Warning: Graphic violence against rather sensitive parts of my body. If you are the squeamish type, pour a strong cup of coffee and read another blog. Perhaps even try to guess whose birthday is coming up in a day.
No, it's not mine. Mine is April Fool's Day. Stop pretending to be surprised by that.
I have had many procedures done and some were rather simplistic, and a few were, for lack of a better term, invasive.
No, not that procedure from 2 years ago.
But the Great Naughty Bits Debacle took place a few years before "The Night I Spent in the JFK Hospital Restroom."
I was home, sitting in bed, and feeling rather poorly. What had been a minor scrape thisclosetomynaughtybits started to hurt. I checked around my naughty bits, and what had been a tiny scrape, was now a huge, rock hard burning, oozing hunk of me.
So, you have the setting.
Off to the hospital I went.
Doctor did some surgery. Bandaged me up, and then off to the post op. I eventually woke up.
And, of course, I'm wearing a diaper. Doesn't everyone?
So much gooey junk was oozing out, no bandage could keep up.
I always try to find the bright side, and, well, at least some cute nurses will be changing my diaper.
Woohoo. I recall having similar dreams when I was younger. I was already drafting my letter to a men's magazine:
Dear Editor, I never imagined this would ever happen to me, but...
but my nurse came in
The letter never got written.
I was looking forward to nursing care from Tiffany and Amber, I got Tim and Dave.
It gets worse.
Tim was rather gentle, bordering on affectionate. On the rare shifts that Tim wasn't around, basically, the nurse on duty would just come in, rip off the old diaper, and slap on a new one. Tim, oh, he was really into his job. My naughty bits were gently cleaned, powdered, shifted around, positioned in the diaper, repositioned, and finally tucked away.
I left the hospital, and had to go to rehab for a few weeks. The rehab facility was a mess. Huge staff turnover, which meant, as part of their training, new staff was taken to observe unusual patients. I had a parade of personnel coming in to see my diseased and diapered naughty bits.
It got to the point that when I heard a knock on the door, I would just whip off my diaper, and show my naughty bits. This was fine, but I did get a "talking to" after scaring, and probably scarring for life, the young lady who simply wanted to know if I wanted the meatloaf for dinner.
Future posts: Doctors I've tried to punch
Pictures credit: Rubba, at least the good ones were done by him.