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July 6, 2002 okra and nutsack gumbo i'd been threatened with it before.  many times.  but, until Tuesday, i had never felt sharp, cold steel on my testicles. last month, i stopped by the office of my urologist, Dr. Karloff, to pick up the small royalty check i receive from having had my prostate on the cover of Gland Monthly. (see mind and body.)  in the waiting room, i spied a pamphlet on vasectomies.  the cover graphics hooked me:  a Fifties, retro look--like a "Dick and Jane" primer--but with a Negro urologist explaining the procedure to his Caucasian patient.  there are currently two African-American urologists in the United States;  in the 1950s, there were approximately none.  the doctor on the pamphlet cover held an anatomical drawing of a scrotum and seemed to be saying, "this here is yo nutsack."  when Dr. Karloff's nurse assured me that his patients are administered the pre-op tranquilizer, Versed (midazolam HCl), i signed on.  it was time to prune my family tree anyway. i had to prepare the site for surgery by shaving my own privates.  this took me over an hour even with a Mach 3 Scrotal Blade and Edge "Twig 'n Berries" Shave Gel.  there are a lot of nooks and more than a few crannies down there.  when i emerged from the bathtub and looked at my shorn gonads, i almost wept.  rather than create the lengthening illusion i'd hoped for, the shaving gave my jewels a pale, withered look--like a newborn white rat abandoned by its mother.  thus shaved and shaken, i prepared for my post-surgical care. the pamphlet stated:  "once you're home after surgery, stay off your feet . . . to lessen the chance of swelling.  an ice pack or bag of frozen peas can help keep the swelling down."  this intrigued me.  which characteristic was crucial to recovery--the low temperature or the vegetable type?  i thought about it long and hard and decided against taking chances.  i purchased both frozen okra in a bag and a large can of English peas. the surgery was delightful.  i hate to admit this, but i'd hang my scrotum in a blender every day for the rest of my life just to get the Versed injections.  that is some righteous shit.  a friend drove me home only after prying me loose from a crusty old nurse who, before surgery, looked like Raymond Massey but, in my Versed-induced euphoria, looked exactly like Rebecca Romjin-Stamos. once home, i got in bed, spread my legs, and placed the cafeteria-size can of English peas on my crotch.  this hurt.  a lot.  so i switched to the frozen okra and found relief.  except for a gait reminiscent of Walter Brennan in The Real McCoys, i have recovered.  and tonight, i am having okra and nutsack gumbo for supper.

©  2002 by the beastmaster