All this week I have had an annoying experience with my balls always getting in my way. I would lay on my side and my legs would crush my balls. I would sit down and my balls would get trapped in my underwear. I felt my balls and they seemed okay if a bit lower than usual. I figured that I was just getting old.
Then on Thursday night I got really annoyed with my balls getting in the way and I took a really good look. I felt around and realized that what I thought was my balls packed tightly together was actually one ball the size of a tennis ball. The other poor nad was attached to it on the side like a moon.
I went to my doctor the next morning. I love my doctor. She is smart and warm but she also looks like she is about fourteen and even though I know she is married and has a child, she will always be the female Doogie Howser to me.
Dr. Howersette went right into action. We went through a checklist and she was surprised that I wasn’t feeling pain. She wanted to examine my balls but first she needed to bring in a chaperone. The chaperone was a nurse who never left the door and was mortified to be there. She was not half as mortified as I was when I had to drop trousers and let Dr. Howserette feel my balls.
Cough cough. No hernia.
Feel, fondle, play a little. No pain.
Dr. Howserette thought it might be fluid built up in a cyst. She gave me a referral to get an ultrasound.
I go to the ultrasound office and wait an hour and a half. I read political magazines that were 8 months old talking about what an awesome candidate Herman Cain was. Thank Vincent Price there was a National Geographic there so I could spend time reading about the crazy men who patrol Greenland with dog sled teams. I kept wondering how tiny their balls were in 60 below weather.
Anyhoo, I finally get my ultrasound. The doctor is cute short Hispanic woman who informs me that I need to change into a backless gown. She leaves the room for me to change. She comes back and tells me to get on the bed and she starts handing me towels. One towel is to go under my nads to lift them up and keep them up. One towel is to go over my penis and the third towel is for quote, “To clean yourself afterwards.”
I am over being shy at this point. I have bene to so many bdsm parties with casual nudity that I am just not fazed. Any shame I may have was obliterated when Dr. Howsette fondled my balls. I am in “Let’s get shit done” mode and the thought of wasting time for modesty was just annoying. I wanted her to just get in there and do what needs to be done.
But I am at heart an easy going person even with a tennis ball for a nad. I put the towel under my nads. I put the other towel on my cock. Now, when I am flaccid, my cock is about .1 microns in length. I have this giant towel and I’m trying to cover something so small while at the same time not get int he way of the nads that it is attached to.
I was concerned that if I got a single cock throb, that my limp penis would twitch and escape my towel confines and scar for life the Hispanic woman who needs so many towels.
“Go to your Happy Place, Shon. Ignore everything and go to your Happy Place!”
“Wait, my Happy Place is tits!”
“Shit, go your other Happy Place!”
“My Other Happy Place is spanking women’s asses!”
“Go to the non-sex Happy Place!”
“THERE IS NO NON-SEX HAPPY PLACE!”
“Wait, we’ve been playing Star Trek Online. Go there! Science has proven there is no sex for nerds who obsess about Star Trek!”
“You’re right! And while we are talking about Star Trek Online, how come we are looting the Klingons we defeat? Kirk might do that, but Picard really check the pockets of people he just phasered . . .”
The ultrasound lady meanwhile is smearing warm gel on my balls and rubbing a sensor over them. This goes on for about twenty minutes. Thanks to the miracle of Star Trek, I managed to not get an erection.
I clean off the gel and go home. I get a call from Dr. Howserette.
“Shon, the mass appears to not be a liquid but is most likely a solid.”
“A solid what?” I said.
“It could be a tumor. We’ll have to go to a urologist to be sure.”
So that is where we are now. I have an appointment for Monday which means me and my giant ball will have the weekend together.
I am staying positive mostly because my current step-father bled from the penis for a year before he went to see a doctor. They discovered it was testicular cancer and fixed it pretty easily. So in my mind even if I have a giant cancer nad, I am acting a hell of a lot sooner than my idiot step-father did.
I do however plan to gorge on fired chicken and play a lot more Star Trek Online in an effort to comfort eat and distract the hell out of myself.