Lefty - Pat Egan

LEFTY

Written in Summer of 2008

Preface:

I underwent a vasovasostomy about two weeks ago; this is more commonly called a reverse vasectomy. Yes, more descendants are the plan. The reason I was snipped in the first place was a little muddier.

About twenty years ago, I suffered a major back injury; a hyper-extended spine, that lead to a complex succession of surgeries. In fact, there were 5 operations in total. The last one was made to repair damage that had been created by a surgical blunder. The mistake was that they had left a serrated bone splinter inside my spinal column. This shard began to machete its way through the sciatic nerve. Of course, this left me with nerve damage that will never be recovered.

The healing process was extremely long, and one laden with many obstacles orchestrated by insurance companies to the medical professionals themselves. I spent a year mostly in bed, than another year getting around in a wheelchair, then three years walking with a cane. It was in the bed to wheelchair period that they sort of insisted that it would be in my best interests to have no more children. Why? Because they considered I would not be able to recover enough mobility to meet tasks of parenting, but also to even work again. I was pensioned out of the work force; put to pasture. The medical world deemed I would not recover.

I spent the three years with a cane learning to walk again, since I cannot feel most of my right leg and foot. After three years the thing that finally worked was one session of acupuncture that relieved 90% of the pain from which I was suffering. It was from that day on that I worked extremely hard in regaining my ability to lead a normal life, and remain active, since it did keep the cane and wheelchairs far away.

Now I think I am almost normal, and do not even think people notice the lack of functions performed by my right leg. I play sports; baseball, kick boxing, weight training, jogging. I do not stop myself from doing anything a normal person would do; lifting, working on the house, working. I am somewhat impressed with myself, and find it remarkable about how far I have come since being written off.

I had long been a sufferer of chronic pain and had lived with it for so long that it become a part of life. However, six months ago, as stress built up, a divorce, being giving a job that had once had support and being offered none at a very busy time, no time for working out, I had crumbled and allowed the pain to take over. I snapped out at people and acted irrationally.

I found out that the catalyst for much of the increase in pain was that I had a stress fracture in my hip (something I am awaiting to get replaced). It had already healed, so I had worked on it for months without knowing. Once you have a steady barrage of pain, it is very easy to accept more without noticing.

My doctor offered to get me to try a new pain medication, which I was reluctant to do, since all others I had ever tried did not work, and turned my mind to mush [I know, it’s hard to tell the difference]. This one, however, did work. I began to see positive effects, like sleeping through the night, playing baseball and not feeling like a bus hit me the next day, and numerous other benefits.

There were bad side effects as well. Fevers, irritable behaviour and passing out. I also suffer from hypo-tension, which is low blood pressure, and I normally sit at 80 over 50. The medication lowers that, and when I am not thinking it can dip and make me pass out. It took me a while to realize the signs and avoid this side effect. The drug is also used for men who have premature ejaculation, which is not conducive to the ultimate goal in having a reverse vasectomy.

The medication and side effects are now under control.

I also have a few other weird injuries. I have a rod in my leg from a compound fracture. This happened playing football for the Earl Of March Lions. It snapped when it was caught between two players and I was shoved in an awkward direction. The break did not hurt, since it caught all the nerves. I clearly remember having to make sure that I did not let myself get up and run on it like one of those race horses that snaps one of its legs.

I also have an eye that is 90% blind. That was caused when a hockey stick invaded and poked the eyeball from its socket. It ended my hockey career, and has left me with no real depth perception making sports a little more challenging. I did manage to make it to AAA baseball with one eye, but scouts quickly found out I could not properly track a curve ball, so I was fed a steady diet of them and soon found myself cut. I still consider it a remarkable achievement considering the uphill nature of what I had to do.

These injuries and conditions act like omens whenever I have to deal with the medical community.



Act 1:

The vasovasostomy went off without a hitch. I did have an urge to call off the procedure just before cutting time. The surgeon appeared an only then told me that I would not be able to have intercourse, or ejaculate, for 30 days. The reasons for stopping the event are clear, but the lure of having children was greater.

I was feeling pretty good, even hours after the slice and dice. The next day I even cut the grass, since I was so bored at sitting around doing nothing. It was not until three days later that effects started to set in. There was one problem that was discovered in surgery. The team had found a growth that did not look right and had removed it and sent it away for examination.

The day after surgery I was called and told to go to the hospital as soon as possible, referencing the growth. Cancer was what raced through my head, but I was not to worried since they told me it was just sitting in flesh and not attached to anything. I got there, saw the Doctor immediately and was told it was nothing.

On Friday, the day after the surgery, and later in the same day I had found out the growth results, I was informed by my family Doctor’s secretary that I was scheduled for radiation treatment. It took some time to iron out the errors, but all was fine with me in the end.

The first side effect was the flesh balloon stress. The surgery itself, and the after effects of said, were never a cause for pain. The engorged sack, however, was causing chaffing on my legs. It also made sitting and laying down a challenge and uncomfortable.

Another side effect was the physical appearance of my package. The unit had decided to change colours rather rapidly. My once pink and peachy self turned to black and blue, very black and blue. It was hideous and frightening. It, the package, also decided to puff up. I was hoping that the penal interests would be receiving said effect, but it stayed sack central. In fact, it made John Thomas look even smaller than it was to begin with.

A side effect of the healing process also saw myself sticking to underwear. I found it difficult, at day’s end, to remove my undies, since the incisions had adhered themselves to the material. I had to peel them off, taking scab and tissue along the way. Yummy.

I had called the surgeon’s office to gain some information on a post surgical situation that had developed. The surgeon who had performed the operation was out of town at some urology convention.

