A Pilgrim’s Digression

In about fifteen minutes, we are leaving for the urologist’s office where I will have my vasectomy. I have to admit, my degree of nervousness has increased as the time has drawn closer. Last night, when I got my shower, it suddenly dawned on me that it was happening tomorrow. TOMORROW. And per the doctor’s orders, I needed to shave.

So, despite immediately saying to myself, “Well, I can get another shower tomorrow and shave then,” I prodded myself to get out of the shower, find my shave cream and razor, and go ahead with it.

For those men contemplating shaving their genitals, either for medical reasons or for fun, it was not as difficult as I thought it would be. It was actually quite easy, since I did it in the shower. The trick is to use a sharp, new blade and a light touch. It takes awhile, too, because one is naturally so cautious, but in the end it’s fairly easy to get a smooth shave with no knicks or cuts. I would also recommend a cool shower, so that the testicles draw up tight.

So what does it look like? Well, I am sorry, but I cannot bring myself to display any pictures. You’ll recall that Sylvia Plath, in her novel The Bell Jar, describes a man’s genitals as looking like a chicken neck and gizzard. A man’s shaved genitals look like a chicken neck, gizzard, and plump, white breast.

I am sure I will have more to write about this afterwards, though maybe not immediately afterwards. I really do not know what to expect. Last night, I dug through the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of percocet left over from a kidney stone I had a couple years ago. I am planning on using them, if it comes down to it. I hope I don’t have to, but we’ll see. Maybe all I’ll need is a bag of frozen peas.

In other news, last night my Dad called me to tell me some bad news. My one remaining grandma, 75 years old, is going in the hospital today for exploratory surgey. She had a CAT scan to determine why she was having some sever kneck pain, but the neck pain was quickly forgotten when the doctor found a mass on her pancreas that he said “did not look good.” The obvous connotation of that phrase is “cancer.”

She is going in at noon today, so that is very much weighing on my mind as I also go into surgery at 11:30. I called her last night and spoke to her, after Dad called me. I told her I loved her and I would be praying for her. I found myself fighting the tears as I talked to her. Though one always expects this with older family members, one never expects it. I did not sleep much last night, between thinking about her and thinking about my operation. I found myself remembering all that she has meant in my life, and silently thinking to myself, “Please God. Please God. Please God.”

I want at least another ten or fifteen years for her. She is otherwise quite healthy. She has a strong heart, according to the cardiogram taken prior to admitting her for surgery. I cannot believe this is happening.

We are travelling to West Virginia tomorrow so I can go to the hospital and see if, as soon as she is allowed to see people. Lynn said she would drive so I can ride shotgun with an ice pack on my balls.