It Took Years To Find A Doctor Who Finally Agreed To Give Me A Vasectomy. Here’s Why.


When I first came across Vasectomy Ireland, I approached them with caution, steeling myself for another disappointment. I emailed the doctor and told him up-front that I was 32, unmarried and had no children, and if any of these things would disqualify me, I would like to know in advance. Dr. John McCormick wrote back immediately saying there was no problem, gave me a brief questionnaire and a quote for the procedure (€450) and we agreed on a date.

Shortly before the trip, word of my pre-wedding plans got out among my circle of friends, then quickly spread to the rest of the wedding guests. As a result, the stag party was catered with an open bar of questions and an all-you-can-eat buffet of free advice. 

Why are you doing this? 

You’re going to regret it later.

What if you meet the girl of your dreams?

What if your parents had done the same thing?

What’s the point of living if you don’t have children?

One of the groomsmen, whom I’d never met before, decided that as a new father, it was his mission in life to talk me out of my decision. For hours, he used every argument he could muster, no matter how convoluted, to convince me he knew more about my life than I did. Six or so beers into the afternoon, he resorted to, “Come on, don’t you want a little version of you?”

“That would be my worst nightmare,” I said.

That seemed to shut him up.

On the day of my appointment, I rolled up to the clinic at 11 a.m. Dr. McCormick asked me some preliminary questions about my medical history, then made a few respectful inquiries into my motives.

“Say, for the sake of argument, you meet a woman you fall head over heels for, and she says she needs to have children to be happy.”

Without missing a beat, I replied, “That would be a deal-breaker.”

He was leading into a largely misunderstood aspect of this ordeal: vasectomies should be considered permanent. Yes, they are reversible, but the likelihood of a successful reversal begins to decrease exponentially after four years. Also, a reversal operation can cost anywhere from $7,000 to $9,000. Bottom line: I shouldn’t do this unless I was 100% sure.

I was.

Dr. McCormick performs the no-scalpel version of the procedure. The big difference between a no-scalpel vasectomy and a traditional one lies in the way the vas deferens are accessed. Rather than making cuts on each side of the scrotum, he makes a tiny opening in the skin with a pointed surgical tool called a hemostat and the skin is spread rather than cut. There’s hardly any blood and no need for stitches. 

My one fear going into this was how the anesthesia was going to be administered (my dreams of late had been haunted by images of a beachball being pierced by a harpoon). I was relieved to learn there were no needles involved. I felt the equivalent of two flicks with a rubber band, and then I was numb.

The whole thing, from the Q&A to buttoning up my jeans, lasted less than an hour. I had a harder time deciding whether to order fish and chips or a shepherd’s pie at the pub afterward. For a few days, I experienced a dull ache, but nothing that stopped me from dancing at the wedding.

This was five years ago. Since then, I’ve enjoyed a happy and healthy sex life, and not a day has gone by that I’m not glad I made the decision to protect both myself and my future partners from unwanted pregnancy. And yes, I still use condoms (because even if you don’t hear about them as much, sexually transmitted infections are still a thing.)

However, there is an unfortunate downside to getting a vasectomy that no one ever talks about.

Anyone who knows they don’t want kids is familiar with the smug sanctimony that manifests in the form of, “Oh, you’ll change your mind someday!”

I used to think that after I’d gotten snipped, I could throw it down like a trump card and lay these conversations to rest forever.

Well, not quite. Shortly after I got home, an acquaintance, upon hearing I had no interest in raising a family, assured me that one day I would change my mind.

“Not likely,” I said. “I just had a vasectomy.”

“Oh,” he replied. “Well, that’s reversible.”

Jonathan Balog lives in Rome, where he works as a writer, teacher and tour guide. His fiction and poetry have appeared in “Dark Moon Digest,” “Chiral Mad 3,” “Chilling Ghost,” “Dark Visions vol 1,” “Ominous Realities and Dread: A Head Full of Bad Dreams ― The Best of Grey Matter Press.” He’s also done lots of guest blogging and published the occasional freelance article on Italian history, art, wine, and food. When he’s not working or in lockdown he’s (preferably) traveling somewhere in Europe or Southeast Asia. Follow him on Instagram at @jonbalrog.

This article originally appeared on HuffPost in April 2021.





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