Generic pic of a father with baby, child, toddler, boy, girl, son, daughter.
When my husband and I agreed that we’d reached our threshold with four children, decisions needed to be made about family planning. There was little discussion about who would be making the final cut. Comparing notes on pain and recovery, there was only one winner, if you can call it such.
I’m not ordinarily one who supports the tit for a tat theory but I’d laboured and birthed four children (three down the canal, and one out the sunroof) and after the incredible marathon that is the birth process - it’s not called LABOUR for nothing - I was kindly handed a baby as they stitched and sorted and faffed about. A beautiful, gorgeous, amazing baby, but also a crying, hungry baby that required feeding every three hours. Forced to ignore the nether region stitches and the after-labour Cliff Young shuffle, it was out of bed, no-rest-for-the-wicked, suck-it-up-princess and put a screaming baby on tender and bleeding nipples with minimal complaint. Frozen peas and a lie down? Pfft. Cabbages were the closest vegetables to come within cooee of my body, and that was whilst sitting on stitches and latching a baby onto swollen bosoms.
Concede, I must, that it is an immature argument, but I’d been up close and personal with pain and I was finished. No more instruments were coming near me, no more intrusive surgeries or hospital stays. I’d also had enough raging hormones to last me a lifetime and wasn’t interested in pumping my body with more. There was the option of abstinence but the husband wasn’t impressed with that suggestion. The pain of a vasectomy seemed a mere twinge on the radar, especially for me.
I acknowledge it wasn’t my testicles that would be sliced and end up like a swollen mass of blue, but seriously? Take that bag of frozen peas and watch a couple of episodes of Top Gear. Feel free to have eight hours sleep. Drug-up if need be. You’ll be right, mate.
My husband agreed. He was happy to get the big “V” after baby number three but my wavering and indecision forced a delay as we discussed a fourth. Two years and a fourth baby later and there was no question about his readiness. But I’ve snagged a rare man. There appears to be an abundance of man-boys out there who flatly refuse to even discuss vasectomies. Not because they are reluctant to close up shop, nor because they feel emotional about the idea that they will have no more children but solely and wholly because “no-one’s touching my balls”. Grow some balls, I say. But I’m a hardarse who has a sympathy deficiency.
There are many other options available to manage contraception but the majority fall in the woman’s territory. Some women have no issue with this and that’s swell. It is when there is friction that I find vasectomy refusal a little baffling.
From a purely medical perspective, if determining which is the most effective and least invasive permanent solution to birth control, tubal ligation or vasectomy, then a vasectomy is a lay down misère. As far as major versus minor surgeries go, there’s no comparison.
However, vasectomies are not always a medical decision. They’re often entrenched in emotion. In my own experience, the vasectomy topic progressed from emotional to medical over a couple of years. After baby number three, my husband persistently asked if he should book in for the vasectomy. I wasn’t ready to call it over. I didn’t know if I could manage four but was equally unsure about being finished at three. Making that kind of life-changing choice was too hard. So I cried. Tears were easier than cementing the decision.
Our fourth child is now eight months old and the vasectomy topic took a completely different tone. We agreed that our family was complete, we agreed it would be my husband who had the surgery and we agreed on the timing. Valentine’s Day, in fact. What better way to say I love you?
Despite the agreement, when cut came to slice, I had a moment of trepidation. It lasted approximately thirty seconds, but I had to ask myself, were we really done? This would be the absolute end. There would never be another teeny tiny baby screaming down the walls of our home, pooping through layers of clothing in the middle of the night, smiling up with gummy grins and snuggling in like a koala bear. I could also kiss goodbye to sleepless nights, aching pregnancy back and stitches in my vagina! Was I was ready? Hell, yes!
So, my husband drove himself to the clinic and had the procedure completed in under an hour. He was a little tender but in fairly chirpy spirits for someone who’d just had their ball sack skewered. Recovery went to plan and I must say, I was slightly disturbed by how enthusiastically (and microscopically) he inspected the wound. I even let a few sympathetic moments slip and made the old boy a cup of tea or two.
There’s no doubt it was a process that had to be worked through. We (well, I) had to move from the emotional to the logical. Not an easy journey for one who lives their life by their heart rather than their head. I knew our family was complete after #4, but I’m not sure how I would have felt if my husband was adamant he’d have a vasectomy after #3. There was never a question about which one of us would finalise the family planning, it was a matter of when.
We're moving onto the next exciting phase of raising children. We’re still a house of nappies and night wakings but soon we’ll be a house with pre-teens and pre-schoolers. There are plenty of surprises to look forward to. Just no surprise babies. I’m good with that.
So, will your husband have (or has he had) a vasectomy? Is it an emotional decision or a purely medical one for your family? Comment on Kylie's blog.
