Pacemaker Starlight

I just had a chicken strip and a biscuit from Kentucky Fried Chicken. It was meant to be a "treat" after spending two hours at a urology appointment. Now I just feel queasy in a way that's difficult to accurately describe, except by saying again that I just had a meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken. Or is it supposed to be "KFC" these days, or "Kitchen Fresh Chicken." Give me a fucking break...I don't even know what that means. How about, "Killed Friendly Chickens." I didn't plan on going on a schpiel about chicken, but it's hard to resist. There's a place over in East Cambridge that sells dead chickens. A huge yellow sign above the front door reads, "Fresh Killed." This is right in the middle of a city neighborhood. My father tells me that on some days feathers can be seen blowing around the street outside, making it clear to all that this is not the best of all possible worlds for chickens.

Let's talk about my testicle, shall we? For all you ladies out there who have had a taste of Darren cake, let it be known that I saw the test results and I'm officially sans sperm. I don't have any now, and I never had any. So let's pause for a moment and thank the universe for tiny mercies. The only person I want to call me "Daddy" is the hot chick sitting on my face.

OK, I apologize for that...there's just no excuse for that kind of talk. Really...grow up. You make me sick.

Anyway, the nurse took me from the large waiting room at this Boston area hospital (there are a few) and led me into a small examination room. I spent a really long time in this room. There was a model of a swollen prostate on the table near the door, a poster showing just about everything that can go wrong with a kidney, and a "pain meter" that explains how to rate your pain on a scale from 1-10. I decided that the constant ache radiating from my right testicle is about a three. I really like the illustrations that go along with the numbers. The thing suffering from level one pain is smiling like an idiot, almost gleeful. The level ten face, however, is puffy, frowning and crying like a big, fat baby. I considered working up some fake tears, like when Ralphie almost shot his eye out in, "A Christmas Story" to stay out of trouble. Except I was going to do it to get some Vicodin. But I didn't...really. What I did do, however, is steal some surgical gloves and gauze. Sort of like making the hospital pay a penalty for making me wait a very long time.

Finally, Dr. Nuts walked in and we chatted for about ten minutes. It became increasingly clear to me that he was telling me that surgery was necessary to get rid of the pain. But there was hope. He could try something called a "cord block" to prevent any pain from getting past the nerve that connects the ball to the body. While it certainly didn't sound fun on any level, I did like the idea of ruling out the need for an orchiectomy. After all, this was my only nut left and I'm not keen on giving it up, even if it is tiny and useless. Delaware is tiny and useless, too, but nobody talks about getting rid of it.

What a fantastic analogy.

So, to make a long story long, they used novocaine first and then some other numbing agent. I held the gauze on the bleeding, iodine soaked spot next to my junk for five minutes and then pulled my pants up. The doctor instructed me to, "swing it around and see how it feels." If the "cord block" cut out the pain, then I would need surgery. If not, then the pain was coming from something else. Sadly, as I swung "it" about, I realized that the pain was gone and any lingering chance of avoiding surgery went bye-bye. As I sit here writing this, I'm still numb down there, and woozy from the xylophone. Or maybe it's the xylocaine...yeah, that's it.

On Monday, I'm to call the hospital and schedule the surgery...I'll keep you all posted. And then I'll find out if you love me for who I am, or for my balls. Also, "Pacemaker Starlight" isn't the name of a Broadway show, or a fingernail polish, it's the name I saw on the sink in the examination room. It represents either a model or a brand or something. I noticed it whilst splashing water on my face after the procedure. Like I said, I was woozy. Naturally, because I'm an idiot, I laughed my ass off.