I got surgically sterilized on Friday. I did it to be as certain as possible that I will never cause a pregnancy or father any children.

It was through Planned Parenthood in Portland and it involved as little hassle as one can hope for in the US medical system. Insurance will cover what they claim is 100% but I might have to pay $150 (one copay for each of the 3 visits). The only hassle was related to covid precautions and the overstretched, understaffed telephone scheduling system.

A Family Nurse Practitioner (FNP) performed my vasectomy. The procedure is simple enough not to require a doctor or a doctor’s supervision.

All the info i received from her, the RN, the medical assistants and the administrative staff was straightforward, fact-based, nonjudgmental, and free of inappropriate questions such as whether i am “totally, completely sure” about it.

For instance, instead of asking, “Are you sure you want to do this?” the staff would say, “Vasectomy is a permanent birth control option and only reversible with difficulty so people who opt for it should be certain they do not want to ever father any children.”

They are required to ask how many children you have (zero in my case) and this did not trigger any invasive follow-up questions. There was also no chit-chat that could be perceived as invasive. I think this is one of the advantages of doing it at Planned Parenthood.

I was prepared to argue and fight if there was resistance to my request. I was prepared to point out that my bodily autonomy and integrity were violated when i was only a couple of weeks old when a doctor subjected me to non-therapeutic genital cutting and that the least they could do now was respect the wishes of an adult when it comes to his reproductive autonomy. Fortunately there was no need to argue my case or get worked up like that.

This contrasts with the experience of a coworker of mine who told the story of the doctor trying to dissuade her from her sterilization procedure up to moments before sedating her. She was younger (26), female, undergoing a bilateral salpingectomy (a more invasive surgery) and lived in Nebraska. In contrast, I am 34, male, undergoing a simple snip-snip, and living in Portland, Oregon.

The method involved a tiny titanium clip. It will not set off airport metal detectors nor interfere with MRIs. I had to sit with a heating pad on my lap for a while to warm myself up and let the lorazepam take effect. There was a topical anesthetic (i think) followed by a few sharp needle pokes. Then no sensation at all. The FNP verbally notified me of each step, including the cauterization, and I could hardly follow along because I had so little sensation.

I initially declined the lorazepam but the FNP said it helped with the procedure because a relaxed and anxiety-free mind will help to relax the anatomy and make the surgical targets easier to find and work with. The scrotum is full of tiny muscles that can expand and contract with the ambient conditions and one’s mental state.

I was in at 1100 and out by 1345. I also had a pre-procedure consultation and must go back for the effectiveness check (i.e. bust a load in a cup).

I walked home because I live close by. I stopped to get some dish soap and have no memory of going into the store and buying it, nor do i remember most of my walk home. The lorazepam inhibits the formation of new memories. I forgot the latter parts of the procedure as well.

I was given a prescription for hydrocodone/acetaminophen but I did not bother to fill it, nor did i take any other medications for pain. I only feel slight and transient discomfort when I jostle my balls a bit.

Two days later, the incisions are healing, i have very little bruising and no swelling. I am taking it easy and have not felt the need to ice my balls. And tomorrow life will be mostly back to normal. I am keeping bandages over the incisions to ensure they are dry and covered.

I will go into the clinic in 3-4 months to produce a semen sample to confirm none of the little swimmers are escaping.

I hiked from Starvation Creek State Park to the summit of Mt Defiance. 

I had the day off and initially meant to go to Rooster Rock State Park. However, I realized that this park had trails of only a few miles length. I wanted a destination that was a little more engaging and where I could leave the stroller crowd behind. Somehow I went in the extreme opposite direction and settled on Mt Defiance, which is considered the most difficult hike in the Columbia River Gorge near Portland.

The first part of the trail is pretty ugly. It is lined by invasive weeds. The stink of the highway and railroad below is hard on your lungs as you climb.

Then the air clears and freshens and the trail turns into a series of switchbacks and ridges that climb and climb. The steep parts are punctuated by peaceful trails that are sheltered from the wind of the Gorge.

There are many signs of the Eagle Creek fire in the form of dead, burned trees and grassy cliffs that used to be more wooded. But post-disturbance ecological succession is occurring. Beetles and other bugs are crawling about and woodpeckers are hunting them. Each year looks different.

I would have liked to visit Warren Lake but doing so would require doubling back because the trail was closed due to communications tower work. Next time I go I will visit this mountain lake and perhaps camp overnight.

At the summit there is a large communications installation that is a bit incongruous with the scenery. But I enjoyed the spectacular views of Mount Hood and all the way to the town of John Day. I snacked up there and drank almost all the fluids I had brought.

I headed down and noticed that the descent is a lot harder on the knees than the ascent. I had been training on the stair stepper at my gym, but I don’t know how to strengthen my knees for this unusual movement down. I am still sore two days later.

I visited the desert of southeastern Oregon a week ago. I felt fascination and awe at the landscapes. And I underwent relationship difficulty followed by growth.

