Day 5-7 "My nuts, my bag, they're swole and it's a drag"
The doctor came in and told me he's not equipped to handle both my brain and my balls so off to the hospital I was to be. Thank God, the pain was driving me up the wall. A guy came into my room at 8 and got me up to leave, but he was mistaken so I went back to bed. Another guy came in at 10 because it was actually time to leave.
They deemed me worthy of my phone while I was in the hospital so I posted to Instagram thinking any of my friends had the balls to come "A-Team" me out of the hospital. I was mistaken. I hate it when a plan doesn't come together.
As soon as I got there they gave me a handler. She was cool. I wasn't in the mood to run anywhere. When I went to grab my stuff she said "I don't know if you're supposed to have that." "It's clothes and drawings, they gave it to me.
The ambulance drivers, the hospital technicians, and my handler at the hospital were all wonderful people. Tremendously kind. I doubt they thought I was some kind of scrotum obsessed fetishist like maybe the hospital staff did. I was cracking them up when I descibed the facility as "The OG Halloween" where the mental patients escape at the beginning. They quickly realized I'm a morose depressed guy and not insane so they were very much at ease, which put me at ease. Normal conversation, tattoos, blood tests, "Did you party with quaaludes or something? Your heart beat is all over the place..." "No, they gave me meds before they dropped me off but I don't know what they are."
The people around me in that hospital were crazier than the people in the ward. These hicks act like
the curtain that's surrounding them is soundproof "Was that the Indian doctor? I guess she's alright", and then "I'm going to get up and leave, I've had enough of this!"
"You can't, you have an IV and you don't listen to me or the doctors. You can't cheat on your diet. I'm going to leave." says his wife.
"NO! Don't leave me here. I'll listen if I can go home" he replies.
In comes the doctor with "Okay, we're going to release you."
"How did she know?"
We were laughing our asses off and rolling our eyes. After the technician took my blood she hooked me up to an IV, but I still had the tourniquet around my arm. In my doped up haze I asked "Should I still be wearing this rubber?" They both looked at me like I was crazy, and then I pointed to the tourniquet. Another laugh was had, and they removed it so my arm didn't become popeye's arm.
I got an ultrasound, the gel is warm these days. There's nothing worse than cold ultrasound gel covered balls. "Its there but it's totally drained." Yeah lady, you should've seen the towel. Also, it's not, I'm scheduled to see my urologist, hes definitely going to burn it with a laser. Laser nuts. They whisked me back to the hospital around 10 AM the next morning....and that's how I spent my 9/11/2026.
I began reading books again the day prior. In the ward you take what you can get. I would've read
anything to pass the time over there sometimes. I could tell the meds were working. The first book, was the "Game Show Confidential' by Boze Hadleigh brought my mood up. It was comprehensive and it spent a lot of time talking about Paul Lynde and the scandals of Bob Barker. I read the whole thing the day before I puked getting breakfast. My meds were working.
The next one I read....ohh boy.... "Meant To Be: A Novel" by Emily Giffin, a fictionalized romance novel version of JFK Jr. and Carolyn Kennedy. On page one 145 they fuck. A little later she blows him in a movie theatre. Sounds about right. I haven't read a book in years. I sped through "Meant to Be" like Johnny 5 from Short Circuit. There was something in it that parallels my own life, and I kind of hated that for it. I didn't need reminders.
Unfortunately it was mostly romance novels and depressing stuff. The other books I read were "Five
Days at Memorial: Life and Death in a Storm-Ravaged Hospital" by Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and physician Sheri Fink, about the moral dilemma of doctors at Memorial Hospital euthanizing patients... a whole book about dying with dignity, basically the reason we got here. I don't feel that way anymore. It should be an option, but I wouldn't take it for a while. What a place to read a book like that.
"We Speak In Storms" by Natalie Lund was a novel about a goth Mexican girl who breaks up with an asshole boyfriend and also sees some ghosts. There was another another book I can not for the life of me remember the title of, but that too took place in New Orleans, marriage for convenience.
They'd have the TV on alot, mostly at the music channels. My new favorite song is "Call Me When You Break Up" by Selena Gomez. One day we watched the Fugitive and Lethal Weapon, you know, the movie about the guy escaping prison and the other movie about a guy who tries to kill himself twice in the first 20 minutes, and many times after. Good times.
We're nearing the end of our journey...
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