My Nutsack ultrasound
Before I get started, I warn you now, there is no easy way for a man nearing 43 to impart wisdom learned onto the next generation. Still, as my father and grandfather did, I look at it as almost a duty, a carrying on of generations, if you will. As such, this story may be long, for there is no short way to teach.
About 2 months ago my nuts started hurting me. It wasn't a sudden pain, just a gradual idea that my nuts hurt. Not a sharp pain, just a dull, continuous, ache. Being a man who believes in the wonders of modern medicine, I needed a doctor.
Now, I don't know if you ever googled "nut pain" but, I can tell you now, only about half of the search is related to medicine and doctors. The rest, the best I can tell, is related to walnuts, or chesnuts, or crazy people.
It turns out that I needed a gastro doctor, because apparently your nuts are somehow connected to your stomach.....go figure.....this whole thing is becoming a learning experience.
In order to spare you the details of a man grabbing my sack, let me just skip to telling you that I was diagnosed with hernias, s being the most important letter of that particluar word in this specific case. Yes, hernias, one on each side, which has, the best I can tell when I cough, caused my balls to get sucked up into my stomach, which must be why I needed a gastro doctor to begin with. Again, the things a man can learn just by living long enough.
At this point, the story gets a bit personal, but it must be told. The doc asks me if I ever had any trouble with my "testicals". I hate that word, it's like calling poontang a vagina, and was probably invented for people who didn't want to talk about the subject to begin with, so they made up a word nobody wanted to say. Anyway, it turns out that I did, as a kid, have a problem with my left, uh.........nut. From what I can remember of a child of 8 or 9, that sucker didn't want to come down into the world with the right one. It stayed hid up wherever nuts come from.
Now, I can't remember the exact content of the conversation between my dad and the doc back then, but the jist of it was that the doc said that if they did not fix the hung up ball, I would most likely never have kids and was a great risk of......uh......testicular cancer. The rest of the conversation surrounded the procedure, which included tying a string to my ball, and then pulling it down, and tying the other end of the string to my leg so that the unruly nut could be trained to stay with his partner.
Of course, being only 8 or 9, I didn't understand all of the terminology, but it was pretty damn clear, even at my tender age, that having one of your balls tied to your leg didn't seem like something a boy could just run around with without tearing his nut off, or at the very least, a chunk of his leg. I can vividly remember watching my dad mull the whole thing over in his mind, before he said something along the line of, "we'll go with no kids and cancer, thanks."
It turned out, my wayward ball found his way home, at least partially, but I never really gave it much thought. If you think about it, a fella don't begin scratching and adjusting his balls until he's a grown man. I can't say I ever missed that thing, and didn't even realize it worked things out on it's own until I was old enough to barely remember it not being there. Besides, I went on to father 2 children so it never became part of a discussion again, until this damn gastro doctor brought it up.
Now, I can't say I was really paying attention to the next thing the doc told me, because after a man grabs your nuts, makes you cough, and then puts his finger up next to those suckers until your eyes are about to pop out, your mind just shuts down. Apparently, your balls are connected to your stomach, but then they run straight into your eyeballs and into your brain. Who knew?
He said something about checking for cancer, and an ultrasound. I said, "huh?". He said, "I'll set you up for a testicular ultrasound before we talk about surgery, to make sure there are no issues we can't see." I can honestly say, without hestitation, that testicular ultrasound are two words I didn't even know you could put together. That's something you expect to read in a headline in the morning paper, something like, The Israeli's are massing troops on the border after learning that Iran has a secret testicular ultrasound plant. "Uh.........how's that go?" He explained that it was like an x-ray, only it gave a real time 3 dimensional picture of what your balls look like. Whatever.
The doc says, "you may want to shave your groin area, it'll save some time when you go in for the appointment with the ultrasound tech." Well hell, my day is just getting better and better. The Best I can figure when I leave there is that my nuts are in my stomach, they may be ate up with cancer, and now they need to suffer the indignation of being hairless. Yes, I've heard that some of you younger dudes shave your nuts.....that's great.....you're stupid. I can prove you're stupid because I shaved mine 2 days before the ultrasound, and by day two it felt like a porcupine had taken up residence in my shorts. Why anyone would do that to themselves for the hell of it I don't know, and don't tell me that the women like it......who gives a fork what they like. Which, unfortunately, brings me to the lesson part of this story.
I go to the "imaging center" with my shaved balls, which are not really shaved because they now reside in my stomach, just behind my eyeballs.
I go through registration and eventually get taken to the exam room, where I sit, waiting..........waiting.........waiting.....until , in walks Carla.. Long dark hair and about 30 years old, not a knock out, but a fairly good looking gal. I figure she's gonna ask me some more questions and then the tech dude will come in and get this over with. But then Carla says, "I need you to lay down on the table. It's up to you, some men take all of their clothes off, some just their pants, and some just pull their pants down a ways. It's up to you, I'll leave the room, you can cover up with the sheet, and then I'll be back and we'll get started." I say, "WHAT? Who's doing this deal?" Carla says, "I am the tech, don't worry about it, it's painless." I refrain from saying, "yes, I know it's painless, in fact, I usually like to have some gal rubbing my nuts."
So Carla leaves and I sit there pondering my three options. I wonder for a bit why there ain't option 4, "just pull one of your balls through your zipper and we'll get some pictures", but there ain't. I opt for just taking my pants off, because laying there with my pants around my ankles seems dangerous if I decide I need to get out of there in a hurry.
So here comes Carla, and I'm laying there like a goof with a sheet over me....wondering just how this is supposed to work.....and then Carla gets a tube of jelly and starts rubbing it in her hands. She pulls the sheet down and begins to rub the jelly on my balls. In a near panic, I realize that I better think of something I hate, and fast. For the life of me, the only thing that comes to my head is califlower....I hate that crap!!! I don't know how anyone eats it. Carla is rubbing my nuts and I'm like an Arab chanting at the wailing wall.....califlower, califlower, califlower.....she's talking to me, but I got my hand over my eyes....califlower, califlower,califlower.......she grabs a towel an puts it over my johnson, touching it a bit as she does....CALIFLOWER, CALIFLOWER, CALIFLOWER....this is gonna get ugly embarrasing.
Next thing I know, she says, "this may tickle a bit."
"WHOA......HOLD ON A MINUTE".
She ignores me and starts to run that damn vibrating ultrasonic pecker hardener on my balls.....OH DAMN, CALIFLOWER!!!!!!
I'm still hiding my eyes and now I'm trying not to laugh, and the chant must be comingout of me because Carla says, "what?".....I have no idea what to say, so I blurt out, "you like califlower?" She says, "not really, what brought that up?" I can't talk.......and then she says, "your right testical is a bit larger then your left testical"......how the hell do you respond to something like that when the person who says it is a gal with a vibrator in her hand? "uh, thanks." She laughs.....califlower, califlower, califlower.....and I've about got tears in my eyes trying to figure out when this deal will end.
But no......more jelly, and on up toward the top of my balls.....I now envision entire fields of califlower, and people with califlower heads, and God help me, I can feel it coming. I says, "Uh"....and Carla says....I swear to God this mofo says, "don't worry if you get a bit aroused, it means all the parts are working."
I'm pretty sure at some point I just passed out......and when I woke up Carla was telling me I was clear.....no cancer......and I was thinking like my dad did 40 years ago, hell, I'd of just took the cancer if I'd have known where this whole deal was going.
There ain't one......I lied....there is no lesson, just life.
Still....it could happen to you.
"Political Correctness is a doctrine fostered by a delusional illogical liberal minority and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous liberal press which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end."