Unexpected events
So, you may remember Aaron Brown's post about torsion of the testis. I assumed that it was a morbid way to kill someone, but I was wrong. Most people have some structure that keeps their testicles from moving around too much. Overexcited genitals can get themselves into trouble without such structures. Apparently I'm some mutant freak: through some genetic aberration, I got gypped. Here's how it went.
On Saturday I was feeling great. I was enjoying the weekend at the coast, and I was ready to go back to Spokane to get some stuff done before school started. Sunday morning, I started feeling some pain in my lower abdomen, but I shrugged it off. It was something that happened a few times a year, and I figured it was a normal sort of pain that everyone got. When it didn't fade like usual after an hour or so, I began to worry a little. But it wasn't until a few hours later that it hit its peak, with me doubled over in pain. We decided to go to the hospital. I got a nice long ultrasound (before the painkillers kicked in), after which the doctor came in to give me the news.
"You have a twisted testicle." My first reaction, naturally, was to laugh. It wasn't a terribly funny joke, but it was certainly unexpected. After a moment of reflection, though, I realized that he wasn't joking. He continued, "Your left testicle has no blood flow. We're going to rush you to Portland for surgery." Wow.
So they gave me a nice big pain reliever, and I got back to Portland an hour or so before my parents, which was unexpected. We apparently hit 93 miles an hour (which isn't technically legal, even for an ambulance), but when we got to the hospital it took about fifteen minutes to figure out where to send me. Talk about a weird contrast.
They eventually sent me directly to the operating room, where they had me slide off of the stretcher onto the table, after which I remember absolutely nothing. I know they gave me a combination anesthetic/amnesiac, which knocks out short term memory along with you. While I'm completely out of it, they right my nether regions, throw in a few more stitches to keep them there, and sew me back up. Next thing I know, I'm in the recovery room, and they send me to my hospital bed.
Now, I've been amused throughout the entire process, but at this point I finally get to talk to other people. I call Becky and tell her that I won't be flying in the next day, I call Josh to tell him I won't be on his flight. I call Nathan and tell him (and Eric and Aaron) to come visit me, and finally call Sarah and tell her all about it.
"Hey, Sarah, guess where I am!"
"Uhhh, your house?"
"Nope."
"Nathan's house?"
"No, but Nathan's coming to visit me."
"Okay, I give up."
"I'm in the hospital!"
"What?!"
That was fun. Anyway, Nathan and friends visited me and we laughed about the whole situation for a while. He climbed into my hospital bed at one point when I vacated it and tried calling his mom to tell her he was in the hospital, but nobody answered. After they left, I managed to get a decent amount of sleep between when the nurses came in to check on me. I got a bit more pain medicine that morning at 6:00, but I haven't had any more since.
So, at the end of it all, I didn't lose anything important, I got a quick ride back to Portland, and I enjoyed the strange embrace of anesthesia once again. Although I certainly wouldn't choose to go through such an experience, I think I made the best of it.