Sheer physical awe at the landforms

To picture the Alvord Desert, take an image from a Mars rover and superimpose a bright blue sky.  The lakebed (playa) is extremely flat and featureless and is surrounded by dry scrubland. The landscape is completely unlike the wet mossy forests of western Oregon. My friends and I stayed in two bunkers and one night we camped on the playa.

We watched the rise of the full moon and felt chained to the spot by the clear geometric transition as it rose over the mountains and turned from orange to eggshell white. 

We visited Steens Mountain and viewed a mountain lake. The trail to it crossed snow and involved steep switchbacks that were too intimidating for one member of my group for us to proceed.

We hiked Blitzen Creek and took in everything from the rocky valley walls above us to the clear blue stream and aspen groves at our sides. We watched brook trout, a gecko, a snake and a day-foraging bat. We watched ravens and hawks battle for existence in their nests among the cliffs (I suspect the ravens were entertaining themselves and the hawks were fiercely defending their nests and young).

We soaked in the natural hot spring and scrubbed off the dust and sunscreen and sweat. Having access to water (instead of just sponge baths) in the context of a three-night trip like this made a huge difference for our comfort.

I felt fear and worry at times. The trip was long and one of our cars was not the most robust. A woman had died out there the previous year while attempting to set a land speed record. You have to be self-sufficient because of the sparse gas stations and towns. At times I felt fear at the vast landscape around us. A friend briefly had trouble breathing because of the dust and grit. When camping on the playa, we thought we might be in an all-night sandstorm. The Uno cards were flying out of our hands. But fortunately it died down.

There was also the fire risk, which we did not understand until a resident warned us. Some ignorant campers lit peace lanterns over the playa, which is a terrible idea. One of the lanterns launched straight up and out, presumably to land in dry scrubland miles away. Another rolled on the ground right toward my companion before he swatted the flaming paper object out of the air. 

The leave no trace ethic is as important here as anywhere. But overall the crowds were not bad. The people we talked to were from Portland, San Francisco, Oakland, Denver, Bend and the southeast and all were interesting. Some stayed in the bunkers, some camped in tents on the playa, and some stayed in pickups and trailers with overlanding setups.

There is much more to see in the Alvord Desert area. Nearby are more hot springs, the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, and dozens of hikes and vistas we didn’t have time for. Perhaps this is the kind of place that calls for a yearly visit, at different months, so you can check everything out.

Strife and grief among my group

The rupture of a deep friendship

My friend had just chosen to sever ties with her best friend, who was the conceiver and organizer of the trip. She only agreed to go for my sake, because she knew how much I wanted it. This was painful for her. And although I supported her fully, it was painful for me to watch because I had recently put effort into repairing relationships that I had stupidly avoided addressing. The thought of a lost friendship saddens me.

This rupture was especially poignant because I view my friend as a master of interpersonal dynamics, someone with true integrity and generosity who treats people well. When she first introduced me to the one she called her best friend, I felt genuine respect and wonder because of these traits. I thought, “If she considers this person to be her best friend, she must be pretty special.” I think those good traits led to a deeper capactity for pain, and a deeper sense of hurt and betrayal when certain lines were crossed.

I listened as best as I could and I acknowledged that I did not fully understand but I vowed to support my friend throughout.

The grief of a regretted abortion of twins

To add to the hurt, her other friend had aborted twins only a week before and she said she regretted it. She wanted to be a mother despite the great difficulties it would pose at this stage of her life. She even had a printout of the ultrasound image, with two distinct fetuses facing each other in their little coccoon.

And in close quarters with all this (though we were a group of eight), was me, a socially inept person with a simple desire to enjoy the place despite all this tension and upset. I did not say the right things. I did not have any wisdom to share. I did not assuage anyone’s pain.

As I step back, I realize that the fear and worry I felt when taking in the landscape was partly because these interpersonal issues, which I could not fully understand or fix, also dwarfed me and loomed all around me like those distant hills and mountains you see from the middle of the desolate lakebed.

New friendships. A keen desire to learn

I decided to give these two as much space, peace and quiet as they needed. I bonded with other people I didn’t expect and had a fun, high-energy experience for the second half.

One was a skilled planner and organizer who shares my zeal for special natural places. Another is a member of a psychedelics group that advocates for legalization (and does some tripping of their own of course). Another was an esthetician who said she would zap some capillaries for me and join me for French conversation groups. Another is a quiet one who I hope to get to know better. And the last is a talented cook and DJ who shared my goal of forming more and better male friendships.

Next trip is to Priest Hole

I soaked up the sights of the landforms carved and scrubbed by eons of wind, water and sun. I was in my element. With a humble desire to understand, I marveled at the landforms, the night sky, and the sense of a deep geologic timescale.

In the midst of this I also had time to reflect on the mysterious and awesome forces that move people’s hearts. These forces are of equal complexity and importance. In this realm of the interpersonal I am very much not in my element. However I have a keen hunger to learn, to become more knowledgeable and adept – basically, to get better at being a good friend.

The next trip will be to Priest Hole at the end of the month. Most of these same friends will be along and I will bring them my absolute best.