The Short Humour Site

Home : Writers' Showcase : Submission Guidelines : A Man of a Few More Words : Links

Writers' Showcase

Appointment with Fear!
by Nick Allen

I sat in the waiting room while adrenaline was pumped around my body by a thumping muscle in my chest, causing my breathing to quicken and my stomach to churn. To summarise, I was very frightened.

Three months earlier I’d sat in a doctor’s office signing a consent form for my forthcoming vasectomy. One question was asked of me – did I want a general or local anaesthetic? I knew the extra difficulties and costs involved with a general so, being a public-spirited soul, did what any decent chap would do, and opted to be wide awake while a man I didn’t know chopped away with a razor-sharp knife at my genitals.

It took about 2 minutes for me to realise I’d made a huge mistake, but by then I felt too silly and embarrassed to reverse my decision.

The worry grew exponentially, and when I was offered an appointment on a Wednesday in March, I declined by pretending to be on holiday that week. The next appointment offered to me (a Wednesday in May), I accepted, albeit reluctantly.

Time for research. Loaded magazine was running a ‘My Vasectomy’ story, which described in a ‘blokey’ way what happens under the knife, so to speak. All well and good until the author told of the needle going, I quote, ‘into his left bollock’. The pain he described was excruciating and was only eclipsed by the pain he felt when it entered his right one! Oh dear, what had I done?

Three days before my op I decided I needed help and I rang the unit that was ‘doing me’ and, speaking to a very nice-sounding nurse, asked if it would be possible to have a pre-med to settle my nerves. To my disappointment, laughter was my only answer!

The night before I must have looked a sorry sight, kneeling on the floor of my flat, pants around my knees, mirror in my left hand, razor in my right. To my shame, I ended up looking like a sad, sea-dwelling mollusc!

So, Wednesday morning I sat waiting, racked with fear, my home-made pre-med (gin!) apparently not having worked. Finally, a nurse called my name and I walked into a room and lay on the butcher’s slab that awaited me.

The doctor, syringe in hand, headed for my groin while the nurse firmly held my hand. I assume it was to stop me lashing out at the poor man injecting me, so I squeezed back with all my might! To my relief, the expected pain never came, and while the surgeon busied himself between my legs, I relaxed enough to chat to the nurse. I commented on the coincidence that both my appointments had been on a Wednesday. “We do all the men on Wednesdays”, she told me. “We call it Willie Wednesday! We do ladies on Fridays, but I won’t tell you what we call those!”

Dignity intact, I left the theatre and encountered a man voicing his very grave doubts about the wisdom of the whole procedure to a very patient nurse. I couldn’t help wonder what the heck he was worrying about…..