THESE BOOTS AIN’T MADE FOR WALKING

by

RR

In 1969, my wife and I had our second child.  We already had a five-year old son. Now we had a little girl, a full set, and were very happy.  I also had an inner-hidden agenda.  Yeah, that’s right, my right of passage was about to return.  In just a few short weeks, I'm back in the saddle.  Yep, the "love" drought was bout over.
 
Finally that follow-up visit with the doctor came and went with me getting the green light to fan them flames.  I had that gleam in my eye and I would have sworn I could see a gleam in the little woman's eyes.
 
I won't go into detail as to how I swerved into the precious moment of reuniting two bodies and souls into that  bliss and what was anticipated to be a sparks-flying, wild-monkey love session.  Much to my surprise and dismay her answer was quick, short and painful.
 
"We ain't going there till you have yoself fixed".  These are the words from my dear soul mate’s lips.  She was serious too.  Having grown up on a farm and helping my dad "fix" some hogs, I said, "What you mean "fixed".  One thundering word came back:  Vasectomy!  Got to admit that sent a chill up my back and put two lumps in the pit of my stomach.  This ain't no time to start a fight ‘cause I am in need, and my will to fight is weak.

I called around to some of my so called friends that had gone through this and they said no problem, nothing to it, be a man, have it done, you will be glad you did.

Well I called a doctor friend of mine, a surgeon that I had a professional relationship with and he said to come in and talk with him. I go in and he explains that my wife would have to sign a permission form to have my ownself fixed. Ain't that a hell of a note? I told him she would sign to have my throat cut if necessary.

Being the boss at my house I made an appointment for the surgery after everybody signed the papers to "fix" me.

Let me remind you this was in the summer of 1969 and while I have little money now, I had less then: just a wife, new baby, five-year old son, and a serious longing in my groin; not exactly a money maker.

Well the dreaded date rolled around for the "fixin". We farmed the kids out to a neighbor lady who had a silly-ass smirk on her face knowing what I was going to have done.

Now for some, psychological I am positive, reason I decided to wear a pair of cowboy boots. I think it was symbolic of holding on to my manhood as long as I could. This will haunt me later.

We get to the office and I'm feelin’ a little sheepish so I refuse to sign the sign-in book. I mumbled some incoherent reason of not being able to look them office girls in the eye. The little wife throws me a comforting smile and says, “No problem, dear, I will gladly sign you in.” She proceeds to hop, skip and jump over to sign the book. She now has a glow about her of inner peace and damn near open gleefulness.

Now it had been agreed by me and the doctor that I have this done late on Friday afternoon so I would have the weekend to recover, and he would not have to be rushed. Last thing I wanted was for him to be rushed. Slow and easy I'm thinkin’.

Now you ladies can better relate to this than most men. Dignity at this point is flushed, gone, zero. When you crawl into them stirrups butt-naked, pretty much all yo secrets are out the bag. No pun intended.

He takes me back to "that" room, strips me naked except for them cowboy boots and puts me on the table and says, “Put them boots in the stirrups, pardner.” A committee could not have dreamed up a more stupid, dumb-looking thing than me in them boots in them stirrups. Them boots had definitely betrayed my manhood at that point.

The doctor was walking around whistling and gathering up his "fixin" tools. He said, “This will give us a chance to talk; we don't get many chances like this." I said, “Doc I really can't think of anything I want to talk about right now, plus I want you to concentrate real hard on what you doin’.”

Now the room we were in had a door that opened out to the waiting room and there were no other patients so the staff had nothing to do till the "fixin" was done. I could hear my dear wife and soul mate humming and whistling and making small, happy talk with the staff. I had no doubt she was enjoying this way too much, but then I had a goal and she played a large roll in it.

The doctor is now ready, I'm butt-naked, except for them boots, and I'm just hangin’ there trying not to make eye contact with the doctor. Then comes the time to give me a shot for the pain and, up until this very moment, I had assumed he would give me a shot in my back or butt to numb me for the cuttin’. My feller Americans, that ain't where the shot goes! You got it, the shot goes right into the old ammunition sack and into the tube, hopefully the correct one, that is gone get cut on.
Yikes.

So the doc is movin’ things out of the way and peeks under there. He stops and looks at me and in a voice soft and warm says, "You gone have to relax, I can't get hold of ‘em; they all drawed up." “No joke, doc,” I says, “wonder why that is? Could it be I am scared erectionless here?

He begins to rub my stomach like you would a dog and gets my mind distracted and down they come and he's on’em like a frog on a fly and shouts, "I got ‘em". I swear I heard a little, light applause from the staff and my wife.

