Most Embarrassing Moment Ever

As a word of warning, some people might find this post offensive. Yes folks, Dan writes something offensive. Amazing.

Women: I'm going to talk about MY bits.
Men: You will probably cringe.

And as an aside - this is a long entry!

Quite often, things happen in my life that, to put it bluntly, make me cringe. On a daily basis, I walk into things, trip over things, fall down and even up stairs, and generally embarrass myself. Of course, doing such things in public also has the added bonus of making those with me either laugh or run and hide so they aren't seen associating with me.

However, my Most Embarrassing Moment Ever was horrendous for just me. Such is this moment, that only a handful of trusted people in my life know this story, but, seeing as it's a nice day, I decided to share.

Imagine the scene. You're a 15 year old boy, living at home with your parents, you're pubescent, girls are this scary thing you avoid because you are shy and get very flustered very easily. It's about half eight one evening, you've had a shower ready for school the next day, you've said goodbye to your new girlfriend (which is still in the "kissing in a shy manner" stage) and are relaxing and chilling out at home. Unsurprisingly, you're playing on the computer.

You are me, after all.

So, I sat down in the office chair and felt a slight twinge down below. Not the "chap" itself, but the plums, as it were. I remember frowning and thinking "oooh that wasn't nice" but carry on . Ten minutes later, the twinge is still there, perhaps a little more noticeable. I fidget in the chair, trying to readjust myself but to no avail. In fact, but doing the side-to-side butt shuffle, the twinge becomes a bit of an ache.

Thinking I've just caught myself a bit - being that I am in boxers and a teeshirt, covered with a dressing gown - I carry on for another fifteen minutes or so, when the bit of an ache is actually rather uncomfortable. I head to the loo and check out the furniture, as it were. All looks fine, but all doesn't feel fine. The plums are a bit sore to the touch in fact. I have a cough. One cough, two cough, three cou- Ouch!

Now, the bit of an ache is decidedly rather tender and not nice at all. However, I Am Man! I head back to the computer and try concentrating on whatever I was doing, but over the next fifteen minutes, it actually starts to hurt. I fidget, I cough, I re-arrange, but in the end, I do what any self-respecting 15-year-old boy should never, ever EVER have to do.


Yes folks, I had to call my mother for assistance. I had to say something along the lines of "I'm in pain, and I don't know why" when she uttered the words that NO self-respecting 15-year-old boy should never, ever EVER have to hear.

"Do you want me to take a look?"

I reel back like an idiot on a bungee rope trying to run along an oiled race course. "Hell no" is akin to my answer, and I escape the clutches of my mother, and run back to the loo to "have a poke" or, because it's so sore, "have a delicate check up". After a few minutes, and deciding that something is really not healthy in Ballsville, I emerge to find my mum standing outside the door. "Any better?" she asks, concerned. "Why don't you talk to John?"

John is the father figure of the house, my step dad that I got along fine with, as long as I wasn't being accused of destroying, stealing or drug abuse. I spoke to him and explained the situation, and I am really uncomfortable - for one, the pain is making movement painful and two, I am discussing my privates with my step dad. He is concerned, and gets me to sit. I tell my mum to stay the hell out of the lounge and do what any self-respecting 15-year-old boy should never, ever EVER have to do. I have to show my Step Father my tackle.

"Mum, you stay the hell out!" I call through the lounge door.

He is standing in front of me, looking down. He furrows his brow. He leans forward and furrows his brow more. He covers me back up, and calls out to my mum, "call the doctor out". By now, the pain is akin to having just had a foot swiftly connect to the prize jewels between my legs. I feel like I've been booted one right in the gonads and NOW, after mum asking to see, after stepdad actually seeing, they want the doctor.

Mum gets on the phone, and I can hear them in the hall talking about me, the pain, the swelling. I have a feel, and sure enough, there is suddenly a plum where before, there was a marble. If you get my drift.

Doctor is heading right over, and after what feels like an eternity on the nut-kicking machine, our old family GP turns up. I am now in really severe pain and trying not to move; the plum is getting bigger and it is not nice. In true Indian Family Doctor style, he comes in, tut-tuts, puts his bag down, and without much in the way of warning, flips open my dressing gown to have a peek. His eyes widen as he is greeted with it, and he cops a feel.

I am being violated, by my doctor, in front of my step dad.

