Snipped

My throne.

Just an update for all of you out there in Cyberspace:

Yours Truly can no longer produce human beings.

Yes, the fuses have been severed and no longer will the cannons be firing with live ammunition.  Blanks from here on out, folks.  Thank you, Jebus.

Okay, so here's a quick recap. . .  

Tools of the trade.

My appointment with the urologist had initially been scheduled for 11 am yesterday, but was pushed back to 2 pm due to some pressing emergency of his.  Despite my curiosity, I didn't ask the surgeon what could have been more important than my ball sack; honestly, just so long as he wasn't preoccupied with anything while wielding that scalpel of his, I was cool.  

I couldn't drive a car after the surgery, so Kris had to take the morning off of work in order to drive me down to the clinic.  She planned on just dropping me off so that she could get some Christmas shopping done in the area, as we had initially been told the procedure would take about an hour.  Unfortunately for her, it took about thirty minutes.

Seriously.

After the urologist pumped both sides of the sack with goof juice, he made a few cuts with the scalpel, pulled out the whatever-it-is (let's just go with 'fuse'), cut it, and then pulled out some kind of torch to cauterize each end.

F.Y.I. - no matter how calm a person you may be, there's something unnerving about looking down and seeing smoke rising from your genitals.

He had to repeat the process on each side of the sack, and then it was just a matter of sewing it up with some sutures and calling it a day.  There was practically no pain involved whatsoever during the surgery itself, but afterwards it felt like I had my nuts in a vice. When I got back to the house I crawled into bed, took some ibuprofen, and iced the hell out of the region.

Then, when Kris went back to work, I fired up the ol' Wii U, cracked open an imperial stout,  and burned away the rest of the afternoon and evening.

Bitchin' care package, courtesy of Mom.

When beer doesn't quite take the edge off the throbbing in one's balls, this'll do the trick just fine. . .

And that, dear readers, is how Yours Truly rid himself of his God-given ability to create life.

If anyone needs me, I'll be here in bed - drinking bourbon, icing my balls, and saving Hyrule.

- Brian