2017 started with way more lube than I expected.

This story is completely safe for work, despite what that title suggests.

A few days ago an ultrasound technician accidentally squirted half a bottle of cold lube into my underpants.

This stuff right here.

I was in getting an ultrasound because the site of my orchidectomy was hurting and I’m understandably nervous about any weird pains in that area.

Weirdly this pain didn’t feel like the cancer pain, it felt like a much older nearly fatal incident in my life. When I lived in Australia I had something called an incarcerated hernia, whereupon some of my guts slipped through a hole in my insides and then started to die.

I have a vivid memory of sitting in Sydney hospital listening with great interest as a very nice surgeon argued with a hospital administrator a room or so away. The admin guy was concerned that I had no insurance, and the surgeon was concerned that I was dying. In the end she said ‘I will take this boy (this was 15 years ago, I was 20) home and cut him open on my kitchen table if you don’t let me operate now’.

I always appreciated that. I still remember her name but I feel like I shouldn’t mention it on the internet.

That memory is also completely fabricated. It really happened, but I couldn’t possibly have heard it because I had passed out when that bit happened and only ever found out about it because my friend Josh told me afterwards. He had called me an ambulance and saved my life.

I had for some strange reason decided I was going to work despite all the pain I was in. I had gotten dressed and made it all the way down the stairs before the pain got so bad I had to go back inside.

I collapsed.

I still didn’t think to call an ambulance.

I’d like to say I’m older and smarter now but all the evidence suggests that I’m just older.

So with the all the death concentrated in one area of my body (more or less) when it started hurting I figured I should get it checked out* and a tired looking After Hours doctor had sent me off to get an ultrasound.

It didn’t start well.

A few doors down someone had a TV on and through the wall’s inadequate ┬ásound proofing Sponge Bob Squarepants (The Movie) sounded an awful lot like someone had summoned a gaggle of enthusiastic demons to laugh at my pain.

Once we started there was an awful lot of juggling of towel, underwear and careful hand placement to protect the little that is left of my modesty. Then, because I’ve had so much surgery it was tough for the ultrasound tech to get a good idea of what was happening.

She got me to clench and re-clench my stomach muscles. Then at some point the ultrasound gun started to stick, so she went to add more of the supposedly warmed lubricant to the contact pad.

I do not know precisely what happened next.

I moved, she moved, and all at once my underwear was significantly colder and heavier.

I let out a sound I have never made before and hope to never make again and twitched, which sent a glob of unmoored lube sailing through the air to land in my hair.

Something I did not notice until I got home.

The upshot of all this is that I seem to have a very small hernia, not anything dangerous but I’ll probably need more surgery at some point. Which sucks, but is so far away from really bad news I’m pretty OK with it.

So, yeah, that’s how my 2017’s going so far.

 

 

* This is code for: My wife said ‘Andrew go to the Doctor’. See: older, not smarter.

 

 

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