Also, based on my amateur knowledge, you seem to be very much where I was at month 2. My second (what I believe to be trustworthy) urologist told me that I had nerve issues at that time and a reversal would not solve nerve issues. I’m fact, the procedure will cause more nerve issues. He sent me to pelvic pt who took care of the nerve issues (but I am fortunate as she seems super needle in the haystack as she seems to be a nerve whisperer).
I went to the ER last night. I was up all night as I was there from 5:00 pm until 6:00 am. I truly thought God was quietly prompting me to go there but I don’t know if I misread that one badly because the experience was as futile as futile gets. I went because I called my urologist on Thursday morning and they refused to give me additional oxycodone. They recommended eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen. I about fell over in my chair. I told them I would be absolutely destroyed by pain if they refused to prescribe me more oxycodone. I, perhaps a bit dramatically, told the receptionist that if they did not give me more oxycodone, I would die. She, in a slightly mocking tone responded, “What do you mean you will die?” I carefully clarified, “What I mean is that the pain will be so intense and debilitating that I would rather die than experience it.” Despite my pleadings, my doctor’s office refused me any and all assistance. I didn’t know what to do. I cried four different times yesterday and was only able to work a half day and I am missing work today to seek out additional medical help the ER refused to offer me. The ER performed an ultrasound and that was very likely the only positive step forward taken during my 13 hour all-nighter at the hospital. It’s results were, not surprisingly, pretty much negative. In the end, the ER doc offered to prescribe me some pathetic prescription pills meant to mimic the effects of ibuprofen, only in a stronger form. I honestly feel like dropping a laser-guided bomb on the factory that produces ibuprofen so all these wack-job doctors will stop perilously prescribing it to me. I literally had to beg and plead the ER doc to give me some oxycodone. I told her I was a reputable man working in a reputable position with one of the premier law enforcement agencies in the country; I told her I had never taken an illegal drug in my life and that I had weened myself off every pain medication I had ever taken post-surgery way ahead of schedule; I told her I have faithfully followed the commandments from my youth; I told her a bunch of other totally random stuff she probably also just did not care about in a desperate attempt to convince her I am a reputable individual worth trusting. I told her I used to blindly believe any medical professional about anything they told me because of the mantle established and respect demanded by their white lab coat. No longer! Honestly, how could I have been so foolish all my life? In every profession I have ever worked in there have been under-performers and over-performers: good cops, bad cops; ethical insurance agents, and rule breakers; hard working bankers, and ineffective ones; studious graduate students, and lazy ones who thought they were being smart by paying tens of thousands of dollars for a higher education whilst getting away with not doing any of the reading assignments; and intelligence analysts who were both intelligent and downright unintelligent. So, with all that personal experience behind me noting the ever conspicuous dichotomy in all the professions I have ever been privileged to be associated with, my floundering failed logic somehow colossally miscalculated that all doctors are brilliant and worth blindly following in all circumstances. l now look forward to receiving countless medical bills in the mail that I really can’t afford because I have a teenager in braces and exhausted my flex spending account balance just a few weeks ago (not too shabby considering it is now December 27th and the new year is conveniently and quickly approaching). Thank goodness I maxed out my flex spending account in 2020, not knowing what could go wrong medically in our family but believing, based on the size of our family and based on past experience, that if something could go wrong, it would go wrong. Well, all my clamoring, all my scheming, really all my pathetic pleadings, scored me twelve oxycodone pills that will now protect me against unbearable pain for this weekend only. I now have no other choice but to continue my quest for a doctor empathetic enough to understand my precipitous plight. Wish me luck!
Are you able to get access to Cannabis in your state? I had more success with Cannabis (Cannabidiol in particular – high in CBD) which I would take orally vs. any type of opiates. I found that it had less side effects and gave me just as much relief as opiates – also helping with sleep. I kept a record of all the different crap I tried with the level of pain relief and am attaching it… Everyone responds differently to meds – but this was my experience. Like you - I had basically zero relief from Ibuprofen.