I would hate to think what these guys talked about for extended periods. “Dr. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled penises” is surely a drinking game for these types. Just imagine the variety and highly entertaining schwing stories that must be circulated at these events. His secretary told me to go to my family Doctor, or an emergency ward.



Act 2:

I went to the Emergency at the General yesterday after the surgeon's secretary was updated on what was going on with me, south of the border. In a nutshell [apt for the tale]... I started getting sharp pains and noted that I had ballooned to a very uncomfortable degree [exploding testy came to mind].

Note:
Right side is splendid, left side is frankly, deformed. In fact, Righty has a severe case of ‘ball envy’. The ball was registered at six times the normal size, the haematoma 'sploded out the top side. Yes, in a pinch it could admirably fill in as a penis, and in fact might be better endowed than the originating unit.

The delay spent waiting for attention in the ER was mostly mind numbing. Once you first gave your name and brief description of reason for visit, there was a 45-minute delay in being registered. Everyone who has gone through this process does the same thing to mark the time. I evaluated everyone else who was there, deeming those with broken toes as people who should be sent home immediately, since there was nothing to do for them. Those with flues and colds I believed should be taken away and shot, simply for wasting everyone’s time. There is always the one nut job [not referencing myself] that creates the comic break.

My guy was in a wheelchair. He was obviously blitzed on some sort of medication, and had a few social issues that made him someone you wanted to stay clear of, but stay within earshot of, just because of the humour that was sure to flow.

The nurses called him often, but he was never around. He would resurface every once in a while, asking staff if he could use the phone for any and all reasons. I was outside on a smoke break and discovered that that was where he had been when they were calling him. He was hailing down everyone who walked by to look in a garbage can to see if his bag of meds could be found. He thought he had mistakenly thrown them out.

After some time in ER, I was finally serviced by medical staff. Since there were several professionals that lined up to see me, I thought I had become some sort of sideshow attraction. “Let’s check out the guy with the enormous nut.” I had been sent to a very very small room, barely big enough to house me, let alone the inflated tea bag I was moving around with. I was told to undress and put on a robe. Another long wait was started.

This time I had entertainment. The small room next to me was home to an unusual case. I think I got the story half way through, and realized he was not talking to a medical person, but a psychiatric professional.

He was paranoid; he thought everyone knew who he was no matter where he went, even if he had never been there before. He thought everyone was also laughing at him all the time. He was working at a construction project over in Hull. He was once a ‘rock’ star in the seventies, and had been on any number of popular drugs from that era. His problems had left him with little (I did not get how), but he lost his guitar, piano and recorder. Yes, a recorder, I think that is like a block flute, and can be picked up at any dollar store. This guy had tried to commit suicide, and it was apparently his second attempt in five years.

My thought was to provide him with a ‘how-to’ book so he could get it done right, and stop wasting ER time. I also thought of trying to find out what his name was, and than run into him in the hallway and pretend that I too knew him.

Finally, my curtain was opened and I thought the ball would get rolling [pun] on getting myself looked at. One nurse gasped upon the lowering of the trousers, a feat usually accomplished without any swelling anyway, but it is usually followed by laughter. An Intern [female] also gasped upon seeing the swollen lefty.

Note:
Male staff had no gasps to utter.

It was decided that I get ultrasound to see what was nut, and what was the rest of the mass.
Another wait, and I was finally sent to X-Ray. There, a long process was undertaken, with a man who looked nothing but bewildered by the monitor he was facing. He left to get his boss, and looked concerned. This, of course, had me thinking 'cancer of the nut'.

In the time he was away, three different people opened the door to my room, I was on my back, nuts bared, and facing the door, by the way. After the door opened for a second time, I requested that it just be left open. The third time it opened I started to laugh, trying tom imagine the genuine disgust that would have been traversing through their minds after coming face to face with a gigantic gonad.

Next, the head of radiology had his go at the ultrasound, moving a decided cold object all about my scrotal sack. He was also providing the original ultrasound tech with details. Nevertheless, nobody would offer any explanation to me, and I was sent back to emergency to await another consult.

I was outside, having a smoke, when the Intern came out to tell me what was going on. This is the same Intern that gasped, and seem to take glee in checking out the nut, and even toyed around with the 'bishop' to see if the swelling was headed that way.



Good News:
All looks good for the initial purpose of the operation.

News:
I have a sub-testicular haematoma, which has probably stopped bleeding.
It was the result of the surgery, as told by the ultrasound images, and not anything I had done.

Bad News:
They may have to perform surgery if the body does not absorb the blood. They will have to perform surgery if the mass continues to grow. The risk of infection is now also high, so I am now on Cipro [since allergic to Pen and Sulpha].


Note:
In two days, I doubled the amount of females that have ever touched my balls.
In two days, I had more men touch my balls than I ever wanted
[RuPaul was one of those 'if I had to' calls if I ever had to do it with a guy. Let’s say Aliens were forcing me to and I had to save the planet type situation].


Now I spend much of my days examining my bag. I am paranoid that it will start leaking, or sprout a more major growth, and become even more noticeable than it is. I worry that it might explode, and ruin my dress pants. I worry that it may blow apart while I am asleep and I’ll wake up in a cold pool of my own sack blood. I worry that it might erupt inside the sack and I’ll quickly bleed to death, since it has a limited way of coagulating.


Conclusion:

I go to the bathroom often, to check on the boys. So far, I am in a holding pattern, again, pun intended. It has not shrunk, but again, it has stopped what seemed to be a “manifest destiny” to take over my scrotum.

I also did not last the 30 days that had been sanctioned by medical staff.