We had to upgrade our insurance this year, so as to have a lower deductible, lower out of pocket expenses and lower maximum out of pocket limits. It now costs a gatrillion dollars out of Kevin's paycheck every month, but I've got half a gatrillion dollars coming out of my paycheck to cover the rather large flexible spending account we also had to open up.
We've got good reasons for it, what with all the elective surgeries going on around here. Before I have surgery this summer, Kevin's going to be going under the knife (laser?) himself. I've been told by men who have had it done not to call it "getting fixed", so we'll just call it The Procedure.
Yes, Kevin is going to be having that procedure, the one which will ensure that we will never spawn the children that people keep telling me we should have.
No, no we should not.
Don't get me wrong, I love kids. Other people's kids. I love to snuggle them and read them stories and chase them around the park....and then hand them back to their parents and go home to take a nap. And don't even get me started on the whole pregnancy thing. THAT just doesn't seem to be at all comfortable and let me tell you, none of you want to hear me whine for 9 months about how much everything sucks.
Anyway, we knew he was going to have to have The Procedure done before June, because that's when I anticipate my surgeon pulling me off my birth control pills (he takes his patients off for the month before and the month after so as to help prevent clots and pulmonary emoblism, aka death). And after the surgery I'll be flooded with all the hormones currently stashed in various parts of my padding, causing my fertility to temporarily go TO THE MOON, ALICE, which means that either he gets The Procedure done or we don't have sex for a year. (Guess which one he picked?)
He was a little shocked to find out that it's usually an in-office procedure rather than something that takes place in a gorgeous new surgery center with lots of nice nurses and pain meds like the place I had my wrist surgery, but I think he's gotten over it. (He's probably also tired of me constantly reminding him to get it set up, as I have been doing for six months. But! He finally made the appointment for his consult so kudos to him.) I have promised to be a good nurse maid and have already started repeating my new mantra:
I have an abnormally high pain tolerance. Kevin has a low pain tolerance.
(Remembering that should go a long way in helping me be nicer to him rather than telling him to buck up, buddy.)
So we're hoping for The Procedure to happen mid-late April, which will give up plenty of time to stock up on frozen peas and jock straps. Now if I can just keep him away from WebMd and Dr. Google, it'll all be fine.
We've got good reasons for it, what with all the elective surgeries going on around here. Before I have surgery this summer, Kevin's going to be going under the knife (laser?) himself. I've been told by men who have had it done not to call it "getting fixed", so we'll just call it The Procedure.
Yes, Kevin is going to be having that procedure, the one which will ensure that we will never spawn the children that people keep telling me we should have.
No, no we should not.
Don't get me wrong, I love kids. Other people's kids. I love to snuggle them and read them stories and chase them around the park....and then hand them back to their parents and go home to take a nap. And don't even get me started on the whole pregnancy thing. THAT just doesn't seem to be at all comfortable and let me tell you, none of you want to hear me whine for 9 months about how much everything sucks.
Anyway, we knew he was going to have to have The Procedure done before June, because that's when I anticipate my surgeon pulling me off my birth control pills (he takes his patients off for the month before and the month after so as to help prevent clots and pulmonary emoblism, aka death). And after the surgery I'll be flooded with all the hormones currently stashed in various parts of my padding, causing my fertility to temporarily go TO THE MOON, ALICE, which means that either he gets The Procedure done or we don't have sex for a year. (Guess which one he picked?)
He was a little shocked to find out that it's usually an in-office procedure rather than something that takes place in a gorgeous new surgery center with lots of nice nurses and pain meds like the place I had my wrist surgery, but I think he's gotten over it. (He's probably also tired of me constantly reminding him to get it set up, as I have been doing for six months. But! He finally made the appointment for his consult so kudos to him.) I have promised to be a good nurse maid and have already started repeating my new mantra:
I have an abnormally high pain tolerance. Kevin has a low pain tolerance.
(Remembering that should go a long way in helping me be nicer to him rather than telling him to buck up, buddy.)
So we're hoping for The Procedure to happen mid-late April, which will give up plenty of time to stock up on frozen peas and jock straps. Now if I can just keep him away from WebMd and Dr. Google, it'll all be fine.
Labels: Kevin, The Procedure
5 Comments:
You crack me up! I'm glad it's a laser Procedure. As Joe just reminded me, "scalpel" and "penis" should not be used in the same sentence.
All discussions involving "pain tolerance" are automatically rendered null and void when TESTICLES ARE INVOLVED. Particularly when said testicles are about to become... ah, "null and void," so to speak.
La la la la.... I am not thinking about Kevin's package (in a totally platonic way even)... la la la... stop talking about it... la la la...
Seriously, it is so no big deal. When L had it done a few month ago (amen on the no kids, sista) his had comlications, and it was STILL not a big deal. He was sore for a few days, but back to... performance level in no time. And Min, didja really think you had to remind me who you were? Heh.
Ollie says he completely understands.And we will send you a get well basket of fruit and nuts.
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