I thought I’d start the New Year with an old habit. There’s nothing that fires me up more than popping to see a doctor I’ve never met to have him make small talk whilst looking at my withered fruit.
Avid followers will know I’ve been experimenting to see how many grown men I can get to touch my hanging garden of babydom in a bid to allay my fears driven by sinister lump. Well the last visit takes me to three in a month. This one was the ultrasound.
After having a lovely chat with the Aviva helpline to discuss whether or not my balls still hurt and the why’s and wherefores of health insurance (lovely lady, awful experience) I booked into Clare Park hospital for a check. Unfortunately today is still a training day, so a lunchtime ‘sprints’ session left me in urgent need of a shower before my date appointment with Doctor Softhands. I’m a little disappointed he didn’t at least comment on my freshly shampooed, conditioned and styled trouser hedge after I’d raced back to squeeze an emergency shower in. 
After confirming my ID I was in. Next challenge, act nonchalant. Difficult whilst you stand in a darkened room, trousers round ankles, staring at a screen whilst a fully grown man squirts lube all over your rattle sack.
“This will be a little cold” he smiled.
“Thank god for that” I thought as any semblance of getting a ‘chub on’ whilst being lubed up disappeared faster than a series 2 of Eldorado.
With dimmed lights we turned our faces to the screen whilst he deftly rolled the scanner around my rapidly tightening purse. Watching the drama unfold was riveting. It turns out I have a couple of pockets of fluid formed between the bag and the marble, which would cause the pain. I have another lump on the conker string which apparently lots of people get. They will disappear on their own, or not, or will perhaps twist, hurt like buggery and have to be removed. Either way, they aren’t cancer and I’m good to go.
Doctor Feelgood whipped the machine away and passed me a flannel to mop up with. I’ll admit to feeling a bit odd wiping goop off my bits fairly thoroughly with a flannel whilst someone watched, but it takes all sorts.
I’ll admit that whilst I was fairly confident it wasn’t a worry there was a part of me that felt some relief in the closure.
If you’ve got this far, and you’re male. Check yourself, if you have any concerns go and get it looked at. It’s embarrassing, it can smart a little but better safe than sorry.
Fubar@Forty 