Medications.pdf (41.5 KB)
Appreciate the idea @bbalk, but I happen to work for one of the premier law enforcement agencies in the country, and five year background reinvestigations and five-year polygraph inquisitions would squeeze the truth right out of me that I had abused illegal cannabis. Never mind it is against my religion. But pretty please keep the suggestions coming as openly and freely as possible. I promise not to judge!
Holy crap, here comes the pain again! I don’t know how to describe it to you. I am just spent. I went 18:06 hours without oxycodone and felt such a sense of pride because of it. And I went over 14:00 hours yesterday without a dose. But the indescribable pain I am experiencing right now, just two and one half hours after comically and preposterously thinking my newfound, self-administered deep tissue massages might actually be accomplishing some form of good, just sent me rushing downstairs to the kitchen cabinet to fetch an oxycodone pill as as fast as humanly and freakingly possible! This pain is maybe only a level five or six and yet it is downright frightening and redoubtable! (And yes, your suspicions are dyed-in-the-wool correct that the word redoubtable is and never ever was in my working vocabulary until I looked it up just moments ago using my trusty tattered thesaurus in order to more fully describe the utter fright this pain has just instantly put me into).
And yet I am grateful and beholden to this new titanic wave of pain! Why? Because living at level one and two pain for for the last two successive twenty-four-hour periods was so extraordinarily remarkable, leisurely, relaxing, and reminiscent of my pre-operation pain-free days, that even I, being 49 days into my recovery and rehabilitation, gullibly and credulously allowed myself to briefly but ever so suspiciously conjure up in the dark and dingy recesses of my moronic marbles that I was doing so well that perhaps I may not need to meet with my inept team of urologists this coming Monday morning to beg for additional oxycodone! But I have been through these cyclically, yet altogether unpredictable and erratic waves of torment so many freaking times that all I could do was yet again believe - while not at all really believing - that things could be getting better.
This trial is changing me precisely in the ways one of the guys on this forum said it would in response to my post online. I am actually thanking Heavenly Father now in my prayers for this challenge. If someone asked me if I would give up everything I have learned from this terrible ordeal if they could somehow magically wave some make-believe wand and instantaneously rid me of any memory of this pain, I would politely and resolutely decline. I am a resoundingly a better husband and father because of all this. I have been transformed from one of the most oblivious and apathetic people on the planet when it came to sustaining those who are or have experienced chronic pain, into one of the most empathetic people on the planet toward anyone of the kind. I have received divine personal revelation from God to stop envying others for their talents and start cultivating my own! I could not and cannot fathom wishing away all this terrible pain while being obliged at the same time to forfeit all of these abundant blessings and newfound spiritual horizons. I was, for the past two days, feeling ever so grateful for this trial.
But perhaps that was because I was self-admittedly in a smooth and lush green fertile valley of reprieve and not on one of the sky-high mountaintops of my capricious, fluctuating, fickle, and utterly unpredictable journey and feud with pain. But I knew all along that if you were to catch me in a few days, or better yet, a few hours after I had reached my next summit of suffering, I would likely haphazardly trade in this coveted birthright blessing God has endowed me with in exchange for a measly mess of pottage.
I had experienced a much needed reprieve from pain over the last two days. On Friday my pain levels were a one, all day. Level one pain is almost so imperceptible that I almost feel like I am back to normal. Yet I bear the scars of so many former blood-letting skirmishes with pain, that these scars now act as a stark reminder that the battle is far from won. I now perfectly comprehend the next elephantine and entirely unpredictable wave of torment is always lurking just around the next bend.
