Thursday, January 22, 2015

Let's Talk About My Balls

I'm kidding, of course. I'm only discussing my left ball. Within the larger sack, there's sort of a little baggie around each of a man's testicles. Fluid flows through these, doing whatever fluid does. Well, in my left baggie, fluid has been going in and not going out. From the outside, it seems like my left nut has swollen to the size and shape of a small sweet potato. (Mmmm . . . sweet potatoes . . . ) If it was out rolling around on the dinner table, I wouldn't even be able to get my hand around it. My fingers wouldn't touch.

As you might imagine, it can be uncomfortable and sometimes painful. So, while I'm still able to wear pants, I'm having something done about it. I'm going under the knife tomorrow morning. I figured my urologist could just stab my scrotum with one of those pointy Capri Sun straws and then poor street kids could play in the resulting spray as a way to beat the Florida heat. But apparently, it's not like that at all.

I don't do pain killers, as they make me nauseous. I got through the recovery for my last hernia without any drugs. I'm not saying that if my arm is torn off in an electric cord fight, I won't risk the nausea, mind you. But my friend tells me his vasectomy really wasn't that painful. His scrote did fill up with blood until it resembled a black grapefruit though. (Mmmm . . . black grapefruit . . . )

I only live a couple of miles from the hospital and since I pretty much live alone these days, I think it's dumb to ask somebody to pick me up and drive me there, so I'm going to walk there. I won't be walking back home later, though. Those medical types won't let you leave without a ride. They don't even want you staying home by yourself for the day that you have the anesthesia. Someone must have gone on an adventure once. I've never had anything that good. So I'll be hanging with my kids for the day and maybe we'll dine on sweet potatoes and grapefruit.

A lady I worked with asked me if I was nervous. Surgery doesn't make me nervous. In fact, dying on the table would probably be the absolute best way to go. "He died peacefully in his sleep while poor street children played in his human spray." Who wouldn't want that? 

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