My testicles and me

Hi. I'm Coachdad. I stop by every now and then and share a story or two. I usually throw something on here that relates to me and the crazy little girls that are with me when they are not with their mother.

Not this time, though. This isn't your typical post from me. Don't you feel lucky? Well, don't.

I want and need to write about my balls.

Those two little fuckers have given me so much grief over the last three years. And, this time I am not even talking about the four girls that they helped produce.

Seems my testicles don't like when another man starts touching them. I can't blame them. I wasn't all that fond of a 74-year-old man playing with my balls either.

However, if 30 minutes of his pulling, prodding, and cutting into my sack meant that I would be free of the worries of fathering another child, then have at it Doc. Do whatever you want with them, just buy me lunch the next time we see each other on the golf course.

The procedure wasn't all that bad. It was a little uncomfortable, but certainly not painful. Walking out of his office, I felt free to drop my seed anywhere without the worries if it developing into anything other than another relationship that would go wrong.

After three days of limping around, I was back to normal and ready to take them out for a test drive. Satisfied literally and figuratively, I was content with my decision and proud of what I thought was one of the first times that I actually acted like a responsible adult.

Fast-forward six months with me if you will.

It was Christmas morning in 2006 and I woke up to four little girls crawling all over me in my bed. I got up and started walking into the living room to watch them open their gifts when a sharp pain started shooting up the right side of my abdomen. From there, the pain turned into a dull, pounding sensation that never went away, only to be interrupted by more shots of pain.

Two hours later and after dropping the girls off at their Mom's house, I drove to the hospital and began to wait in a overcrowded emergency waiting room. After 45 minutes, I was led into triage and was told that I wasn't suffering from a appendicitis attack and that I should go back to the waiting room and wait to undergo some tests.

Sitting for 15 minutes and knowing that I had much to do before heading to my then fiance's house for Christmas dinner, I left the hospital confident that I wasn't going to die in the next 24 hours.

I didn't die that day, but I fucking wanted to after I found the source of my pain in a bathroom at the fiance's house. Unzippping my pants to piss, I saw what is and will always be the scariest thing I have ever looked at.

My right testicle didn't look like a testicle. It was three times it's normal size and decorated in a deep red and purple color. How the hell did I not see this plum-looking thing earlier?

I hobbled out of her house, drove back to the hospital, sat in the waiting room, went back into triage, underwent an ultrasound on my boys (which I actually enjoyed), and then finally got an answer from a young female doctor who looked like she just got out of medical school.

"You have a condition called Epididymitis," she said.

"Ok. How did I get it and what can I do to get rid of it?"

"It's an infection that is associated with syphilis, gonorrhea, and HIV. We can't test you for those here, so you need to go see your family doctor. You are free to go home now."

What? Merry Fucking Chritmas to you, too. Syphilis, gonorrhea, or HIV? Are you kidding me? Can't wait to call the fiance and tell her the great news.

I didn't tell her that that night, instead I went straight to Dr. Fuck-Your-Balls-Up the next morning with my medical report from the prior night. As soon as he glanced at the report, he looked at me and laughed.

"Relax, Brett. She was correct on her diagnosis, but not how you got it. Read this pamphlet while I go and get you some antibiotics."

It was a pamphlet that dealt with vesictomies and complications that could result from the procedure. The first one listed was epididymitis and it said:

"One of the more common of the vasectomy complications, epididymitis is a condition which occurs when the larger tube behind the testicle, connected to the vas, becomes inflamed and swollen. The application of heat and the use of anti-inflammatory medication with or without antibiotics usually clear this up within a week."

What the pamphlet didn't say is that it can come back every six months or so. Twice a year I am reminded of having my balls played with by an elderly man.

If you ever see a 35- to 40-year-old man in Southern California in obvious pain and hobbling quickly after his girls in a mall, or a park, or anywhere... take solace in the fact that he will never have more than the kids he has with him.

And, I will glady take that trade.