Not Trusted To Be An Adult

Written by Tyler Szymanski Monday, 21 July 2008 22:40

The office gives off a calm sterile feeling: lavender walls, elevator music in the background, and more outdated magazines than I will ever get the chance to be caught up on. I wait patiently, albeit a bit apprehensively, for the dreaded response that I know is coming. The nurse looks up and smiles, and tells me that Dr. Walker is ready to see me now. I stand up, return the magazine to the rack as I pass by, and follow her down the hall. As I walk I notice that a family board is posted in the hallway, filled with photos of staff members and their children. This isn’t a good sign for me.

Dr. Walker is warm and congenial as he pops in with a bright “Good Morning”. He takes one look at my chart and sees that this is going to be an easy appointment. A simple request: the patient just wants a vasectomy consultation. The first question out of his mouth would curdle milk at my house, and it instantly lets me know the result of this visit. I respond timidly that I don’t have any children. His face takes on a puzzled, almost concerned expression. He inquires if I’m married, and I respond that I am. Almost 4 years now. His mood seems to brighten, a smile returns to his lips, and I know where his thoughts are heading. He asks the next logical question in his line of thinking: how many children my wife has. My response seems to dissolve his chipper resolve. As I reply that she doesn’t have any children either, his smile turns to a frown, he begins to contemplate what is wrong with me.

Over an hour of arguing later, attempting to plead my case, begging for understanding, I am informed that I am simply too young and immature to make this type of decision. And, despite the fact that I am married happily and have been steadfast in my decision for a long period of time, the doctor tells me that I simply don’t understand. Dr. Walker lets me know that as I get older my feelings will change. My biological clock will start ticking. I will finally bring a life into this world, will be truly touched, and my heart will open to all the joys of being a parent.

I left dejected. This was the fourth appointment in a month that had met with utter stone-walling and resistance. My walk to the car brought many emotions in rapid succession.

Grief from being told yet again that the answer was no.

Concern that maybe there was something wrong with me, something that made me differ from the general population so very much.

Anger that I was again chided for making a choice that I had put years into deciding.

For the next few days, I spent a lot of time wondering if things would ever change, if things would ever get better, or if I would always be looked upon as being immature or simply crazy.

It’s now been over six months since my vasectomy, and I have never looked back. I finally found a surgeon that was willing to take my case. He was mainly interested in performing the procedure to keep his numbers up, rather than to accomplish my life goals. But the job was done none the less, and he actually was a very supportive doctor. He had two children, and loved them both dearly, but had a sister who claimed absolute misery on a daily basis for having hers. So in a way, I think he understood that some people are just not made to have children.

And I believe that’s the point that I have always tried to get across. Some people are made to have children. They have been parents-in-waiting since they hit puberty. They have always been able to coo a baby to sleep, or calm a chaotic situation. They have long dreamed of the day that they would get to hold their own children. However, there are those of us that choose to never be parents. Our souls don’t light up when we see children playing. We certainly don’t ever find certain types of bodily expulsion of fluid to be adorable or cute. We just don’t want to be parents. So we actively make the choice to never have kids, and we go on with our lives.

We aren’t fence sitters, we never walked the line not sure of where we sat or where we belonged. We are as adamant about not having children as hardcore parents are about having kids. So what’s wrong with that? The important part isn’t what side of the fence you’re on, but whether or not you’re truly committed to your belief.

I leave the office with a smile and a limp. I shoot a grin at my better half as I meet her in the parking lot. A sense of accomplishment floods my thoughts as I realize that it’s finally done. A hug from my wife seems to truly seal the deal. No more fighting to be understood and acknowledged. It’s done. The world looks the same but strangely different. The drive home is in silence as I ponder what the future now holds.

 

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