The Consummation (part 4 of 5)

It’s been two months since The Operation. I’m walking normally. I’m talking normally. I’m pissing normally, to be perfectly blunt. In fact, everything seems to be working normally, including the most important parts, if you get my drift.

Went to the doctor with my little specimen bottle a few days ago. The call came back that everything was good – meaning there weren’t any hidden surprises floating around in my system.

Or so they said.

This was my one significant concern, now that everything was over and done with. Yes, the operation went smoothly. No residual pain or swelling. No residual discomfort. No staff infection.

No gangrene.

But what if, somehow, there were one or two little ‘soldiers’ still lurking around in there, desperately hanging on for one more shot at fame and glory?

Imagine, if you will, that you are a sperm. One small part of a very large army, an invincible army that sees a lot of action and is continuously resupplied with reinforcements. As a member of this army you feel strong and confident, sure of yourself and your mission.

Now suddenly, each mission becomes a war of attrition. Not only do you find yourself charging headlong into an impenetrable wall, but after every battle the troops are decimated, unable to reach their objective and no longer reinforced. And with each successive mission your strength gets weaker, your numbers fewer, your morale lower.

I don’t know about you…but if I were one of those last remaining sperm, I know what I would do. I’d hunker down, hang on as long as I possibly could, and once I sensed the big rubber wall was no longer in place I’d charge forward with everything in my power to strike one final blow for the reproductive system, a way to honor all those who had gone before me, and to leave my legacy to the world in the form of a cute little baby.

It’s the opposite of a suicide mission. Instead of going out by taking life, it’s going out by creating life.

And since that is what I would do, and we’re talking about my last remaining sperm, I was pretty sure a couple of those little soldiers were hanging around waiting to do just that.

So it was with a slight bit of trepidation that I approached the appointed rendezvous. My wife, god love her, had set the appropriate mood – a chilled beverage, soft music, mood lighting. Some little lacy piece of nothing clinging to her shapely form.

Chris and Tommy were with their aunt and cousins. No worries on that front.

We took our time, enjoying the mood and the moment. It truly was special. Memories of the consultation and the operation disappeared in the mist of romance. The full benefit of the procedure quickly became apparent. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be ‘natural.’

We talked afterwards. We talked about how it felt, for both of us. About not being able to add to our family, should we somehow decide we’d want to. About whether we’d been hasty in making this decision. We were both very open and honest, as we usually are. It was a good conversation.

There was one thing, though, that I didn’t tell her.

You may not believe this, but it is absolutely true. At that exact ‘moment’ I swear I heard a lone bugle playing ‘CHARGE!’

It’s great to be The (uh oh) Family Man.

Coming next: Part 5 – The Conclusion