After composing letters to family and friends as I fervently and therapeutically pecked away at my iPhone touchscreen using my two calloused thumbs (no not really - my thumbs aren’t calloused- I’m just using hyperbolic expressions like that for full effect), I then proceeded to spam my brother in-law with three thirty to forty-five minute calmly collected yet raging rants that were both deeply intense and highly personal and which I had amateurishly recorded while shamelessly revealing my unshaven, unkept emergency room discomposed face. I then felt distinctly impressed to power down my mobile phone for the remainder of the day and dedicate my day entirely to my children. It would take hours to chronicle the intensely memorable and inspiring experience I had with my kids today. I was a better dad to them today than I have perhaps ever been - no, eliminate the word “perhaps” from that statement and then it will be accurate. Between my harrowing bouts with unspeakable pain, God seems to be teaching me and imbuing knowledge upon me in a super-charged and intimately inspired spiritual way my 42-year old church going, practical but pious self, have never in my wildest dreams ever experienced, or expected to experience. I have developed and matured so very much through this trial that I am even shocked at the fun and educational and surprisingly spontaneous activities I engaged in with my kids nonstop from noon until midnight yesterday.
No sir, you are not getting better. Progression and regression, quasi feelings of health versus indescribable sensations of pain, priceless moments of play with my beautiful little boys vice the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth brought on by the crippling, debilitating, almost paralyzing pain that drops me to my knees and definitively puts me in prone position. Thank goodness for waves of freakish pain like this one that keep my suffering sanity in check!
Thanks for your honesty I believed that God was punishing me for having a vasectomy as to why I had pain and no one else that I new at that time didn’t I know now that I was taught a lesson through all of this also found out that other men had issues as well. I don’t think that God approves of this surgery at all. I also had a mental break down and ended up in hospital. I still have days mate of guilt anyway I pray that you het better and can put this behind you all the best
It comes as sort of a surprise to me that I am only learning some very important and critical lessons 60 days into this journey. The lessons learned come slowly but surely. I hope by sharing one of them with you today, perhaps you won’t have to learn the hard way yourself.
I need more sleep, period. Perhaps I knew it all along, but I didn’t really know what to do about it. After all, I often have averaged only four or so hours a day of sleep, indeed, sometimes only two. I couldn’t really help it. I was and am awoken consistently by strikingly scary sensations of pain that vary in variety and portent about every two to four hours. Once I’m awake, I’m awake for hours, if not the rest of the day.
I’ve just barely discovered a new method to partially chip away at the sleep deprivation problem likely associated with this kind of post-op pain. When my pain levels are low, I drop everything I am doing. I sleep. My wife understands and supports me in my need to do this. Since resolving to do this several days ago, I’ve consistently missed out on every family bible study session we have had together each evening before bed time. No matter what is going on in your household, if you are sleep deprived from overly abrupt pain-interrupted sleep sessions, then I highly recommended you drop everything and anything you are doing when your pain levels get low and get to bed.
I suppose I identified early on in this process that not only is Post Vasectomy Pain Syndrome an all out physical bout in the veritable boxing ring of agony every day, it may just as well be as much a painstakingly macabre mental and psychological warfare. Today I had what will very likely be the final visit I ever make to the urology office that performed my surgery. I have probably forked our around four or five thirty dollar co-pays since my surgery, if you include my one physical therapy session. In addition, I have placed at at least two desperate phone calls to the after hours on call doctor and numerous pleas for help to receptionists and nurses during normal business hours. I imagine I have, by now, formed somewhat of a reputation with the entire medical practice.
My main objective lately has been to obtain additional doses of oxycodone, as it seems to be the only medication so far capable of curbing the pain and shaving off the sharply ascending and jagged peaks of pain in the 7 to 10 range that are powerful enough to bring me to my knees in tears for an hour to an hour and a half at a time. I have come to fear those peaks in what has probably come to be as much, if not indeed more, a psychological dismay and dread than a physical one. I know that may sound hard to believe if you are early on in this process, but I am really coming to believe it is true. I am not saying the pain is not real. Its as real as real gets. I am simply postulating that there is a serious mental or psychological component that needs to be carefully monitored.
I am mentally worn thin by all of this. This morning I had a doctor’s appointment at 9:45 am. I accidentally set my alarm for 8:30 am, don’t ask me why. It doesn’t take me that long to shave and shower and the physicians clinic is literally just a hop, skip, and a jump down the road from my house. My wife had sent me a text in the night while I was sleeping (yes I do sleep sometimes) asking if I would be willing to do a little tidying up around the house before my appointments. I had every intention to oblige and help her out. Until in the bathroom, as I was getting ready it came to me that this appointment was critically important.
