I don't have the balls to get a vasectomy

Rather, I should say, there were no lasting physical effects. Emotionally, that story haunts me, especially when I think about purposely scheduling an appointment in which my doctor, a fine and talented man, will cut a hole in my scrotum.

Thousands upon thousands of men have undergone this procedure, but I will still not be joining their ranks. There is always a chance that something will go wrong. Any possibility, no matter how infinitesimal, that I could become such an outlier is too great a risk. I’m reminded of a joke. Why do women rub their eyes when they wake up in the morning? Because their nether regions aren’t that scratchable.

Perhaps in the future I will overcome this fear. Perhaps there is a doctor so infallible, so intelligent, so skilled with scalpel, so trustworthy, that I will find the courage to schedule the appointment. But until I see the sign that says, “The Office of Dr. Jesus H. St. Einstein Sushruta is now open for business,” no one wielding a scalpel is coming within 10 miles of my scrotum. I’ll be damned if I’m going to wake up in the morning and rub my eyes.

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