Dream of: 10 April 1997 "Feeling Bad"

I was in the living room of the Gay Street House. I had been visiting Portsmouth for several days, and now I was preparing to drive back to Texas. I was thinking of what I needed to do before I left. I knew that the night before I had been out running around with Walls, and I had told him that I would call him up today. But now I didn't know if I was going to have time to do that, because I suddenly remembered something else that I had to do first: have an operation to reverse my vasectomy.

The dreaded day was here and I had completely forgotten about it. This radically altered my plans. I couldn't possibly have the operation this morning and then drive to Texas this afternoon. It would take several days to recover, days during which I would have to stay in bed.

I had already gone through the procedure once. The operation was being performed in two stages: in the first operation the vasectomy on my right testicle had been reversed – that had been done several weeks ago. Now in the second stage, the vasectomy would be reversed on my left testicle. The same doctor, Dr. Fetner, who had performed the first operation would be performing the second operation, and I began wondering about where the operation would take place. I knew that the first operation had been performed at the doctor's office. But I also knew that the doctor had visited me here at the House after performing that operation to check up on me. It seemed that as part of his duties, the doctor regularly made house calls in this area of town.


I was standing with my pants down in front of doctor Fetner, who was examining my penis and testes, getting ready for the second operation. A nurse was assisting him, and it looked as if the operation had already begun on my left testes, for I was able to look down and peer inside the incision. I remembered that the doctor hadn't wanted me to watch while he had performed the first operation, so it was interesting for me to now be able to see what was going on, at least for a few seconds. I could clearly see the two ends of the vas deferens, which had been severed in my vasectomy many years before. I could also see that the doctor had inserted a small translucent tube in the space between the two ends, and that he was in the process of attaching the tube to the two severed ends.

But I didn't look long, and soon took my eyes away, relapsing into my own thoughts. A wave of emotions seemed to overtake me, emotions from which I couldn't escape. It seemed as if the emotions had been building up, and suddenly they just came crashing down on me. I felt terrible inside. I felt so bad, I almost thought I was going to cry. In fact, I didn't think I had ever felt like this before. I thought to myself that this must be the way that depressed people felt. Normally I had good control of the way I felt, and I didn't think I had ever been depressed. Of course I had felt bad at different times in my life. But this was different. Always before I had felt that I could control my feelings; but now I felt trapped, completely out of control.

Suddenly it occurred to me what the problem must be: it must have something to do with these operations. My body had been cut into, invaded, twice. I had never had to go through anything like that before. When I had had the vasectomy many years before, it had been quick and painless. This vasectomy reversal on the other hand had been long and extremely uncomfortable. And the worst part was that I had absolutely no control over what the doctor was doing, just as I seemed now to have no control over my distressing emotions.

I looked back down at my groin area. Now the doctor had some kind of device which he was touching to my penis, and asking me if I felt any pain. With the device the doctor was blowing hot air on my penis, and he wanted to make sure that it didn't burn me. But fortunately, I didn't feel any pain, and I was glad at least for that. However, I wanted the doctor to know of the internal pain I was feeling. I didn't think there was anything he could do for me, but I thought he at last should know that I was under a great deal of stress. I said, "Doctor I'm feeling extremely bad."

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