I found myself rehearsing time and again what I would say to the doctor. My parents, three time zones away to the earlier west coast, were equally well aware of the criticality of the moment, each texting me separately, offering prayers, asking inquisitive questions, determining if my game plan was sound. And then it came to me that I needed to not only mentally rehearse my game plan, I needed to record it in my journal on my iPhone. I entered my bedroom and gently whispered an apology to my wife that I could not help clean the house. I needed to prepare some written talking points in preparation for this most paramount fifteen minute period of my life with the doctor.
This would now be the fourth doctor in this practice I had visited with. I have understood very early on that these guys are anything but independent actors. No, in our litigious day and age, these guys are best buddies, defenders of one another to the grave and back. So, with that in mind, I was not coming to beseech and beg for a highly addictive narcotic. Been there, done that. And it scored me just twelve oxycodone pills in the ER after a thirteen hour all night extravaganza and $300 of medical bills. And, in the end of ends, the oxycodone ironically only cost me $2.43 out of pocket at the twenty-four hour hospital pharmacy.
Needless to say, I treated those pills like tiny bricks of gold bullion. Whereas I had taken one every six hours when the doctor’s office prescribed me my initial twenty pills, I now perfectly understood just how reticent doctors were to prescribe this addictive drug. In my mind, all I could keep thinking was that God himself had inspired some man or woman to invent this wonder drug precisely for guys like me. And yet I couldn’t convince anyone to give me more!
And so, my appointment this morning was my last chance. And this with all the ridiculous rehearsing in the bathroom and at the table while eating my cold breakfast and in the waiting room at the doctor’s office and in the exam room itself! I spent an hour and a half preparing for fifteen terribly momentous minutes.
The doctor entered the room, introduced himself, and asked me to describe what had brought me in today. I humbly held in my hands a rudimentary graph that I had drafted up in a mere matter of minutes while waiting in the reception area. Using a pen, scratch piece of paper, and a clipboard trusted to me by one of the doctor’s receptionists, my illustration deftly displayed a chart with the numbers zero to ten up the left margin and extending from left to right was one continuous wavy line showing the peaks and valleys of my pain.
I next drew a solid straight line from the number one on the left, extending all the way across the page to the right margin. I scribbled our the entire area below the line to the line at the bottom of the chart which extended from the number zero at the far left to the far right margin, representing my sixty day timeline since my surgery. This line, I explained to the doctor, represented the fact that since the surgery, I had never really experienced anything less than a level one pain (with the exception of a five hour period experienced mostly in my sleep the very first night I took my first oxycodone when I exuberantly felt I may just have achieved a level zero pain).
The rolling, wavy line, I explained, was obviously a representation of my entirely unpredictable experience with pain over the last sixty days. I then drew a dotted line from left to right transversing the length of the entire page. This line, I said, delineated or symbolized tolerable pain levels in the one to three range. Finally, I etched a solid line from the number seven on the left, across the entire page to the far right margin. This line, I explained, portrayed the fact that anything above a level seven pain would eventually, if not speedily, drop me to my knees in tearful pain.
So, what for the area between the solid seven and the dotted three below? That, I described, was where prolonged, chronic, physical pain over a period of half a day or more just simply bogged me down psychologically. Enough time spent in this realm provoked a different kind of tears; tears not necessarily of pain, but of protracted psychological beatdown and dispirited glum. And so, back to my previous urging and hopefully persuasive argument that Post Vasectomy Pain Syndrome is as much, if not indeed more, a battle of psychological dismay and dread than a physical one. In reality, even prolonged level three pain has been adequate to eventually weigh down and dull my judgment and senses.
