First of all, thanks to whoever read me 38 times in one hour last night, when I’ve had very few “hits” lately. Unless you’re a spammer, then what the fuck?
I have to start with a hearty “knock on wood”, because I’m about to be stupid (er than usual) and claim that I’m starting to feel better from something, and if I ever, I mean FUCKING ever, am seen to brag about anything, I get knocked down, I swear. That’s why, even in a weak moment when I think that there sure ought to be a Supreme Being (pure silliness, if you really think about it), I say thanks for what I’ve had, not thanks for what I’ve got.
It’s not just dull-witted superstition, it has seemed to happen time and time again, this “Murphy’s Law” thing that anything that can go wrong will go wrong, but for me only after I start to feel content. The most notable example was from when I was married, and my ex’s car had been acting up. It was a Taurus, which is French for “junk”, and we had swapped cars for a while so that I could have the glory of it dying at odd times for no apparent reason. But it hadn’t for a long time, and on my way to work one morning, at the busiest stoplight in this 2-horse town, I said to myself “The cars have been working pretty good lately”. The light changed, I hit the pedal, there was a loud skinny whine from somewhere in the car, and it wouldn’t go over about 20 miles an hour. I limped it into the nearest parking lot, called the wife, got to work somehow, and several hundred dollars later we had a new rebuilt tranny. And a new transmission too. Ha ha. I believe we had to get it replaced a 2nd time, but that was on warranty from the first time. I saw later that both our cars were listed in the “used cars to avoid” section in a car buying guide. Anyway, I try to steer away from saying “at least” about anything. “At least my car is running good”, “at least I have a wife and a house and a dog that all love me”, “at least my teeth haven’t cost me a lot of money lately”, ” at least I have a girlfriend”, “at least I don’t have a bunch of healthcare costs”, all have bit me in the goddamn ass before. So now I say “it’s good”, “it’s good we’re supposed to have good weather for a change on a weekend”, “it’s good the price of gas is going down a little finally”, etc. It’s safer, not that I believe in living in fear, but I do know who’s boss, and it isn’t me. It’s life, fate, Karma, Murphy’s Law, me pissing off a God that actually does exist, or some such combo platter.
I had hernia surgery 2 weeks ago, hence this one-time edition of “The Hernia Times”. I don’t recommend using the need for surgery recovery as a way to get time off from work, but there’s obviously worse things. I plan to (yuck) go back to work Monday. I thought I’d get a bunch of crap done, but not so much. I mean, I’m forbidden to lift anything over 20 pounds, but, as my little sweetie told me when I was signing her out of the after-school program the first time I picked her up after surgery, “Well you can pick up a pen!” I believe she told me I could pick up a hat too. She didn’t mention a glass of wine, but that’s been fine too. So, yeah, since little kids sometimes give you the best advice, often without trying, I thought maybe I’d actually “pick up that pen” and do a whole bunch of writing, but it hasn’t really happened. Of course, you don’t feel like doing much when you’re healing, but still. I have walked about 2 miles each day, but that’s been about it. And picked up my little sweetie a few times, from school that is, not literally. I thought I’d look into the freelance writing thing a little, and I guess there’s still time, but it sounds like work. And I’m nothing if not the “king of time-wasting”. I did balance my checkbook. Ouch.
As for hernia surgery, it wasn’t too bad. Laparoscopic, in and out, so to speak, only about 5 or 6 hours spent at the surgery center. I was only on the narcotic pain meds for about 1 day, then ibuprofen for about a week. As some of you know, it’s a little freaky sitting around in a hospital gown, but the wait before was pretty easy. I had crosswords to do, plus nonstop tv footage of chasing the bad guys in Boston. And there must have been a couple shift changes or something, because I swear I met about 8 sweet, nice-looking nurses that day.
They give you a pamphlet, of course, before they rearrange you these days, and one thing it mentioned was that you can resume sexual activity as soon as you feel comfortable after surgery. So I had my big joke rehearsed that I was going to use before they put me out, which was something like “So I see I can have sex as soon as I feel comfortable after surgery. Where exactly do you propose that I find this woman?” But, if I did say it at all, I’m pretty sure what came out was:
Me: “So I see in the pamphlet that I’m supposed to be able to have sex as soon as I’m comfortable.”
