Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Phimosis and Shitting Yourself

Ok, today I'm going to blog about something a little embarrassing. I was originally going to keep this entirely secret... but since my Mum has been telling everyone she brushes past since I made my appointment (and since remembering that I have no shame), I thought it would make an interesting post.

So, here it is:

Basically, about two years ago, I developed Phimosis. Those not interested in the gory details can skip the next paragraph.

Here's what happens: If you're uncircumcised, during normal...shall we say, 'activity'... you can get a tiny little split on the inside of your foreskin. When it heals, the skin around that area contracts a tiny bit because of the scar tissue...which makes your foreskin tighter, which makes you more prone to more tiny splits. Repeat this over a year or two and you end up with a foreskin so tight you can't retract it.

Imagine pissing through the eye of a needle and you've got a very good idea of what my bell-end looks like.

Anyway, after a certain point, the only way to fix it is with a circumcision. When I was in the States, with no medical insurance, there was nothing I could do about it. After returning to the UK, it was one of the first things I wanted to get sorted.

So, two weeks ago, I went to see my GP. He referred me to a specialist who I saw a week ago. Yesterday I went for my pre-op visit and I'll be going for the actual procedure on Friday.

(Allow me a second to point out that this is the reality of the awful, disgusting National Health Service waiting lists that opponents of 'Obamacare' hold up as the ultimate nightmare scenario...I'm on the waiting list for a whole eight days.)

Anyway, things are not exactly what I expected...and as such, I'm shitting myself.

At first, I found it really humorous that I was having the surgery on Friday the 13th. I laughed, made jokes, pretended to be worried...then I had my pre-op visit and promptly stopped laughing.

At the pre-op visit, they basically give you a general physical. They take your blood pressure, heart rate, listen to your lungs...basically make sure you're healthy enough for surgery.

Well, I'm talking to the nurse, and I say "So, this is done under a local anesthetic, right?"

She says no, I ask why that is (everything I'd read said circumcisions are done under a local anesthetic)....and then she proceeds to give me far too much information.

Basically, she told me they do it under a general because so many things can go wrong, and complications are less likely under a general because I won't be moving around.

This was enough info for me...but then she decided to tell me everything that could possibly go wrong... like nicking a blood vessel or severing a nerve ending. It's bad enough having people cut off parts of your Gentleman's Area without worrying about being left completely numb or impotent...forever, but then she told me that I'd take about six weeks to properly heal...and my first boner after the op would be...and I quote...'Quite painful because it's really common to pop a few stitches.'

...and as well as the basic, understandable worries of going under a general anesthetic and having people chop bits off my genitals....but I also have a few slightly more irrational fears:

For example, I know the people performing the operation are all highly trained, professional medical personnel who have done this particular procedure a hundred times before...but whatever way you look at it, I'm still going to be unconscious and helpless, with my cock out, in a room full of strangers.

I was seriously considering taking my camcorder and asking them if I can set it up to record the procedure... not because I'd ever want to watch it, but just so I'd have proof that they didn't draw a smiley face on my bell end, use it in an impromptu puppet show and then post the whole thing on youtube. I have this weird, irrational fear that I'll get home and find that my testicles have their own facebook profile.
Anyway, no matter how bad your Friday the 13th is...at least you're not having someone take a scalpel to your wedding tackle.

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