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RIP my right bollock. July 12th 1967 to February 24th 2021. Age shall not wither him (he was quite withered already, at least until the last few weeks). He shall be missed.
That’s right, it’s the follow up to Hitler Moustache, but this time with some real commitment. I am the One Podfather. I have cleared a stone. My snooker ball has popped out of the pocket. It’s menage a un. I’m Christ (not able to go) on a bike (for a bit). I’m talking bollocks. Someone likes (half-portions of) Yoghurt.
It’s like my whole career has been leading up to this point. And of course there’s a show in it and of course there’s a puppet in it.
It was a nerve wracking (and severing) day, but the appointment was early (we were at the hospital just after 7am) and I was lucky to be seen second in my theatre and was going to be able to go home. Of course I didn’t want any of this to happen, but I accepted it was going to and I had to go along for the ride. I had a couple of hours to sit and think about it all, wondering what general anaesthetic is like, for in that sleep of having a bollock removed, what dreams would come. Everyone seemed keen to confirm that I knew what the operation was, like someone might have booked me in for a birthday surprise.
But I was very glad that everything was double and triple checked and once again the NHS staff were exemplary and funny and friendly. I never thought I would be grateful to a load of people who were intent on turning me into a demi-eunuch. But I really was.
I had my right arm marked to indicate which bollock was coming off - though you’d have to be blind not to spot which one it was (and what if the surgeon thought the arrow meant my hand was to be amputated?) He came in to see me to check I knew what was happening and explain how he was going to get to my bollocks in more detail than I needed and also warned me of the things that might go wrong. When having a ball taken off is something going right, then the stuff that is wrong has to be really bad.
The anaesthetist came in and said I had the choice between general and spinal anaesthetic. As if I wanted to be conscious whilst this was going on. I did not want to have to play any part in this. General please. Preferably until I was all better.
I thought my pre op gag could be something like “I’d give my right bollock not to have to go through this” but when it came down to it the moment didn’t arise. I didn’t get a chance to ask if I could keep it either. It would make a great prize for Taskmaster. But they still don’t know what the issue is (this might not be cancer, which would be great, but don’t think they can pop it back in if it isn’t) and so they need to take my gonad away for analysis.
They put something spiky in my hand and then suddenly I was out and the next thing I knew I had travelled into the future, or an alternate universe where I only had one ball. I was a bit woozy and confused, but was told that everything had gone well. I got some tea and a sandwich and some free biscuits (so totally worth it) plus a jock strap and some nice stockings. Plus some morphine, which slightly disappointed. I am sure it stopped the pain, but apart from the seeing the wall moving a bit didn’t have any other huge effect.
I had a bit of a rest and then tried to go to the loo, but wasn’t able to. I wasn’t allowed to go home until I’d done a wee. I don’t know if that’s just a test for everyone. But it took ages (and I fell asleep again) and I feel like I overstayed my welcome a bit. But eventually I drank a big jug of weak lemon drink and a bit of urine came out.
My wife had hung around in the car park all day - I’d been in for nine hours all in - and came to get me and drive me home. And looked after me really well. The kids were spending the night with my inlaws but had left me some cards and gifts - my daughter had wrapped up a pack of hula hoops for me. I think this is tougher on them that it seems. There were flowers from my wife too. Which is nice, but hardly a substitute.
She’s been amazing.
I was a bit sore and disorientated and doing a wee was still like bailing out a lifeboat with a thimble. But it was all done and had gone as well as possible. I will be taking it easy for a few days, but if there are no complications I should be back on my feet in a week or so. Might try and spin it out for a bit longer as it’s nice being waited on.
And having said what had happened on Twitter I got lots of nice comments and funny jokes and most reassuringly, lots of uni balls getting in touch to say they were decades on from their now operation. I am aware that I can’t be complacent but I hope I will get to move on too. And as well a coming up with jokes, I hope I can help get people talking about stuff like this and checking their bits.
Thanks very much to the staff of the Lister Hospital in Stevenage who have got me from a man with one big ball to a man with just one ball in super quick time.
