents as fans, a fantastic group of players, thus are really, really good.
I wanted Delaney to be a part of her school soccer team, so that she could meet new friends, get some exercise and learn about the sport that I played for over a decade of my own childhood. And, it just turns out, that she joined the 2026 Gold Medal Award Winning Team USA. Remember the name Abby Houlihan. This girl is the next Mia Hamm. She “strikes” the ball. She doesn’t just kick it. She freakin’ rips the thing. But, I digress.
Whistle Blows. 2nd Half is underway, and here comes a breakaway. Delaney is bobbing up and down in the net in anticipation of the ball coming her way (or she might have to go potty). Either way, she makes the save, runs to the top of the box, and throws it a good 5-7 yards. She might not be the next Hope Solo, but she could be the next Jennie Finch (my daughter can play some softball; that’s in her genes).
Before I could congratulate her, the other team is coming at her again. She’s looking at me for positive reinforcement. “Delaney, nice save, watch the ball, here they come again!!!!!” Someone put berry juice in her cleats. (Sidebar: Berry Juice is what Care Bears drink to make them bounce high). The ball comes skyward, and I’ll be darn she catches the thing. Just like in the backyard when I’m hitting pop-ups to her.
I keep checking my watch. Halves are 25 minutes in kindergarten soccer. It’s been exactly 3 minutes. 22 more to go. There’s no chance my heart can take 22 more minutes of this. Luckily, the 2026 Team USA (currently known as Delaney’s teammates) start to control the tempo a bit, keeping the ball near the opponent’s goal. About half way through the 2nd half, the head coach yells “SUB!” and out she goes. See, in Kindergarten, most coaches will substitute all positions, Goalie included. Final Tally. 6 shots on goal, 6 saves for the Bouncing Care Bear known as my daughter. Deep Sigh from this author.
The game actually goes to Shoot Outs!!! Again, this is Kindergarten!!! But hey, it’s a tournament, and there needs to be a winner. I cannot imagine what Libby’s Dad was going through. Libby played Goalie for the Shootout. But, she IS the next Hope Solo, so stops all shots her way, and Team USA wins the game, and, of course, continues on to win the entire Tournament.
Delaney runs over to me, and leaps into my arms. “Daddy, can we get ice cream?” Now, that’s my 5 year old. “Heck yah, kiddo, you did great!!!” “Daddy, we won. Can I play again?” “You bet honey, I just need to go see a cardiologist tomorrow, and then I’ll be ready to go.” “Daddy, what’s a Cardinal-ologist?” “It’s a person that tells me how lucky I am to be a daddy.” “Daddy, I love you!” “Me too squirt, I love you too.”
Game over for today. I win.
