A medical tale I've been longing to get off my chest...
Gentlemen, brace yourselves:

For as long as I can remember I've had a small cyst. Nothing that really concerned me, just a small pea sized white lump-by the time I realised it wasn't meant to be there I reckoned if it was going to cause harm I'd know by now. The only problem was its situation-right on the end of my foreskin, just where the frenulum joins. Now, there are certain "situations" where that can cause pain, and having read tales of banjo-string snapping, I decided to get it looked at. By a doctor, I mean.
So, next time I was down at the doctors, I wound up waving my willy at a lady who agreed it wasn't in a great place. There then followed another appointment at the hospital, where a nurse and a surgeon prodded it. As I was seeing a young lady who worked for the NHS as well, I was on the verge of involuntarily dropping my trousers every time our beloved health service was mentioned. Could have gotten embarrassing when watching Dr Who (though for Amy Pond...Mmmm!)
Finally, the day of the operation dawned. Having not ate or drank for the required 3 weeks beforehand, I wasn't feeling great. I'm pretty rubbish at mornings too, and I seriously dislike needles. Despite nearly fainting before I'd even got undressed, I was finally wheeled down the corridor. The anaesthetic is a strange thing, I remember wearing the mask, tasting the gas, thinking "When...........will they take me i-oh, I'm awake!"
Now the real pain started. Instead of the cyst, which had given me next to no trouble until recently, I had 5 stitches and some dried up blood. That hurt constantly. It wasn't helped that I had to have the 'skin pulled back, so by now my purple helmet had the texture of old leather. I have immense sympathy for the circumcised!
Eventually I was able to put everything back where it belongs, which bought to light a new problem. Disolvable sutures, once dried out, have similar properties to barbed wire. Never mind, the doctor said they'd fall out in a week or so...
4 weeks later, I finally picked the last bits out. June was a pretty mixed month, in which I went to the funeral of a mate and won a CNC turning competition. All against the backdrop of major discomfort on my man-meat. I even got an infection begin in the wound, which swelled up meaning the slightest wrong move yanked the stitches. Urination was a nightmare, and I was beginning to wish for compulsory bhurka-wearing-I couldn't even think about thinking about that sort of thing.
It is healed up OK now, I just hope I never have anything wrong like that again!
( Greenbat, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 23:47, 2 replies)

ouch
reminds me of the night I did snap the old banjo string.

Oh, how we laughed!
(El Fandango carved a big EF onto his nemesis' doublet on .., Fri 30 Jul 2010, 0:44, closed)

3 weeks?
Good lord.
(IChewCandlewax, Fri 30 Jul 2010, 11:34, closed)