For the last couple of days that noise has been making me wince. You think you don’t hear it and then you have to open a packet of bacon (*SNIP*) or help the Boy make something crafty (*SNIP*) or watch Edward Scissorhands (*SNIP SNIP SNIPITY SNIP SNIP*) and you realise that snips are all around us.
I have my appointment with the Vasectomy Clinic for a pre-operative assessment. I am shitting myself.
Taken a while hasn’t it? Remember Dr ****** needed my wife’s permission before she would refer me on the NHS? Well it took a while. Not because she was watching Dusty Bin or drinking Watney’s Red Barrel. Because the Doctor’s receptionist (yes at the same surgery) didn’t believe her when she rang to confirm. Not actually having been there I can only imagine the conversation.
Receptionist: Hello? Brighton 543459873495739453498721. How may I help you?
Wife: Er, well my husband, slightlysuburbandad, wants to have a vasectomy but you need my permission first. So I’m calling to give you it. As long as you do it carefully.
Receptionist: *noise of typing* Er, I’m sorry we don’t seem to have a slightlysuburbandad on the patient’s register.
Wife: Try (says my real name)
Receptionist: Oh yes him. Well, take it from me because I’m a Doctor’s receptionist and therefore know EVERYTHING that he doesn’t need your permission. That would be ridiculous and the subject of a large campaign were it the other way round. So sorry but you’re wasting your time. Good day!
Wife: Oh, OK. Goodbye.
Two days later I got a letter in angry doctor language asking why my wife hadn’t agreed to ‘the process’ yet. We dismissed this as a practical joke.
Five days after that we got a letter in even angrier Doctor language asking why she STILL hadn’t agreed and maybe I should, y’know, CHIVVY HER THE FUCK UP.
Luckily (?) a couple of days after that my wife burned herself quite badly on some steam and had to go to the surgery for a dressing. On her way out she got the receptionist to check my file, pointed out the angry doctor letters and gave her permission there and then. I was referred.
The receptionist now hates us. I bet, next time I’m in for a routine check-up, she says ‘OH HOW NICE TO SEE YOU. HOW’S THE COCK?’
Still I have my letter now confirming pre-op assessment date and giving me some basics on the process. Here’s my favourite bit:
“The day before your operation you will need to remove the hair from your scrotum, this should be done with hair removal cream”.
I’m glad they mentioned the cream. A one blade BIC would pretty much have been a deal breaker.
It also reminded me of a kid at school who had a totally hairless scrotum. One day someone suggested the light must bounce off it. Like a lighthouse. That was it. He was “Lighthouse” for the rest of his school days.
That’ll be me. Lighthouse The Barren. Begetter of no-one else again. Owner of hair removal cream.