>Since my nun experience was revealed to the guys at work, they’ve been concerned about any other experiences I may have had like that. Nothing close to the borderline molestation there, but I did have another testicular story.
My brother, Matt, and I, around the time of the incident.
Towards the end of the summer before the 5th grade, I endured a traumatic experience, of the bodily kind. I was sent by my parents to retrieve my younger brother (rest his soul) from the neighbors’ house for dinner. I walked two doors down and approached my bro and his pals on the front stoop.
“Matt, it’s time for dinner.”
“I’m not going.”
“Matt, c’mon…you gotta come to dinner.”
“No!”, he exclaimed, and with that, he punched straight forward, which considering our five and a half years difference in age and corresponding difference in height, was good enough for a direct hit to my testes. I know women experience childbirth, and men should be thankful that they don’t, but the pain of a hit to the balls is excruciating. It breeds headaches, nausea, and the following.
I instantly fell to the ground. He laughed like any kid would that overpowered someone older and bigger than them. They don’t know any better, right?
When I finally got up, I walked home like a cowboy headed for a showdown. I felt like vomiting a trail behind me.
I told my parents, and they scolded my brother. It didn’t end there for me though.
The pain lasted into the next day, so we headed for the emergency room. I had to be wheeled around, because I looked like an idiot when I attempted to walk with my aching nuts. I’m sure I was a fun oddity of the day for the staff at the hospital.
After checking me and my boys out, they determined an ultrasound should be done. I didn’t understand. I wasn’t pregnant. It would be done to find any internal damage, so I was told.
I was wheeled into a dark room lit up by the tiny lights of various machines. They left me alone with a young, female technician or nurse, or whatever the person’s title would be that administers an ultrasound. Anyway, she obviously had something against men, or had never been intimate with one before. She was nice in how she spoke to me, but she mashed my testicles like they were a ball of dough being prepared for the oven. A warm gel was applied and a device was moved around on me to check for damage, although I believe she caused more. The pain was unbelievable. It was an awkward experience. You know those scenes in the movies and on the reality baby shows when they have that moment during the ultrasound that they say, “there it is…there’s your baby”, or something similar? Yeah, well I had one of those moments, except there were 10 million of my babies being crushed before my eyes. “There they are,” she told me.
It was figured that I had some internal bleeding down there. No kidding?! I could have said, “Let me mash your crotch and see if there’s internal bleeding”, but I hadn’t acquired my sarcastic wit as of yet.
They gave me a script for Tylenol with Codeine. After a few days, the boys only got bigger. I couldn’t wear underwear, only loose sweatpants. I was a freakshow (an illustration). My brother brought over friends to come inside and laugh at me. I’d yell at them like a grumpy old man and chase them away.
I received another script for a strong antibiotic to fight any infection that was down there keeping the inflammation from going down. Ater a week or so, things went back to normal. Everytime I get knocked anywhere in that region, though, memories come racing back, and I wonder if it could happen again.