1. Talking Cock
I awoke from the general anaesthetic in the recovery area still a bit dazed and confused after the operation. You know that short phase similar to having just woken up, where things take slightly longer than they should to register in your mind. I happily live most of my life in that state of mind. A nurse asked if I wanted anything to eat; a sandwich or a biscuit. Despite not being allowed to eat since 7:30 that morning, I politely declined. She brought me a cheese and cucumber sandwich anyway and said I had to eat before they would let me leave. And do a wee.
I was brought out of my dreamlike state by someone calling my name from two beds down. A voice I recognised immediately despite my confusion, and a voice I never expected to hear in a hospital ward. Especially not today.
“Barry!” It was Luke, my insane friend. He held a magazine in his hands, “Do you want to read this article about sharks?”
I mumbled a reply in the negative and lifted my bedcovers.
Phimosis is a genetic condition where the foreskin doesn’t completely pull back over the cock head. My version of it was mild; there was no discomfort or pain at any time during… anything, and everything worked as it should. It’s quite common and one of the major medical reasons for adult circumcision.
Joining the ranks of 60% of Americans, the same percentage of Americans who fully believe you can catch bird flu by eating chicken, by becoming circumcised was a difficult decision. My girlfriend had advised me that having it done lessened the chances I’d catch AIDS. I was unconvinced by this alone, the chances of me contracting AIDS already 0%, but my doctor’s cautionary tale of a patient with foreskin cancer killing him at 30 was enough to persuade me.
Then there was the situation of telling people. To begin with I was quite embarrassed by the whole thing, considering claiming I was becoming Jewish, or simply adopting a limp for some time. I could claim that I wanted to lose weight, and thought I could just get rid of excess body parts; next up: the appendix. I got over it, though, by writing about it on the internet.
There it was. Bandaged up like Jack Nicholson’s Joker post-toxic chemical swim, my penis was in poor shape. Stitches through the head attaching it to the remnants of my foreskin, along with severe swelling made it look like some sort of Frankenstein balloon representation of a cock. At least my worst fears were unfounded and they hadn’t mistakenly turned it into a fanny, though I had made my girlfriend promise she’d still love me if that had been the case.
After my sandwich I duly waddled to the toilet and dribbled out some piss. Luke was told his operation on his arm couldn’t take place today, furthering my suspicions that he’d just come along to surprise me in his own inimitable way. So he came outside with my girlfriend and me, insisting on waiting at the foot of each stairwell, arms wide open to catch me should I fall.
I’m just waiting now for my penis to emerge from the swelling, bruising and stitches like a butterfly from a chyrsalis, reborn anew. That’ll take around four to six weeks, so may very well be a lovely purple-headed Christmas present. In the meantime I’m medically advised to not partake in any sports, and, if I’m feeling horny, stimulate only my nipples or prostate. More things I’m sure I should be sharing with the world.
1: Although America is perhaps the most famous country for needlessly maiming its children at birth, like Nazism in the 1930s, circumcision is on the rise in Germany.
2: Also, according to the internet, 60% of Americans:
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# resolve balances
# are at least “somewhat interested” in tracing their family history
# believe religion can solve all of today’s problems
# can name just 5 of the Ten Commandments
# correctly answered 13 when asked how many stripes are on their flag
# think the poor are just lazy