2. Jerk Til’ I Bleed
I awoke from the general anaesthetic. At first, a familiar feeling. But… what was that dull ache? It seemed to be getting more hurty. Ow! OW! OW! Never before had I been in so much pain. Not even the last time my penis was sliced apart and reformed. My medical records showed that it had taken a morphine injection to silence the screams.
Morphine can be a hallucinogen. This could explain my thinking when I briefly awoke later and, looking underneath the bedclothes, was convinced the head of my cock had altogether been too much bother for the surgeons to deal with, so they’d settled for simply slicing it off. I slipped quickly and peacefully back into a dreamless slumber. Thankfully morphine is also a strong relaxant.
Miserable didn’t begin to describe my state of mind. I was back in hospital for a circumcision revision. Infection had set in, and my penis had taken it upon itself to heal by the unusual method of squeezing itself to death. The medical term for this, incidentally, is ‘paraphimosis’, and this was what having a circumcision in the first place was supposed to prevent any possibility of. Incidentally, when you’re enquiring about phimosis at your local GP, don’t mishear the condition as ‘parrot phimosis’. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew I didn’t want it. God bless an internet education. Arriving at the hospital around 2am in a bloodied pair of boxers, my dressing gown and a pair of trainers, I’d been summarily examined and carted off in a bed to Ward 5. It would have set my mind at ease slightly more if the surgeon could spell “circumcision” correctly on the consent form.
This lengthier hospital stay saw me in a bed next to Les, a 52 year old guy who had an infection in his knee which lead to an amputation of his right leg. Naturally that made me feel better immediately. He seemed to deal remarkably well with it, considering, and seemed to enjoy my company. He passed on a few notes and tips to me, all punctuated with copious amounts of eye-rolling.
Les Says…
Les was given a Brevel by his landlord. He invited a couple of mates around one day. One brought a sliced loaf of bread, another provided the cheese. Les and his friends then had a toasted cheese sandwich party.
Hosptal is so boring. You start anticipating meal times, the TV, a poo. There’s nothing to do except sit in self pity until visiting time. Then it’s all go, updating people on your condition, your concerns, your bowel movements. I got cheap laughs by inviting people to feel my wee tube. Catheters are horrible things.
Les Says…
Never ever go outside without a jacket. It may be all sunshine and clear skies, but it could turn to rain at any moment. With a jacket on, you prevent your clothes from getting soaked. To date, Les has been caught out twice.
When the bandages came off, my penis looked a lot better than it had the first time round, and the doctors were hopeful I could be discharged the following morning. All the antibiotics they’d pumped into my veins had sorted out my pus-sy penis without having to resort to any kind of amputation.
Les Says…
Whatever you do, don’t get addicted to heroin. If you put some in his hand, Les wouldn’t accept it as a present.
So today, the swelling is continuing to die down, leaving alarming bruising. I still walk like I’m sneaking after people, but yesterday the doctor pronounced it “very nice” and “a lot better than when I last saw it”, so I’m hopeful of a full and short recovery. I won’t go into the horrors of nocturnal erections which wake you up in crippling pain as your penis struggles against the strains of the stitches. But I will leave you with lovely imagery