I guess a bunch of people have seen my dick.
I don’t think it’s anything special. The most ridiculous description I’ve ever heard in reference to my dick was …It fits me like a puzzle piece. I thought that was particularly hilarious. And outside the normal, that cock this that dick this. I’m not worried about it. It’s an average size according to Google. It goes up and it goes down. It has made a baby. So I appreciate it as a functional piece of equipment, but I’d take a ride on a forklift over having a dick anyway. Forklifts are really cool. I used to have a job driving one. You can drift them…
Anyway,
Sometime…A long time ago, back when frosted tips and backstreet boys were something I’d thought I’d involve myself with… I studied martial arts. Taekwondo.
I’d always been interested in martial arts, because Chuck Norris. I’d been interested in other sports too but my mom was adamant that they were too dangerous and I’d end up hurt or that it wouldn’t work out because health reasons.
Asthma, constant nose bleeds. Leg braces too, complete with an actual friend named Ginny, with red hair. I promise she’s real. We used to play bubble bobble a bunch and she lived directly beside me.
Forest Gump?
…blah blah blah. I had lots of things going against me health wise.
I remember doing a lot of ice skating though…taking ice skating lessons…Wtf?
Anyway,
When I was about 13 or 14ish, she let me sign up to learn how to kill people. Because that’s not dangerous.
OK maybe not learn how to kill people, but definitely how to kick someone. A bunch. TkD isn’t one of those learn how to kill people things. But a huge portion is actually fighting people. There’s some pads involved.
I thought I did well, and excelled quite a bit. I did all kinds of competitions, took classes on using weapons and did demonstrations breaking loads of wood or blocks of cement. It was fun. Jump, kick, punch, and get belts. Kick people, and get medals. Kick more people and go to AAU junior Olympics.
So I did that. At the time I thought it was a big deal. I worked pretty damn hard to get to that level.
Last match of the AAU competition resulted in a fancy gold medal in sparing. Somewhere in-between there I took a few illegal swift kicks to the back.
Lots of doctors get involved. One says I have some cancer things. Plays with my butt a lot. I didn’t love that. I eventually told him if he asked for another sample I’d knock him the fuck out. Another doctor says it’s all in my head and refers me out to therapy.
Sure yeah, being awake is painful and I’m faking that.
After a few more months of medical tests, somewhat immobilizing pain, and missing most of my freshman year of high school.
Fly to Stanford. CA.
A doctor finds out that my back is broken. Finding out that I had an entire vertebrae free floating above my sacrum. From there things moved quickly. Because not North Carolina.
My mother and I stay in the Ronald McDonald house.
Place was fantastic. The other kids made me feel small and weak for complaining about back pain. These other kids were in way worse condition. Cancer, heart transplants, kids were actually dying while I was there. I made some friends. We watched Wayne’s World and played SSX on PlayStation. I even kissed a girl there.
Come to find out she got in a significant amount of trouble because she was there for heart surgery and was supposed to be taking it easy. Which means maybe don’t kiss dudes?
Hey Wayne’s World is a romantic movie. Couldn’t help it.
After about a week goes by there, lots of tests and x-ray things.
Back surgery.
During the surgery my body decides not to cooperate with the drugs. I think I almost die. Or do. I don’t know if it was the drugs or what but at some point during the surgery I woke up. Or felt like I woke up, I saw myself laying there watching TV. I saw my grandmother in the TV and me watching her on the TV.
Whatever. They get me going, close my back up.
I’m not sure what the hell that was about. But I was on morphine and dilaudid (super crazy pain meds).
Day or two goes by.
Drugs.
Lots of drugs.
Sleeping.
I wake up a lot because nurses fucking with me. Always playing with tubes and lines and poop pans.
And catheters. I fucking hate catheters. Thing hooked in to my dick for peeing. Get the fuck…not about them.
I guess like a week goes by and they want to rip this thing from my dick. So I can pee like a big boy again.
So there’s this nurse looking up my skirt, and she says blah blah about removing this thing. I slur curse words.
Nurse says wow.
My mom says “I know he’s hung like a bull, right”.
Unsure if my mom is making a statement or asking a question I try moving to give her a “the fuck?” look.
As I turn I notice a person standing in the corner.
Dressed…Differently.
Alright, so I’m on some extremely powerful, very heavy drugs…
This person is dressed up as a Jedi Knight. Burlap sack hood, saber, head bowed, and dark face.
I guess this was an initiative of the hospitals, to cheer kids up.
I freak 10 kinds of the fucked out. I probably shit myself, or the bedpan.
I didn’t see a Jedi Knight. I see death. Like I’m dying and this thing is here for me.
Well…Anyways…
They have the Jedi leave.
And I’m all…How many people just saw my dick?
Maybe also a little, how many times has my mom seen my dick?
Also, too, at 14, a little, is being hung like a bull a good thing?
I think, hope, that was the last time my mom saw my dick.
Narnia?
…On a serious note.
I don’t remember much else of what happened at that hospital. I remember leaving.
Finally getting to eat an actual meal.
Not a tray.
No jello. No squared up portions.
I remember getting a full plate in the hospital cafeteria. Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes and gravy. Corn. Green beans. Cornbread. And some chocolate pudding.
One bite of corn. I’m full. Felt sick to my stomach.
Back at the Ronald McDonald house, things had gone full circle while I was on the inside.
The girl I had met was in the intensive care unit, the transplant stuffs had gone wrong.
The friend I made playing SSX on PlayStation was gone. Later found out he died. Liver cancer.
My back was fixed, and I was on the way home.
Oh and yeah….I stopped listening to Backstreet Boys and dying my hair.
Well...Anyways 