"How are you feeling Daniel?" he asks, and I just look at him, fighting back tears now. My answer is amazingly articulate. "It hurts!"

He covers me back up and turns to my step dad. "Get Daniel to the hospital. Now" He scribbles on some paper, and tells mum to give it to the Emergency Room receptionist.

Now at this juncture, I am in so much pain, I just don't care anymore. I want the pain to stop. I can honestly not describe it aside from excruciating and even then, that doesn't seem to do it justice.

I'm having difficulty walking, and of course, have to walk out to the car. And of course, it would appear that every man and his dog are outside between the front door and the car. And, of course, I am in my boxers, teeshirt and dressing gown, barefoot, being escorted with my my mum and step dad either side, holding me up, with our family doctor bringing up the rear.

And of course, we're spotted. Concerned questions, people asking what's up, wanting to know what's going on. "Dan hurt himself" replies mum, without going into too much detail. I think that finally, my dignity has been given a little protection.

Getting into the car and the journey to the hospital is a monumentally painful trip. Every bump, the change of speed, cornering - everything pulls on the injured part of my body. Before we get to the hospital, I am now crying. Fifteen years old, being walked by my parents, and crying.

Mum hands the woman on reception the doctors note, and she nods, gets up and scurries off to the back, only to emerge a minute later with the Angelina Jolie of nurses. Curvy, Pouty, Big Eyes, Long Legs... I think it's about that point that I die. Right on the spot. I tell my mum to sit in the waiting room, and take my step dad with me, where we're taken to a cubical with Miss Drop Dead Gorgeous. John explains the problem, explains what's gone on, and all I can do is cry. The pain is nothing to what I know is coming next.

"Ooooh" she says, pouting the bee-stung lips "Let's have a look, see what we can do..."

Now, at this juncture, I should point out that I am anything but aroused. Even though I am fifteen years old and get aroused by amusingly shaped trees, I am in too much agony to care. It's the sheer humiliation of the thing that makes me want to die. Here is probably the most gorgeous woman in the hospital - probably in all the hospitals anywhere, and she wants to see my equipment.

She washes her hands as I get comfortable (well, till I move so she can see) and she is taken aback by the sight. To be honest, so am I, not having had a check or a fiddle for a while. The "swollen nut that was a plum" has taken on the appearance of an angry purple apple stuffed inside me. And more's the point the bag containing said-apple is not actually made for holding such a load.

Take one purple ball, and force it into a small red balloon.
Yeah, there you go.

Of course, she HAS to touch, feel, prod and poke. "I think we're going to have to do something about that pretty urgently" she says, and rushes off. John looks at me and says something along the lines of "Wow, she's a looker!" to cheer me up. It doesn't work.

Sexy Nurse reappears a few minutes later with a battle axe of a Sister (a high-ranking nurse) and a small indian lady in "normal" clothing with a stethoscope around her neck. When they are shown the impressive bulge between my legs, the Sister legs it and the doctor introduces herself and starts examining me, much like a woman does with a grapefruit at the supermarket. She even puts the stethoscope on me and has a listen. The sister returns clutching one thing I hate to see - an Hospital Issue razor.

Which she hands to me.

I am struck with a moment of de ja vu. A year previous, almost to the day, another blue-clad battleaxe presented me with a shaver to "remove the hair from the pubes to the nipples" as I was suffering from appendicitis. No water. No shaving cream.

This time wasn't much different. "Sorry son, they're going to need to operate, and you need to be hairless." For the second time in my life, I have had to decline an offer from a pretty nurse to shave my private area as Sexy Nurse offers. The doc tells me to hurry and I set to it.

Do I need to mention the additional pain? Do I need to mention I've only been shaving a few weeks facially, so this whole "razor" thing is a new game to me. How I didn't perform the surgery on myself there and then is beyond me, but I managed it. Of course, everything was so swollen and tight down there, it wasn't difficult - aside from the agonising pain.

Within minutes, I am on a trolley being whisked into the bowels of the hospital, a porter trying to make me chuckle by telling me that "more girls in the emergency room have been my bits than anyone else in Basildon" and "won't your mates be gutted when they see the nurse that's been playing with you" motioning to Sexy Nurse who is accompanying me down.