Alas, it’s time to wrap this post up. If you are wondering if I prevailed at persuading the physician to prescribe me additional oxycodone, I did not. I offered to meet with him weekly to convince him I was not forming an addiction but simply managing pain. I assured him I was not experiencing any form of euphoria from the drug but was now only taking one dose every six to fifteen hours or so. I even brought in my still half full prescription bottle from the ER visit on Friday as undeniable truth that I had only consumed six of the twelve pills over the course of three days. But this doctor was steadfast and immovable. This drug does not simply scare him, it scares the entire medical industry.
And so, to be honest, it scares me now too. I left the doctor’s office with an immutable sense of peace and contentment. I now face the prospect of unbearable spikes of pain with only six precious oxycodone pills remaining in my possession. But I am moving forward with faith in God that he will provide a more excellent way. I no longer have fear. I now recognize these constant skirmishes with pain are about so much more than a mere physical sensation; they are just as much inextricably tied to the mind and psyche of any victim of Post Vasectomy Pain Syndrome.
Ironically, as I had sat earlier in the exam room, waiting for the doctor, I had a deeply meaningful and personal text message exchange with my loving spouse that perhaps only victims of this syndrome and it’s physically debilitating, mentally destructive pain will understand and appreciate. I said to my wife just minutes before the doctor entered the room, “My notes are complete and inspired. I am now reading my scriptures.” She replied, “You’re amazing!” I sincerely and humbly countered, “God is amazing, Jesus is amazing, the Holy Ghost is amazing. I am not amazing.”
Then I opened my scriptures to my bookmarked chapter of my normal every day reading and was surprised and pacified by the following passage, and was emotionally overcome with the calming assurances of a contented conscience:
“And it came to pass that when he had thus spoken, all the multitude, with one accord, did go forth with their sick and their afflicted, and their lame, and with their blind, and with their dumb, and with all them that were afflicted in any manner; and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him.
And they did all, both they who had been healed and they who were whole, bow down at his feet, and did worship him; and as many as could come for the multitude did kiss his feet, insomuch that they did bathe his feet with their tears.”
Why can’t we get the media to stop normalization vasectomy. And instead get to tell the truth so young men won’t get sucked in like our generation has. Just a thought
Hey @Francis, appreciate your post. Any chance you could extrapolate a bit on why you feel God does not approve of this surgery? I myself am a Christian and did not feel the surgery conflicted at all with my strong faith in God. And I know a lot of other faithful Christians who have had this procedure done. I myself do not feel that God has been punishing me through this trial but rather teaching me and refining me on how to love and trust and defend my wife more, in how to be a more excellent father, and basically on how to just be a better person all around. That said, I’m intrigued by your comment and would be interested to hear more about your unique perspectives.
Hi my personal beliefs are on what I believe and still do that all acts of self and your wife should be open to God and his plans. I felt y having this surgery that I was saying to God that I want to be in charge. Let me point out that my wife at the time of this surgery was Baptist and shared a different view. I am R C and have strong views as well and the surgery made me all look into the why’s and why not. Without getting into a debate I was just saying that I felt my pain was God’s punishment for my actions. And that he did not approve. I have struggled heaps on this matter and still do. I was saying this as my journey not anyone else and would be interested if anyone else felt the same.
I am guessing that the media doesn’t cover the risks because the media is all about entertaining people and not really educating people, for the most part. Plus, these urologists perform thousands of these surgeries without complications. I knew I was taking a risk because I signed a waiver, but none of the warnings on the waiver happened to me. What happened to me was different, perhaps even worse in some respects.
Plus this surgery is a cash cow for the medical industry. These urologists pocket a thousand bucks on each operation in a mere twenty minutes of their time. I’m not good at mental math but that’s substantially more than I make per minute.
It’s worth considering that every victim of this pain syndrome contributing to this site is really an aberration from the norm. We are not the majority; we are a tiny minority. So we don’t have much of a voice.
You just aren’t going to see any posts on this site from the millions of patients who had this surgery go off exactly as planned. If they did, this website would instantly crash due to high traffic with hoards of people signing on to report that nothing unexpected happened in connection with their surgery. That’s just never going to happen. And that is why this site is so frightening; because every poor sap sharing their story and commiserating with others on this site combines to tell a convincing and compelling story about the very real risks associated with this “routine” procedure.
