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As I zipped up my trousers, my physician peeled off his
latex gloves. ‘In light of your age, I’ll refer you to urology for tests’ he
said. We can’t be too careful.’
It was 2006, and my 48-year-old right testicle had begun to
ache several weeks earlier while watching a TV program about how men are prone
to neglect their health, particularly if the problem relates to their dangly
bits. I clung to benign explanations for the pain: perhaps my budgie-smugglers
were too tight, or maybe I had unknowingly crushed the sensitive orb when I
crossed my legs?
When the pain persisted, my hypochondriacal curiosity
prompted me to enter ‘testicular cancer’ into the search engine. Reading the
symptoms – a lump in part of one
testicle, a dull ache, or a heavy scrotum – triggered several days of
cupping, prodding and mirror-gazing that only aggravated my pain. I relented
and visited my doctor who in turn was now propelling me towards the specialist.
Three weeks later I am sitting in the urology waiting room
at the local hospital, fearing the worst, and visualizing malignant cells
multiplying and stomping, jackbooted, into the neighbouring testicular tissue
like the Nazi invasion of Poland.
‘Mr. Jones, please?’
I turn to see an attractive young woman in a white coat
smiling, and beckoning me to follow her. She has sallow skin and ebony hair, tied
back in a bob. I follow her like a faithful puppy-dog to the consulting room,
feeling a rising sense of unease in anticipation of my indecent exposure.
Once inside, after exploring the history of my problem, she rises
from her chair, moves a couple of yards away from me, motions me to also stand,
and asks me to let her ‘have a look’. I lower my denims and briefs to allow the
front-room furniture to swing fee. Standing there exposed from waist to knee, I
fidget, not knowing where to put my hands. She peers at my genitalia, ‘to check
for symmetry’ – apparently, observing whether my right ball is hovering at a
different altitude to the other. Disturbingly, as she scrutinizes, she purses
her lips and tilts her head. I conjure up lusty thoughts to try and inflate the
pipe-work a bit but, alas, all in vain; in the cold consulting room my meat and
veg resemble Bob Cratchit’s turkey, the last one in the shop.
Courtesy of hyena reality FreeDigitalPhotos.net |
While I remain standing, she approaches, squats before me
and digs her finger into the suspect testicle.
‘Does that hurt?’ she asks.
I yelp, providing her with an answer. She continues the
examination by manipulating each ball between her thumb and forefinger, and cupping
each in the palm of her hand (presumably checking for the diagnostic heaviness
– if not, I’d been the victim of sexual assault). After returning to her full
height she instructs me to lie on the bed. Any embryonic ember of sexual
excitement is immediately quenched by the comic image in my head of my shuffling
across the room, hairy arse on view, trousers around knees, like a floundering
contestant in a sack race.
A male colleague with cold hands joins us and more prodding
ensues. At the end of the examination I’m told that my testicles feel ‘totally
normal’ but, in light of my age, they will arrange for me to return to hospital
for an ultra scan ‘just to be on the safe side.’
Two weeks on, I am laying on a bed in the X-Ray Department,
ubiquitous blue gown raised to my hips, while a black man, with hands the size
of pit shovels, moves a wand-like object three inches from my gonads as if
searching for precious metal. His verdict: ‘apart from a slight,
non-significant aberration in the right testicle, they appear perfectly
normal.’ He also tells me that the pain is probably due to ‘post-vasectomy pain
syndrome,’ a discomfort experienced by one-in-three men years after the
operation – a fact denied to me when I had the snip a decade earlier.
.
‘If this was your testicle, would you choose to undergo any
further investigation?’ I asked.
‘No,’ the radiographer replied, ‘I’d leave it well alone.’
‘That’s good enough for me,’ I said while rising from the
bed, thoroughly reassured.
That was one of the best things I have ever read, and honestly I'm jealous, not because I want to have ball troubles, but rather because I really wish I would have wrote this. You are awesome my friend.
ReplyDeleteWow, that's praise indeed, Michael, from one who specializes in the genre of body parts and basic functions. Delighted to hear you enjoyed it.
DeleteAs always you do a great job of writing about things I can easily relate to.This was eight years ago; have you had further problems? I hope not.
ReplyDeleteNo further problems since, Stephen. I appreciate your support and interest.
DeleteJust when the soft porn begins, humor kicks in - alternating a few times. Always a good laugh when I visit here.
ReplyDeleteSoft porn, Anita? You're referring to my other blog! (Only kidding). Thanks for your continued support.
DeleteI'm always a ball-up, Lizzie. And, yes, where would we be without the NHS.
ReplyDeleteAhahahaha! It's the male equivalent to my mammogram. Glad to know you were free and clear!
ReplyDeleteYes, Kate, I was thinking of your mammogram post while writing this one.
DeleteBest wishes.
As a doctor, she had to know about shrinkage. Everybody in this country knows about shrinkage thanks to Jerry Seinfeld.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DoARSlv-HU
I'd never seen the Jerry Seinfeld clip before (I'm a Brit). Just watched it now - hilarious! Let's hope the doc watches Seinfeld.
DeleteGood to know. You may have saved someone a small heart attack one day!
ReplyDeleteSo being fore-warned about the horrors of shriveled, wrinkly bits might lessen the shock for some unsuspecting female in the future? Interesting thought.
DeleteI love the descriptive imagery. It was like I was in the room with you.