He gives me the shot, my eyes bulge, them boots almost jump off my feet, one of them out-of-body experiences was near ‘cause I saw a bright light you always hear about. I said to the doc, “You got to give one on the other side, too, ain't you?” "Yep, or you will go away half cocked," he said. I reminded him that if that was meant to be funny, it missed the mark.

The procedure does not take long but your sex life does flash before your eyes ‘cause you thinkin’ this may be the end. The doc is doing his thing and I ask him how you know you cuttin’ the right cord. With a little too much glee he says, "Let me show you," and pulls up on the cord and my head comes off the pillow and them boots rotate on my feet, and he says, "See, it’s attached to your eyeballs.” Yikes!

He finishes and shows me the pieces he has cut out and suggested that if a sperm gets across that and a child is born, be sure to name it Houdini -- another weak attempt at humor.

I get dressed. I was standing a little slumped and bow-legged, not wantin’ anything to touch anything. The doc asked would I like a drink of liquor and a cigarette. I said I would take the liquor but no cigarette ‘cause frankly it had not been that good for me. He and I had us a good stiff drink of bourbon and coke, and now I'm wondering has he been drinkin’ all day.

So we standin’ there having a drink and I'm thinkin’ I got all this behind me. Then he starts up. He says, "Now for the next six weeks use protection and use everything as much as possible ‘cause you got to clean out them tubes ‘cause you still got live ammo in there. Then come back to the office here and give me a sample so I can check for live sperm and determine if the tubes are clear."

I said, “Whoa, whoa, (cowboy talk with them boots on) doc, it sounded like you said for me to come back to your office and give you a sample.” "Yep, pardner, you got it". “Let's see now, I come back here, you and staff put me in the toilet to uh, well manipulate myself to get a sample.” "That’s correct", he replies. “Well, forget it,” I said. “You and all the staff is here and I'm in the toilet; they all know what I'm doing; is that the high plan you got?” "Yep," he said matter of factly.

“I ain't doin it. This is where I draw the line.”

Then he says, "Well, you live on St. Simons, right; 12-15 miles from your house to the office and sperm does not live long outside the body and we won't know when they died."

“Well, that’s just great, fine and dandy, but I ain't getting’ in the toilet here in this office and take matters in hand to get you a sample, so just give me another choice.”

"O K, cowboy, here's your second choice,” he says. “Warm a towel, get the sample in a, uhhh, proper container, wrap it in the warm towel, drive like hell here to the office and we’ll be prepared to deal with it immediately.” Then he adds, "And wear them boots again…. Now go out there and talk with Lucy so we will all be on the same page.”

So like a neutered dog I wobble up to the desk with smilin’ Lucy behind it, and I ask her what I need to do. "When you get ready to come...” [Silence all over the office] “Oh, I mean when you get ready to bring the sample, call and alert me so I can have everything in place."

So me and this woman I am legally tied to leave the office and head on home for me to suffer in private. She asked, “So what do we do now?” I see an open door here. I said, “He said for us to use it every night for six weeks to clear the tubes.” With a look of horror she says, "You will have to double bag cause we ain't havin’ more children." “Yes, dear, was all I could muster.”

Flash forward for six weeks: time for the "sample”! Now remember, I said we were poor; had only one car. Well, the wife had been tied down with the kids at home and had a little cabin fever. So she gets this brilliant idea that the young’uns should ride over to the doc’s office with us, sort of a family outing.

Now all this is in the heat of summer. I explain to her the time frame we have to get this job done. No problem. Her plan was that her and the kids would get in the car and be ready. I was to stay in the house and get the “sample” and all is well with the world. No time to be startin’ a fight don’t you know, so I agree to the plan.

So out they go to get in the car, and I go to work on myself. But something ain't right. The little guy don't want to help me out here; he seems to know the pressure I'm under: time’s critical, family out in hot car waiting, kids are restless. I get me a girlie magazine. Trying to hold the magazine and turn pages with one hand ain’t easy.

Now this goes on longer than it should. Wife is blowin’ the horn, I'm sweatin’, got a towel in the oven that’s a fire hazard! Oh, geez!... ‘Bout then I hear the front door open. It’s the five-year old. "Daddy, mommy wants to know when you coming." Tell her I am workin’ on it and will be there soon as the task at hand is finished. "Come on, Daddy, it’s hot out there and we want to go."

Finally he leaves, I double my efforts and we have lift off. Get the smokin’ towel out the oven, jump in the car with screamin’, crying kids, a wife who has that you-gone- pay-for-this look on her face and we are off to see the wizard.

The doc counts’em and says, “they dead; don't know when they died, but they dead. So you are to venture into the world with only a slight risk.”

So this ole cowboy struts out to the car and we live happily ever after.