Invite design for my 32nd birthday party. It was fun.

Dread Pirate Foster’s 4th Birthday Party from ralph hogaboom on Vimeo.

When I’m at work, I’m a buoyant fount of comedy and helpfulness. I’m significantly less so at home.

I now generally have a tendency towards low self esteem. I default to Deny, Failure, and Loss. But as far as my fatherhood, I take it seriously. I put time and thought into my actions. I put a lot of work into it. To confess less than peachy at home is hard.

There was this conference I was going to go to. The Mankind Project. More of a ‘finding yourself’ retreat, but I imagine it as something with mannish versions of The Trust Game. One of the testimonies in the brochure I had read something like this:

“I was in wonderful relationships with my family, but I wasn’t expressing who I was. I had lost the exuberance of my youth, and this weekend I found that and am now sharing who I am with my family. It’s been life changing.”

I found some truth in that, in relation to the work/family dynamic. I mean, what is it about my Dadness that can’t be as lighthearted? A visitor wouldn’t see it. They’d see that I get down on my hands and knees and play – often, too much even. I get grass stains on my work slacks because of it. They’d see I let my kids climb all over me, and I make jokes often with my wife.

But it’s not the same, it’s not really me. It’s just a part of me.

The old me, before kids, was a bit flamboyant. I took better personal care of my self and how I dressed. I was a wise-ass, all the time. I was very upbeat and lighthearted. I really enjoyed being around myself.

I can’t tell where the darkness creeped in. I somehow became someone different at home. Please don’t misunderstand me – I don’t prowl the halls at midnight like a savage beast with blood dripping off my fangs. I get home and immediately pick up my kids in my arms, and go play. We set the table, we all have dinner together. I usually get to bathe both of them and put them to sleep. I Am Not A Dad Who Comes Home And Sits In A Recliner To Unwind. I strongly reject that concept.

What I’m trying to say, and what I fear will be misconstrued, is this:

I don’t understand why I act differently at home and feel less like myself. I don’t know where the real me goes, and I’m uncomfortable scared about that.

Having admitted this to myself, for the first time, I wonder what tonight will be like.

Avg rating: * * * *

Genre: Drama, Comedy

Plot outline: Ralph goes in for a vasectomy and learns first hand about the ramifications to himself mentally and physically.

User comments: Great performances, some funny scenes with a good message at heart.

Details: Except this wasn’t a movie. I really did go in, about six months ago, and get a vasectomy.

Here’s the one-time-only warning that I’m going to talk, graphically, about my penis and testicles. If you’re feeling faint of heart, fear not! Simply read another article.

Meetings

The Procedure

Like you don’t know, the vasa deferentia, the tubes which connect the testicles to the prostate, are cut and closed. This prevents sperm produced in the testicles to be in the ejaculated semen fluid (which is mostly produced in the prostate and the seminal vesicles).

My Procedure

I was told to shave, but not exactly where. I was given drugs to take before my procedure.

Next thing I know, I’m in a surgical gown on stirrups and some woman is saying regretfully “You were supposed to shave.”

“I did shave, here, behind my testicles.”

“Oh on, Doctor Kuznetsov needed you to shave on the front of your testicles.”

So she proceeded to shave me, dryly, until she was satisfied. With the drugs, though, it didn’t really matter. My biggest concern was that some person touching me would give me an embarrassing erection, which didn’t happen. Turns out the drugs take care of that for you.

You’re seriously relaxed.

After the shaving, Doctor Kuznetsov came in. He had an excellent bedside manner. The first thing I noticed was that he informed me of every single thing he did, before he did it. This proved immensely comforting to me. It was a form of respect that I haven’t attributed to doctors previously.

He even joked about his Russian name, Kuznetsov, CUTS-nuts-off. The fact that he still found that funny gave me even more confidence (the drugs? …. nah).

I felt two distinct stings during the procedure. Then I was done, with a jock strap and an ice pack. Kelly was in the waiting room and took me home where I laid on the couch for a good two hours.

The instructions were to stay on my back for two days. Yeah, right. I have kids. No deal.

The physical recovery proved easy enough. There were some stitches, in the front of my scrotum, that made me feel uneasy. I thought that it was a permanent staple. A week later, the stitches fell out and everything looks the same as before.

There was a follow up sperm test 1 month afterwards. It took all of five minutes, and I was pronounced sterile.

Functionally, everything else is the same, as well. There’s no difference ejaculating, even looking at the semen. It seems the same as before.

Emotionally, I felt slightly off-balance. I was sterile. ‘No longer able to create life’ somehow meant to me unable to support life. I wasn’t really prepared for this, believing that I’d thought through all the ramifications of the sterilization process.

Here I was, doubting. I’m not even sure what I was doubting in myself, to be honest. But the insecurity was there.

As a male, I’ve heard the message that a sterile man can cheat on his partner easier. No need for condoms or birth control. I’ve heard the message that I’m somehow more free of children, or possible future children weighing me down. But although I’ve received that message, it fell way flat.

Sophie and Nels were to be the last of my offspring. Sophie and Nels were to be the last of my offspring. The only two out of a million possibilities. I’d never meet another child of mine. Those two were it. It seems so limiting.

Not that we’d do well with more kids, honestly. It’s more like the giving up of hope. Think about it — if you were told exactly what would happen each day of every day of the rest of your life, exactly what would happen, you’d be dead inside. It’d crush your spirit. Because it would take away hope.

You’d have no real wish for anything other than what you were told. If you knew everything that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly wish for a better outcome. You’d know the exact outcome of every scenario. You’d lose hope in anything being better than what you knew.

How totally depressing.

And that’s what I felt, at least a fragment of it. I lost all hope that I’d ever get to know another child of mine. That’s a big deal. To have the cut off, irrevocably, permanent. Forever.

It was about a week of mourning, and then I moved on. I had actual, real children right here and now to enjoy. So I moved on. Emotionally, some change took place inside to reconcile my sterility with my fatherhood. I integrated the two, and I’m not sure how. I’d like to know, but for now, what I have is working for me.

Irrevocably, permanent. Forever. Amen.

Nels Hogaboom (no middle name as of yet)

born 8 lbs, 7 oz

21 inches long

home birth in the tub — water baby

The birth experience was really, really nice. I couldn’t imagine wanting to have a baby in a hospital again. Now that I’ve been all the way through the home birth, I can appreciate how — mundate — it is. It’s not some crazy, we-need-professionals-in-sterile-rooms Serious Operation. It’s a thing the woman’s body was meant to do, the body excels at doing. DLR said it best: might as well jump.