The August we agreed to do the vasectomy and I’m recuperating on the deck, laying down on the big wicker chaise, a ziploc bag full of ice cubes crammed down the front of my basketball shorts. That’s when the woodpeckers show up. It’s the mom woodpecker who notches me open, right under my adam’s apple, crawls inside my windpipe and tunnels down between my lungs. She lays her eggs there and I feel her little…