Went in for surgery on Friday morning.

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I have a fear of needles. It’s overpowering….overwhelming….it’s debilitating. I can’t think. I start to twitch, sweat, breathe heavy. Just the thought of them – the sight of them – sends me into this bizarre panic. So, knowing that I was getting an IV before surgery wasn’t exactly the cat’s meow for me.

I requested that I have a preliminary shot that numbed the area on my arm before they gave me the big poke.

They said they could do that.

I asked if they could poke me with a slightly smaller needle BEFORE the numbing needle or give me a nice Kool-Aid juice drink that made me feel no pain instead of using the needle altogether – maybe we could just skip the needle…even if I had to drink a gallon of the Kool-Aid stuff, that would be alright with me.

I’d do it.

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Apparently with today’s technology the numbing juice drink is not yet a possibility.

Too bad.

They brought in a therapy dog for me to pet and three nurses to chat with me / distract me as though I were a six year old man-baby on the verge of a nervous breakdown while that heartless monster jabbed me with the mega-needle.

They got me all hooked up and, truth be told, it wasn’t that bad – it never is. But the fear is still there. I don’t know what it is.

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A nurse came in a bit later and gave me, what she called, a “cocktail”. She said it would take the edge off and make me a little sleepy.

She was right.

I took a nap.

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When I woke up they asked me to pee into a jar while lying in my bed, which is disgusting. It’s really difficult to force yourself to pee into one of those things. It’s like when you’re in the shower with your wife and you think it would be really funny to pee on her, but you know you only have a few seconds while her back is turned and so the pressure is on and you kind of lock up.

Anyway, it was sort of like that.

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After the “bed wetting” incident (no actual bed wetting was involved) they took me away.

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In the O.R. (that’s operating room for those of you that are stupid) the anesthesiologist said she was going to inject me with some sauce. I said, “is this the stuff that puts me down?”

The surgical nurse said, “Yep”.

There was an explosion in my chest – a taste explosion. It rose up into my mouth – copper. Gross.

I said, “See you on the other side”

And then I woke up in the recovery room.

Nauseous. Oxygen mask on my face. Sore. That sick copper taste still in my mouth. A nurse came over and asked how I felt. I told her it tasted like I was burping up pennies. She laughed and asked if she could touch my beard.

It’s the least I could do after she had been so kind as to tear out my testicle for me.

She poked my beard and told me she thought I might be Amish. I said I wasn’t.

i told her my throat was sore. She said it’s because they stuck a tube down my gob. I asked her if they banged it down with a hammer. She didn’t think so.

They took me downstairs and I chilled out in this reclining chair with wheels that I desired to take home. If it would have had a cup holder and a built in crapper worked into the seat, we would have been in business. I wouldn’t have left until they told me where I could purchase one.

This new nurse, she gave me crackers and some apple juice to drink. I told her I felt sick. She brought me a kidney shaped bed pan. I found this strange.

I puked in it.

My wife came in and she brought me flowers….paper flowers and a cactus with some new Gameboy games for me.

At my heart I am a stupid little vomiting boy.

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I stopped drinking the apple juice and started in on the water. I was going to be sick again.

I grabbed the gross bedpan, held it up under my chin and spit some weird salty cracker bile into it. The nurse and my wife were staring at me. The nurse behind the counter was staring at me. I asked them all why they were staring at me. They all turned away. It’s really awkward to just start barfing into a cup with strangers staring at you, waiting, watching, anticipating the vomit.

You could sort of tell they were all really excited to see me erupt. You could read it in their eyes, “Oh yes, here he goes – his breathing is getting heavier – this is going to be amazing. I hope some of it gets stuck in his beard – pleasepleaseplease…..”

I went into the bathroom and peed. The nurse said it might sting.

It didn’t.

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This, however, was the first time I realized I was wearing some kind of…….I don’t really know what to call it – nutsack diaper.

See Exhibit A where I demonstrate the proper usage:

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I hobbled out of the bathroom and asked the nurse if I got to take it home. She said that it was a scrotal support and that yes, I got to keep it.

I can’t quite tell you how joyous this made me feel. I told her I was so happy. I’d been meaning to pick up a scrotal support for the last few months – had even been looking at a few different styles on the internet – just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

They pulled out my IV and sent me packing. That was it.

I know what you’re thinking. I know the question that rests on your brains that you’re afraid to ask. Maybe tonight you’ll do a google image search to find your answer.

What…..does it……LOOK like?

I’m not gonna tell you. I do have a LITTLE class, y’know.

That said, I DO believe that a picture is worth a thousand words, so please view this image of a chewed up piece of bubble gum:

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Oh wait……actually there was one more thing.

Before I went in for The Big Sleep we asked if we could get some photos of the troublemaker.

This little bastard had caused me some serious problems over the last month and I wanted to see it.

The nurses were kind enough to take photos for us and I’ve included them below. IF YOU HAVE NO DESIRE TO SEE THESE PHOTOS, SCROLL NO FURTHER!!! THEY ARE IN NO WAY X-RATED, BUT THERE IS A LITTLE BLOOD.

You have been warned. I will NOT be purchasing ANYBODY a brand new keyboard because you went ahead all willy-nilly and lost your lunch on those pearly whites.

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Thanks to everyone for the thoughts, prayers and blood sacrifices you made on my behalf. I really believe they helped. I am normally a very nervous nelly when it comes to surgery but I managed to keep it together through and through. The IV situation was probably the worst, but even that I was anticipating being so much more horrendous.


Next week we have an appointment with our doctor (who I just found out does vaginal reconstruction, so I’m going to talk to him about that – I have about a million questions) and we’ll be finding out if I’m going to need to do any rounds of chemo or radiation (please redirect all of your thoughts / prayers / animal sacrifices towards radiation / superpowers now).

The doctor ALSO let us know that the tumor had grown but had not SPREAD. So that’s good.

That’s my story.

Abe Lincoln out.

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