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steer, so here it is.
All this occurred a few years ago when I lived in Hull.
One morning I was wandering around the house when I realised I had an odd pain in my right testicle. It was on top, where the 'tube' is. Having heard several terrifying stories of twisted/ruptured tubes, I was at once alarmed. I shook my bits gently, to ensure everything was hanging loosely as it should. All seemed well, but the pain persisted. Not significant, but nagging, and in a part of your anatomy where pain is not acceptable. A hand that hurts doesn't worry you much, but when you head or sexual organs are in pain it's a lot more scarey. All sorts of nasty thoughts run through your mind, involving terrifying words like 'cancer' and 'amputation'.
After a few days I went to the doctors. He was not very concerned, but he referred me to the local hospital as an out-patient, for checking there. An appointment card duly appeared, and off I wandered to the hospital.
This was my first ever experience as an out-patient, and it was here I discovered the whole "doctor's time expensive, your time cheap" aspect of the health service. I had an appointment for 9.00 AM. Foolishly, I thought that meant I would see a doctor soon afterwards. Ha! 9.00 AM is the time they've given to seemingly hundreds of people, who they herd into a vast waiting area. Every so often small groups are taken onto the next stage, where they are prepared for the few seconds or so of time the doctor gives to each person.
Whilst waiting, I did see the lead singer of a Hull rock band of that era, also waiting to see a doctor. I sidled up to him at a rock night a couple of weeks later to find out what had been wrong with his 'bits' - he had a urinary problem :-(
Eventually, some hours later, a doctor (with a young student in tow) pokes and prods my bits, and can't work out what the problem is. So I'm to go for an ultrasound scan.
This requires another appointment, so some days later I'm back in again. This appointment is serviced a bit quicker. When I'm waiting, I notice that nearly all the other men there have women with them, and are all looking a bit worried. Sadly, I've always suspected that these could well be men with fertility issues, in for a scan to check why their bits aren't producing enough sperm :-(
So another doctor now spreads saline gel all over my bits (ooh, cold), and proceeds to scan them. He can't really find anything nasty (hurrah), other than some *old* scar tissue around my vas ferens, which is probably the cause of the pain. This is a relief, and a couple of weeks later it just stops hurting.
Which leaves a mystery. Why have I got *old* scar tissue there? I can't remember any childhood trauma that may have caused it. This was the first time I had had pain down there. I shall never know.
It does flare up and hurt sometimes, generally after lots of motorbike riding in the winter, but I know exactly what it feels like, and it doesn't worry me now.
steer, so here it is.All this occurred a few years ago when I lived in Hull.
One morning I was wandering around the house when I realised I had an odd pain in my right testicle. It was on top, where the 'tube' is. Having heard several terrifying stories of twisted/ruptured tubes, I was at once alarmed. I shook my bits gently, to ensure everything was hanging loosely as it should. All seemed well, but the pain persisted. Not significant, but nagging, and in a part of your anatomy where pain is not acceptable. A hand that hurts doesn't worry you much, but when you head or sexual organs are in pain it's a lot more scarey. All sorts of nasty thoughts run through your mind, involving terrifying words like 'cancer' and 'amputation'.
After a few days I went to the doctors. He was not very concerned, but he referred me to the local hospital as an out-patient, for checking there. An appointment card duly appeared, and off I wandered to the hospital.
This was my first ever experience as an out-patient, and it was here I discovered the whole "doctor's time expensive, your time cheap" aspect of the health service. I had an appointment for 9.00 AM. Foolishly, I thought that meant I would see a doctor soon afterwards. Ha! 9.00 AM is the time they've given to seemingly hundreds of people, who they herd into a vast waiting area. Every so often small groups are taken onto the next stage, where they are prepared for the few seconds or so of time the doctor gives to each person.
Whilst waiting, I did see the lead singer of a Hull rock band of that era, also waiting to see a doctor. I sidled up to him at a rock night a couple of weeks later to find out what had been wrong with his 'bits' - he had a urinary problem :-(
Eventually, some hours later, a doctor (with a young student in tow) pokes and prods my bits, and can't work out what the problem is. So I'm to go for an ultrasound scan.
This requires another appointment, so some days later I'm back in again. This appointment is serviced a bit quicker. When I'm waiting, I notice that nearly all the other men there have women with them, and are all looking a bit worried. Sadly, I've always suspected that these could well be men with fertility issues, in for a scan to check why their bits aren't producing enough sperm :-(
So another doctor now spreads saline gel all over my bits (ooh, cold), and proceeds to scan them. He can't really find anything nasty (hurrah), other than some *old* scar tissue around my vas ferens, which is probably the cause of the pain. This is a relief, and a couple of weeks later it just stops hurting.
Which leaves a mystery. Why have I got *old* scar tissue there? I can't remember any childhood trauma that may have caused it. This was the first time I had had pain down there. I shall never know.
It does flare up and hurt sometimes, generally after lots of motorbike riding in the winter, but I know exactly what it feels like, and it doesn't worry me now.
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no subject
See! See! I'm not the only one! I got bloody nagged to death to go to the doctors with my ankle. Grrr humbug.
As for the women - I think it's a hand-holding thing, not to put too fine a point on it. I must admit I'd have welcomed the possibility when I had my bits operated on.
As for the scar tissue - ask your mum if she ever got you caught in a zipper when you were a kid?
no subject
*laughs* that's true. I generally figure it's worth waiting a few days to see if you get better without any intervention.
I've made a few people laugh with a quote I'm sure you made (which applies to my local Doctors too). Something like "it takes so long to get an appointment, you've either recovered or you're dead". I usually give you attribution, though. :-)
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I'm a coward, and tend to wait a few years, rather than a few days...
I had a lump on my neck for nine years before I plucked up the courage to see my doctor :-)
-roy
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no subject
*eyes water* :-)
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Hmmm, yes, perhaps I was. I have these odd marks on my head too which have been called my "abduction marks" in the past. Hmmm. Interesting. It does explain a lot. Perhaps there's still something implanted inside me?
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Chicken Pox scar? Most people who get it end up with the odd one or two, although I managed to avoid that. They do have a fairly distinctive shape though. We should play "let's show each other our *external* scars" next time we meet. :-)
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I was 25 when I finally contracted chicken pox (and stubbornly insisted I didn't have it - forcing William to drive us to a family party in London - by the time we arrived I was fully scabby and contagious and we couldn't go for fear of me infecting the small children. He was very patient with me!). So my CP scars are quite recent - I've got one on my jawline, but elsewise, nothing too bad.
Nothing compares to the *enormous* scar on my hand which was entirely self inflicted - burnt myself in William's workshop, that then got infected and I refused to go to the doctors until my pulsating hand was the size of a house and hurt like fuck. Entirely my own fault.
I'm quite happy to look at your *external* war wounds - but nothing further south!