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This is a question I Hurt My Rude Bits, Again

My commute to work was made excellent the other day when I saw a motorcyclist try to ride on the pavement to avoid a traffic queue, lose control, fall off and land bollock-first on a concrete bollard. He was fine, eventually but tell us your tales of the old blinding agony to the gentleman's or gentlewoman's area.

(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:50)
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A real ballache
After the birth of Fister Jnr II, I decided that enough was enough and it was time to go for the walnut whip. My appointment eventually came through and as luck would have it, it was for the day of Fister Jnr II's 1st birthday.

I was, by my standards at least, fairly brave and drove to and from the hospital myself. On my return, the house was filled with young mums and children of various ages and the birthday party was in full swing. I waddled into the lounge where a seat was cleared and I was ushered to it with sympathetic words and a cup of tea.

I gingerly sat down and let out an uneasy sigh - the sigh of a man who had just had his ball-sack hacked open and who forever more would be firing blanks. My son - 3 at the time - had obviously missed his old dad and appearing from seemingly nowhere, launched himself feet-first into my lap with a massive smile and a shout of 'DADDY!'

I cannot adequately put into words the excruciating level of pain that I experienced. Trying not to swear in front of half a dozen young mums and their offspring doubled the agony. Even now - 12 years later - I'm typing this with knees firmly locked together.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 16:45, closed)

When the pain finally goes away and ones spuds reduce in diameter to something less scary, the array of colours from jet black to dark blue to yellow, green and various red and pinks of the bruising, when it starts to fade, is amazing.
Its the whole hanging a bit lower than they used to thing thats the only real downside.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 17:04, closed)
Yeah thankfully I recovered quite well. I was back playing footie etc within about a week or so.
But one of my mate's had real problems with an infected wound and he was off work for week's with it.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 17:07, closed)
I didn't get that, I had the laser surgery with a much smaller cut, less swelling etc
It ached a bit the first day, was fine the second, then on the third day I had to drive someone to a party and spent the rest of the day doing stuff round the house. The next day it was pretty sore where I'd done a bit too much the day before... so I insisted on spending the weekend being waited on by the then-Mrs-Kenny-Martin :)
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 19:43, closed)
Driving yourself home after that sort of surgery?
Poor choice.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 17:06, closed)
I was led to believe that it would be ok due to the lingering effect of the anaesthetic
but it had nicely worn off just around the time I got 2 small feet in the plums.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 17:08, closed)
The local clinic made it very clear that I should have someone to take me home. Of course, despite confining myself to bed, the kids still found an opportunity to jump on me. Watching me ballsack weep is not an experience I'd like to repeat.

I feel your pain.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 17:14, closed)
"whilst my ballsack gently weeps"
George Harrison's less successful etc etc.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 12:01, closed)

(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 13:42, closed)

I was a complete coward, I requested a general anaesthesia. The shot of Pethadine when woke up was nice, like being very drunk with none of the spinning room thing and nausea.

The strange little man with a trolley who went round and shaved everyone in the pre op ward was disturbing. Imagine trying to have a "good Morning, nice weather etc etc" type conversation with an odd chap manoevering your little fella with one hand and weilding a cheap Bic razor in the other whilst scraping away at your coin purse is really bizarre. The three young pretty 1st year student nurse girlies who came into the theatre with the head theatre nurse to watch was equally as bad, fortunately the drip in the back of my hand had started pumping in the knockout juice and my embarassment went away.
Didnt get huge bollocks afterwards, golf ball sized only thankfully.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 17:33, closed)
Was this many years ago?
I got a funny look when I asked the doc about shaving - you have to do it yourself, now.
Bit wussy getting a general, though. You missed out on an exquisitely unpleasant feeling*, not to mention the fact that I got an electric shock through either elbow (contact with the metal bed) at each "cut", which I put down to the switch from cutting to cautery**.

*I'm convinced they didn't give enough time for the local to take effect, unless the vivid sensation of having each but violently twisted is normal?
**burnt pube stubble smells of popcorn
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 20:19, closed)

Twas November the 5th 1995.
There was a rather badly worded info leaflet from the doctors about shaving but I hadnt taken enough off in completely the right area when the strange gentleman examined my efforts.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 23:15, closed)
So, the Brazilian is all your fault!

(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 10:33, closed)

What can I say,
It only really caught on for the ladies, I dont think a male pubic thatch styled into a fuzzy mohican was ever really going to be a fashion statement winner.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 15:51, closed)
Slight touch of local - enough that the cuts didn't sting
but I could feel the butcher rummaging around down there.
Slightly disconcerting having my missus watching avidly I must say.
Got to defrost some peas afterwards tho and the 'final check' to make sure everything was still operational was fun!
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 21:15, closed)

Exactly why I had no desire whatsoever to be conscious whilst some bloke with a knife tried to stab my sack and rifle the contents, I think I would have jumped up, punched the Doc and made a run for the door had I been awake.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 23:22, closed)
Yeah that's what I had.
In fact getting the anaesthetic administered through a big fuck-off needle directly into the bawsack was the worse bit.

Although the minutes that followed - the consultant asking me what I do for a living and where I was going on my holidays, while he fumbled around with my plums - was just plain bonkers.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 13:45, closed)
Better than riding the deadly treadly!

(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 21:12, closed)

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