(Anasthesiologist’s nurse: “We’re going to just put this IV in you”)
Me: “I’m wunnerin’, where zack…”
I hadn’t really realized that in laparoscopic surgery, they cut several little holes in you, then blow you up with air so the doc can “go on a walkabout” under your skin. They somehow magically stitch you back up from underneath, then put some antiseptic glue or something over that. I didn’t realize till later, but they stuck a catheter in during the surgery, which didn’t really bother me at the time, me being all sleepytime and all, but the first time or two afterwards, well, you notice that something had gone in and out of a place where you wish it hadn’t. I have a new respect for those who have to use one full-time or frequently, or those who have to pass kidney stones and whatnot. Plus a thrilling new thing to look forward to, should I live long enough to end up in a nursing home in a wheelchair with both legs cut off like my dad. Big, big fun.
Oh, and they really gloss over it in the pamplet, but there will be some bruising, like some big-time bruising, in interesting places. For about a week or so, I looked like I’d been the “M” in some S/M relationship. It didn’t ever really hurt so terribly much, but it has been noticeable. To put it bluntly, it doesn’t really feel like you’ve been kicked “in the privates”, it feels like you were kicked in the privates several hours ago, and the effects are winding down. Ladies, make no mistake about it, when they say to kick an assailant there, they are correct. Guys, you know this: if you’re winding up an air hose, a water hose, an extension cord, a rope, and lose control of the end of it so it just barely “flicks” you there, with no more energy than you’d use to flick a stray grasshopper off a patio table, you feel it. So a good swift kick there will double any man over.
I had looked up some info on the ‘net about hernia surgery and recovery before I went in, of course, but it was afterwards, when I wondered why I was so tired (well, duh, your body is working hard to heal you up, plus you’re in slack-ass mode), that I found a bunch of interesting comments from post-hernia surgery folks. I’m only laughing at their pain in the knowledge that they will heal up in time; I’m not that mean. Warning: if you think there’s been “too much information” previously in this post, rest assured there’s a lot more here. In italics are their comments, mine are in parentheses:
Post surgery my balls were literally the size of grapefruit, as one of the previous gentleman described it. If I so much as cleared my throat, it felt like I was being hit in the balls with a baseball bat
My testicles have a mind of there own now. They’re like shape shifters from another planet. They change size, they hang very low, or draw up and try to disappear all together,various sorts of pain… sometimes a dull throb, sometimes a burning feeling, sometimes sharp electrical shock type feeling. Also a constant burning/muscle fatigue feeling along the incision areas. And I’ve even noticed a slight erectile problem too. I can always get an erection but its very difficult to maintain. I’ve started using a “c*#k ring” which is surprisingly effective. But once you get used to that its almost impossible to go back to not using it.
hi hernia people!
Hi fellow sufferers, I’m three days post double inguinial mesh repair surgery. Testicals the size of a blackening watermelon,black penis hiding somewhere within. Literally pot luck peeing,how can one aim 1/2inch and two wrinkles accurately?
My wife referred to the appearance of my penis as an oversized pig-in-a-blanket…only purple! Maybe funny to her…but not me!
So far none of the swelling in the joy department the way others have described,
dr said i should cum for operation nextweek (I’ve heard of “cumming” before a date to help one relax during the date, but before a surgery, hmm)
sod the pain killers, and eat plenty of fibre. (Gotta love the Brits for getting to the point. And Miralax is definitely your friend.)
So there you have it, the (hopefully) one-time special edition of The Hernia Times, free online to you. I finally picked up the pen a couple times, at least on this blog. Think how many book chapters I could have written had I not been lazy. I have a couple free days left, but I guess I’ll have to force myself to write in the evenings and on weekends, like all other folks who have “a real job.” Again, yuck.
Gotta go–the George Jones funeral is on.