ReplyDeleteWait.
Is that weird?
Yes, it is a tad. And one inwardly chuckling female in the room was more than enough, thank you.
DeleteI can understand your fears, as well as the hopes and dreams with the female examiner. I have a female doctor. Luckily, she is not one that pushes for prostrate exams as the male doctors do. Perhaps it is only men that find entering the ass an experience worth pursuing. Good post! Funny stuff!
ReplyDeleteI appreciate your comments Richard - thank you for dropping by.
ReplyDeleteDIGS HER FINGER IN THE SUSPECT TESTICLE!!??? Great Googli Moogli, I would have jumped through the ceiling!! By the way, I giggled when you mentioned "sack race" Double entendre much?
ReplyDeleteBy the way, I had a vasectomy about ten years ago. 1 in 3? Well, goody for me.
There's time yet, Al.for your vasectomy pain to kick in!
DeleteGREAT post!!! So many awesome visuals here---wait, I'm not talking about the testicles! But I love this: "floundering contestant in a sack race" and "hands the size of pit shovels." Laughing so hard. Brilliant writing as always, my friend.
ReplyDeleteThank you Marcia for your generous comments - coming from a quality writer like you I find them very motivating.
DeleteHurrah for your healthy gonads! Did they give you any advice about the frequency of your..um..emissions?
ReplyDeleteNo, they didn't give any advice in that department.
DeleteThanks for dropping by.
As always, hilarious. Your self-deprecating descriptions conjure up some disturbing and amusing visuals in my mind. I think I'll go watch some porn to feel clean again.
ReplyDeleteBut congrats on having perfectly normal balls!
Thanks for the kind words, good sir. And yes my balls seem fine - touch wood!
DeleteThis was TOO funny. Not that your nad hurt, but your descriptions of all things hangy and the tale. Very glad you're alright. I didn't realize this post-vasectomy pain was a thing!? I won't tell my husband or he'll immediately have it. He's SO resentful he got one because exactly one year later I had to get a hysterectomy! His procedure was all for nothing..... oh well. :)
ReplyDeleteI appreciate you dropping by and taking the time to comment. And yes we males can harbor grudges when it involves mutilation of our gonads! (Although, seriously, it is such a minor op as compared to hysterectomy or female sterilization).
DeleteSo this is what I have to look forward to as I get older? At least the only time my balls ache is whe I accidently clock my gnads with my belt buckle. Now that is pain.
ReplyDeleteGood to hear that it was nothing to be alarmed about. Now I know if I get the snip what to expect! Great overview of your experience while keeping it funny. I think we all felt as if we were the ones performing the exam on you. Um, creepy?
Thanks Phil for your supportive comments. Just be careful when you're swinging that belt buckle!
DeleteFirst, glad to hear ball is well. Second, the aspect that jumped out at me was the fear that you create by looking into symptoms on the web. If you look at the wrong article you'll be convinced you have a week left to live. Of course, visiting the doctor as you did is the best course of action. Enjoyed!
ReplyDeleteFirst, glad to hear ball is well. Second, what hit home for me was the fear that we generate when we start researching our symptoms on the web. Your course of action was the smartest - put yourself in the hands of a good doctor. Enjoyed!
ReplyDeleteHi John - thanks for dropping by and taking the time to comment. And you are right, of course; seeking repeated reassurance from the Internet only exacerbates one's anxieties.
ReplyDeleteOMG when my son was tiny, like 3 months, they were doing the invasive ball exam and somebody actually asked if he only had ONE. I was like, um? I dunno? I never felt them but they said he was okay before? They found it and I suspect that it really sucked for him. Thanks for this hilarious story, for those of us who may have once had penis envy.
ReplyDeleteKristi - many thanks for taking the time to read and comment. I'm pleased my tale of aching orbs amused you. I hope your son's apparatus is now in full working order.
ReplyDeleteGood to hear that there's nothing out of the ordinary going on with your balls. I had a similar scare myself a little while back. I felt a lump on my ball. After having it x-rayed with that gobbildy-goopy stuff, they said it was likely the result of lifting something heavy and causing a strain in the ball or something. I don't know, they put it more elegantly.
ReplyDeleteOur dangly bits are so complex and temperamental. Women don't know how lucky they are!
ReplyDeleteI wonder how many times the doctor goes into her office and has a little chuckle at how uncomfortable she makes all of her patients. I think maybe I should have been a urologist. Glad you're well though. Good news is always welcome at the dr's office, particularly when your package is in question.
ReplyDeleteI'm sure the docs swap lots of stories over a glass of wine after work - and have a good laugh at our misfortunes.
DeleteThanks for your interest.
Oh, Gary - I am learning so much from you tonight! You are side-splittingly funny without even seeming to try. Also I can add "dangly bits, budgie-smugglers, and meat and veg" to my vocabulary. My favorite line, I think, is "in the cold consulting room my meat and veg resemble Bob Cratchit’s turkey, the last one in the shop." I almost spit out my wine - red, which would be super inconvenient. Loving your blog!
ReplyDeleteHi Ashley. I really appreciate your thoughtful, detailed feedback. And you are so generous with your support; I find your comments really motivating. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteYikes that appointment sounds awful but your recount of it is beyond hilarious! Glad your dangly bits are all okay.
ReplyDeleteThanks for taking the time to read and comment - much appreciated.
Delete