We're met on-route by the anaesthetic guy, and as they are walking, the nurse discusses me - regardless of who is around. "Daniel English, torsion of the right testicle, very swollen, lots of pain. He's testicles have been examined, left seems normal, right testicle is highly abnormal" The porter chuckles and says something like "All the girls say that"

The journey through the hospital seemed to be filled with doctors and nurses telling everyone about "Daniel English's testicle" and was indeed a marvellous occasion for me. Needles were put in, surgeon was friendly and reassuring, telling me he will try to save it if he can, nurse wished me luck and gave me a kiss on the forehead, and I had to start counting back from ten.

I think I reached 7.

When I woke up, I was on the ward. My legs were open, but thankfully I was covered. A new - but still very pretty - nurse was checking my obs and smiled at me. My mum and John were sitting beside the bed talking quietly. I didn't speak, I didn't say anything. I just moved my hand down between my legs. I hadn't been castrated. I hadn't neutered. The nurse came back.

"Don't worry Daniel, they are both still there" she said to me with a smile. She had caught me touching myself.

Over the course of the next twelve hours, I had the doc tell me they had "untangled it all" and "appear to have saved it". They wouldn't know if it was still fully functional unless they "tested" it, which I declined. I'd take my chances, and didn't fancy having to play with myself and present someone a cup to be tested. Nurses came and went, checking me, checking "my wound" which, with the aid of a mirror, was quite impressive and well stitched.

Dissolving stitches, thankfully.

On being discharged home with two pairs of "special underwear" I had hoped that would be the end of it, but I failed to take into account one thing. I was home, I was safe, and, mores the point, off school for the last three weeks of term. However, I forgot the all important Sister Factor.

There's me thinking to myself "Just tell everyone you had an operation on your leg" when in reality, my darling little sister had told pretty much everyone. And of course, everyone had told everyone else, who had told their friends... Rumours were spread, stories circulated, and if it wasn't for the fact that it was the last year of school, I think I would have been called One Bollock English for the rest of my days.

But the ray of hope, the single, tiny beacon that kept me intact... The "special underwear" was size Extra Large.

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14 Responses to “Most Embarrassing Moment Ever”

Shiny Demon said...


Posh Totty said...

This may seem a bit cruel, but that has made me smile so much, thank you

Em's way said...

Cruel or not I am absolutly pmsl here hehe. Especially as I know someone else, not too far from me now, who had exactly the same thing..... didn't stop him either, 7 kids at last count rofl

MrB said...

Makes me wonder if I should divulge my similar story!

I think I will......not!

Stuart Wilson said...

Wow... I remember that at school!!!! Brings back memories - not good ones for you though!

The Random One said...

Well that was amusing. =D

Yes, your pain brings amusement.

Anonymous said...

How very strange...Just 2 months ago I was rushed to hospital and underwent exactly the same operation...

However, my operation didn't fix the problem, and thw NHS have been pumping me with various drugs and pain killers since!

Although there is a slight funny side to it, I do feel for you...I know the pain of a large group of people starring at your "parts" explaining to med staff what's happened...

Mark said...

Oh Bollocks!!

Little Nut Tree said...

That is too funny... had me chuckling inside :)

DriedPapercutsAndChickens said...

thanks for the laugh...sorry to laugh at your expense.
But, I must ask, did you ever get said sister back?

Dan said...

Glad you all had a chuckle... If I had a therapist, I suspect this would be the root of all my evils, many as they are.

Matt, I think you should share ;)
Stuart, glad you remember, and that my pain wasn't for nothing!
Sam, sorry to hear you're dealing with all that - and only someone that has been there can honestly know what it's like with the pain and humiliation.
Mark, you're a comedian.
And Karin, as for Gemma, I think just being related to her is enough for her ;)

Though I am sure I will have my day... biding my time...

Daddy Cool said...

oh man, what a story.

You handled it all very well.

Anonymous said...

My brother in law had to have his "bits" worked on when he was 14 years old (one of his balls had never descended!), and told his younger brothers that he had a hernia repair. They never knew what was really done on him until they were all adults....

Krista Long said...

I missed this post originally- not sure how. I am glad you re-linked to it. Konal had testicular torsion twice before he was five. It was interesting to have people (like my old macho male boss) ask why he had to have surgery. There is almost always an anxious crossing of legs. I think having it so young was easier than your age when you had it.