The following narrative is, alas, entirely true. It happened some weeks ago but has been too traumatic to relate up until now.
The other week I repaired late one night to the bathroom, during a bout of minor digestive inconvenience. Struggling away on the toilet - as one does - I managed to faint. I came round on all fours looking upside-down at a copious pool of blood, which for a brief moment I failed to recognise as my own. On investigating further, I found blood pouring from the base of my male member, which had evidently got stuck inside the rim of the said toilet as I crashed to the floor and been partially torn off. Of all the places from which to find one's blood pouring, I think all males will agree that that is one of the least pleasant to behold. Oddly, it was completely unaccompanied by any sensation of pain.
My inarticulate cries of dismay brought my wife rushing to the scene. Unable to leave the baby or bring it with her to A&E, she called on our neighbour to drive me to the local hospital, clutching a towel to my groin and walking somewhat oddly.
As I suspected, the most traumatic part of the experience was trying to explain the nature of my injury to a cynical and jaded receptionist at 1 a.m. "So. shall I put it down as a 'personal problem' then?" she said with a quizically raised eyebrow. "No dashitall" I yearned to reply - but didn't - "Put it down as a fall from fainting!"; but I could see that the more I protested the more she would be convinced of misadventure involving a domestic appliance, so I sat and waited.
And yes, of course the doctor who eventually saw me was female, and yes of course the solution involved hypodermic needles of local anaesthetic in deeply personal places and stitches. But since it led to full recovery I shall not complain in the slightest of the embarrasment. Better that than go for the Earnest Hemingway option...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
12 comments:
How did this happen? I can't really visualise it. Something goes fuzzy when I try to piece together the series of events. How well do you know your neighbour?
I also cannot visualise (assuming I'd want to, which is a tricky question) how your todger was lacerated by a toilet seat. If I'd been the doctor I wouldn't have believed you either! :-(
Since I was unconscious at the critical moment I have difficulty figuring it out too. But since I'm 100% certain nothing else could have been involved that has to be the sequence of events. The position in which I found myself when I came round shows that I slumped forward at a diagonal when I fainted, a movement consistent with the site and nature of the injury. The injury - I'll spare you all the details - was a "tear" rather than a "cut", though even that would tend to increase the medical establishment's suspicions. There was one crucial symptomn of self-abus missing, which did in the end convince the doctor that it was a genuine accident, though. I will spare you the details of that, on the grounds that it made even my eyes water when she explained it.
Our neighbours are very close friends of ours and the kind of people who drop round at all and any times. And I would cheerfully do the same for them any day of the week.
My word, jolly bad show! (And Mrs Pouncer, please don't try.)
Wire wool and Dettol, old man. Works every time.
How sweet. I often forget that some people live cheek-by-jowl, in flats and even semi-detached houses! I should imagine it is quite easy to get to know your neighbours under these conditions. Our nearest neighbour - a retired rear-admiral - is a field and a stream away, and I hardly know him. Whatever would I say if he turned up at my door, member in hand, begging for succour? The whole scenario is beyond reason.
Wow, I can't quite work out how you managed to get it stuck in the rim! Bloody horrific, but too bad it didn't happen on a first date some years back, that would have been hilarious.
Indeed Mr Brew Man - that would definitely have gone down among 'restaurants I would rellay not have felt able ever to go back to'. And I can even appreciate the general hilarity of the scene to anyone whose goolies were not personally involved.
In re my neighbours - yesterday morning Mrs Byard flitted through the fence (sic) to administer first aid to said neighbour, who had succeeded in hitting himself on the head with a plank. Quite how, I do not know; but he's from Yorkshire so he's capable of anything.
I would, in normal circumstances, say "This post worthless without pics".
However, I am more than willing to let the curiosity pass, and repair to my normal diet of horror in the British Medical Journal
Terrifying.
I suppose it would have been difficult to ask the doctor to check for teeth marks. Just in case.
You and your neighbours seem very accident prone. Is it possible that your homes are built on cursed ground, like the house in Poltergeist? Have you considered propitiating the gods in some way? You may want to start in a small way, by discovering whether you live in the catchment area for a good secondary school, for example. This is often regarded as A Sign.
Wales was built on an old Indian burial ground. That's our excuse.
Post a Comment