Woke up screaming.
While getting the kids ready for school, I read the “Pre-Surgery” instructions. I learned that I was supposed to be scrubbing my loins for the past five days. I’m sure my cursory “soap across the balls” does not meet their definition of scrubbing.
Kissed Miss Sally goodbye and confirmed that she would be picking me up at noon thirty.
Got in the shower and gave myself a good 2 ½ days worth of scrubbing action. By 1867 standards, I would be blind now.
I shaved my balls.
I got out of the… hold on, what? You SHAVED YOUR BALLS?
That’s right. The instructions said to shave them and they got shaved. I pulled out my grooming kit. Knocked the shrubbery down as short as the guard on the electric trimmer would let me and then I jumped in the shower. Balls are not a good medium to be dragging a sharp blade across. And the reason I know this is because I spent a full 30 minutes bent over and staring at my ugly, wrinkly, bigger than average, dropped melon shaped nutsack. Men, don’t ever examine your balls with your eyes. Check for cancer, but do so with your eyes closed. Women, kudos to you for even getting within three feet of that withered fruit, change purse.
Shaving balls is like trying to wrap a coat hanger around a whipped cream covered balloon. As soon as pressure is applied, skin around the man grapes distorts and deflects away from the blade. I found it best to stretch the loose skin in a tennis racquet stringer to create the proper tension on the surface. Let's just say I pulled things taut and did the best I could. Thirty minutes later, I was done.
I got out of the shower, got dressed and went to Target to buy
Sally picked me up and we drove to the MD office.
Checked in and only waited 2 minutes before being called back.
The MD assistant was very, very cute. We went to room #7.
She told me to remove my clothes below the waist and hang them up. It was then that I realized that she would be seeing my shaved balls and cold, shriveled penis. Usually, I bone up very easily and would be concerned/embarrassed about that, but I was nervous and cold and more concerned that the cute chick would have trouble deciding which was balls and which was penis.
I got undressed and sat on the table. She came back in and gave me a sheet to cover my shame. I laid back and she got everything in the room ready for the surgery. From this point on, I did not look down and instead counted the holes in the ceiling tiles.
Doc came in and we had some chit chat about the music on the radio and that he was going to feel me up like he did at the previous examination.
He then gave me a good scrubbing with some soapy something. I haven’t had that kind of action from a guy in months.
Surgical pads were placed around my loins so that only my balls were showing. The pads had adhesive on them, but I didn’t find that out until the end.
There was a shot, some numbing, a little pressure, a little more pressure some chit chat. Then another shot, more pressure, a lot of talk about my work and then it was done. Stitch, stitch. That quick. About fifteen minutes from the first numbing shot to doc walking out of the room.
Cute girl cleaned up and took the surgical pads off and hoo-boy they have a little stick to them. One of them goes right across the penis and though it didn’t hurt, it was like a leash giving me a tug. And not the kind of tug you get at the Asian Spa at the airport.
Cute assistant left so I could get dressed. (I don’t get this… she just was in close proximity to my junk for 30 minutes and she leaves so I can put my clothes on?)
She came back in and read me the TO DO and NOT TO DO, told me that swelling was normal, slapped me on the ass and shoved me out the door.
Since I got home, I’ve been rotating frozen peas on and off my groin every 20 minutes. I’ve taken Advil, though we picked up a prescription pain reliever just in case.
I’ve played Wii. I watched Caddy Shack. I messed around on the computer. The kids came home from pre-school and Greg was as interested as a six year old could be about testicles and what the hell happened to me. He used at least five pronunciations for testicles and he slipped a “balls” in there once or twice with me correcting him to use the proper word.
I’m not sure where he learned to say balls.