Ow.

So for those of you who follow my blog regularly (yes, I mean you two, right there), you may have noticed a few days of inactivity on my part.

I believe I have a reasonable excuse.  Two words that should never be placed together.

Scrotal.

Surgery.

Hear that?  Thats the sound of hundreds of sympathetic male thighs slapping together.

Yes, I went and got fixed. The big 'V'.  Shootin' blanks. 

For those unexperienced in this, the procedure wasnt that bad, aside from three hours of the indignity in a paper gown and booties (men should never wear booties. Its so emasculating I felt I no longer required the procedure) I also had to wear a hair net even though Ive been shaving my head for 7 years.

I think its because they believe if they have to wear stupid little hats in the O.R., everybody does.

So I walk in to the O.R. and they strap me down on the crucifix....I mean table.  Arms straight out.  One arm goes the pressure cuff, the other the IV.

One nurse asks if I would like something to relax.  "Since youre taking orders, I'll take a double rye and coke".

No dice.  But she does say she has something else I may like and sticks it in the drip.

Meanwhile, another cute little nurse informs me she will be prepping me, which involves washing my balls.

I'm all for this part.  Unfortunately the cocktail the first nurse gives me takes affect and the next thing I know Im in a different room.

WTF? Where am I?  What happened? Wheres my hand job?

I ask if this is the recovery room and I am told yes.  I can only assume theyre done.

I hazard a peek at my junk, and yep, still stained from whatever the little sweetie mustve rubbed on me is my poor abused nutsack, now sporting a fashionable cloth bandage.  Which I immediately worry about the removal.

You know how they say the best way is with 'one quick jerk'?

Not a fucking chance in this case.  If you excuse my french.

Mental picture of me chasing my detached testicles flashes through my mind.

I'll try to remove it after a gentle soaking in warm water thank-you-very-much.

Actually, after all was said and done, I felt great.

No pain.  Ready to take on the world.  Go for a jog. Chase nurses.  Hell, I'll just go right back to work.  Dont know what the big deal is about.

Nurse asks me how Im feeling.  I, relieved its all over, cheerfully reply; "Great!  Same time next week?"  Im released, grab some Quiznos and head home.

Then the freezing wears off.

I used to kickbox for several years and teach self defense.  I know what being kicked really hard in the balls feels like.

Much like I feel right now.  Popping Tylenol 3s (with codeine!) like M&Ms with a bag of frozen Lima beans on my crotch (Ive never enjoyed Lima Beans as much as I do right now, BTW) I try to get comfortable and dodge my two kids, with their horrible grasping hands and terrifying flailing feet and knees.

After 24 hours I have my first shower and manage to remove the bandage with surprisingly little effort. THANK. GOD.

I cant express the dread I felt prior.

Whats gonna be under there?  Am I gonna puke?  Pass out?  Sob like a beaten 9 year old?

I held it together.

But my healthy intact previously puncture-free ballsack was replaced by a bloated purple coin purse.

The tiny incision looked to me big enough I could smuggle heroin across the border in it.

I soon opted to forgo the Tylenol 3s (with codeine!) for TWO double scotches.  Within 3 minutes of each other.

So now, much of the pain has passed.  Still very tender.  Still uncomfortable.  Still feel cheated out of a professional nurse rubdown.

I wonder things like; Are they still anchored the same?  They look like theyre hanging lower.  Are they?  Am I going to have reduced function?  Am I going to start to want to knit doilies and watch 'Coronation Street'?

Im not afraid of the rumours of decreased sexual drive.  I actually could use that. 

Anyway.  Its also why I missed clan night.

I also have to find another place to rest my controller.

The Rumble Feedback isnt as fun as I remember.

Anyway, one of my commissioned portraits;