I don’t know about you, but there is likely no way, for the rest of my life, that I will ever undergo a voluntary medical procedure, operation, or surgery. At least not without doing massive research in advance about the potential risks.
I’m not sure what I would have done if I had discovered this site prior to my procedure 62 long and arduous days ago (that said, my pain levels have only recently come into check about three days ago to more tolerable levels and I’m hoping this is a permanent and progressive development).
I think I would have probably thought that I could beat the odds and would have moved forward with my decision. But it’s impossible to know for sure. And it’s pretty counterproductive to think about anyway. What’s done is done. All I can do now is ask what I can learn from this trial and try to move forward, not focusing on the imperceptible finish line, but rather on the next perceivable waypoint along the path. That is a lesson I have gleaned from this trial that I probably never fully assimilated during any of my previous tribulations.
I hope you are progressing well in your recovery. Please reach out with any other ideas or questions. It is therapeutic for me to brainstorm and commiserate with like minded subjects of this pain syndrome. Happy New Year my brother! I hope 2020 brings you new hope and much needed healing.
Hi I had my vasectomy in October 1992 and for the first 18 years my Dr told me me that my pain was all in my head I think this is also a factor in my journey. I would be a total if karma ever happened to him
One thing is for certain: My condition will not get better on its own. My pain levels have been as volatile and unpredictable as the stock market for 65 days now. This is no recovery. My pain has masqueraded as one for a day or two here or three here and there, but that sneaky suspect called chronic pain then instantly, and so disappointedly to me, rears its ugly head again around the next closest bend in this very windy road to “recovery.” I’ve recovered from three different surgeries and this is nothing like any of them.
I have had some incredible spiritual experiences through all this. It is too early to tell, but I am documenting the living day lights out of them all in my journal just in case, and if any of these experiences turn out to be ratified by actual outcomes one future day, perhaps I’ll share some of them on this site in the appropriate moment.
But for now, I am consigned to learn more and more patience, a coveted quality and trait I’ve never been too patently well-known for. And so once again, God is asking me to do hard things, and learn qualities and traits previously unassimilated by me because those just aren’t my strong suits. But he is changing me as a husband, as a father, and really just as a person all around. And for that I am grateful.
In every other trial I have been in in my middle-aged, 42 year old life, I have pined and prayed for the end to all the suffering. Not this time! I now thank Mr. Gardner in humble prayer every day for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me. I would not exchange what I have learned from this trial for anything, up to and including a magnanimous promise of immediate relief if I would just but concede to having my brain wiped clean of every invaluable lesson I have gleaned along this tumultuous trail of constant pain, and at times sheer torment.
This trial has just humbled me time and again like no other. But I will get through it and have faith I will one day achieve full healing. Now I just have to wait on the Lord’s timing - something that is never too simple for us finite mortals to do.
The next perceivable waypoint on my road to recovery is a meeting with a specialist on 14 January 2020. I am now hoping to manage my pain levels until that date.
Either divine intervention by God, in which I am a firm believer, or the Gabapentin, 300 milligram tablets, two capsules by mouth three times a day, seem to have taken the edge off the high, debilitating, nearly unbearable peaks of pain I was previously experiencing.
I still have six of the twelve five milligram oxycodone pills I begged for in the emergency room not long ago. It doesn’t look like at this point I’ll need to take one of them again, but I have learned the hard way through this trial that I can never be entirely certain about anything.
I’ve taken a break from this site for two months now. I’m not entirely sure why. It was not planned. It just sort of happened. But I recently found it helpful to go back and reread parts of my own story and remind myself of all I have been through. So, I suppose it is worth providing an update on my situation. If none of you ever read it, perhaps I will someday.
Numerous dates on the personal calendar of my life now stand out like bright stars in the dead of night. These prominent dates beam brightly in the black sky and connect like asterisms within a larger constellation that now comprise my personal journey with debilitating, life-altering pain.
The newest star in my constellation of pain is now and always will be 27 February 2020. This was the day I went through with the vasectomy reversal (precisely 119 days after my original fateful surgery). I am now six days into my recovery. It is too early to say what this recovery will hold for me, but it certainly seems to be going better than the first, which was no recovery at all.
That said, I have had the benefits of pain killing hydrocodone in my system this time around, whereas I couldn’t coax my original urologist into anything stronger than over-the-counter ibuprofen until day 46, when he finally prescribed me oxycodone. A second physician put me on Gabapentin on day 53 and I am still tapering off that latter medication as we speak. So, the hydrocodone and Gabapentin could be artificially making this second recovery seem that much better than the first. Time will tell.
According to the debrief the performing physician provided my wife as I came out of anesthesia, the surgery was successful. He was able to reattach at the initial separation points. He did find more scar tissue buildup than he would expect to see for a patient four months out from his original procedure, which he felt probably contributed to my pain. He expressed there would have been no way to know of this issue without going in surgically as he did. He did remove the bulk of scar tissue and said this will help moving forward. He said the excess scar tissue was due to the way my body healed from the initial surgery.
My decision to pursue a reversal started to percolate within me during the several long weeks preceding my much anticipated 14 January 2020 meeting with the urology specialist who practices at the university hospital just thirty minutes down the interstate from my home. The results of that meeting could comprise a single blog post in and of themselves. I’ll spare you the details for now.
Suffice it to say he asked me to visit the pain clinic to learn what they had to offer before deciding to go through with the reversal. After fighting my way into an earlier date on their schedule through persistent phone calls, I met with the pain clinic doctor on 5 February 2020 and instantly knew I wanted no part of what they had to offer. The doctor advised there was a 30% clinically proven chance for success when performing a nerve block. She further informed me those nerve blocks are typically done on the one side from which the pain was emanating, and my pain was coming from both sides. She told me that even when the nerve block was successful, the effects could not be guaranteed to be permanent. A 30% chance of potentially temporary pain relief per side.
I didn’t like those odds.
As I drove home from the pain clinic, I called the urology specialist’s secretary and secured my date for the reversal surgery. We’ll see where things take me from here.
I’ll make my first payment on my new one-year-zero-percent-introductory-interest-rate credit card next month. I’ve avoided credit card debt my entire life until now. I may as well have just bought a new used car.
But I am extremely optimistic about my chances. I feel God has led me to this point and I’ll continue to follow the path He puts before me moving forward.
Best of luck to you! Please keep us updated on your recovery. By the way, you are a good writer! I hope you put your creative talent and mastery of words to use in other mediums too.
Thanks for your kind words and the compliment. I have always enjoyed writing but have primarily used it at an academic level to score good grades on research papers or at a professional level to produce cogent official memorandums and intelligence products.
As I passed through this terrible ordeal of pain, I felt God inspiring me to stop envying others for their musical and other myriad talents I do not have and likely never will acquire in this life. He was asking me instead to pursue my talent in writing. I will say that one reason I think God inspired me to write at this time in my life is because it has proven to be very therapeutic. Coping with chronic pain was something I had no previous practice at in life, so I’m glad God showed me a way to accomplish that on a very personal level.
How have you learned to cope with the pain stemming from your surgery? I imagine every individual takes an individual approach.
The first five days of my reversal recovery were relatively easy compared to the sixth. I spent most of the day yesterday laying nearly but not quite prone on the floor or in bed. Even the slightest touch seemed to hurt. This was unlike my previous “recovery” during which all pain seemed to emanate from somewhere inside.
Today is better. But the pain or extreme sensitivity seems to come and go for hours at a time. At times, it feels like gravity plays out on that area of my body at two or three times it’s normal strength.
Pain seems to shift from one side to the other. Previously, I could never identify a side. Mostly the left side has hurt more than the right since the day of the reversal surgery, but then later today the pain seemed to be radiating more on the right.
I had the same experience, was fine for the first 3-4 days after which pain has increased fair bit. Try icing and take NSAIDs - helped me no end.
I had to Google NSAIDs to get your meaning. Do you just mean to take ibuprofen?