Image copyright-free by D.M. Schwartz

Every guy is familiar with blue balls syndrome. For the women reading this who never heard, it’s what men get after being aroused for hours on end and not having the opportunity to climax. That achy feeling is usually associated with high school teases. You know the type; the girl who lets her date get to third base and then remembers she has to be home in three minutes. Oh, yeah, those were the days.

Normally, I detest discussions of medical conditions. Hell, we all have something, even if it’s only a hangnail. Just keep it to yourself, please. Whenever somebody starts a conversation with, “you’ll never believe what happened in my surgery…” all I can think of are the old folks at my mom’s assisted living facility. Around there, the only topic more popular than medical issues is grandchildren. Of course, grandchildren with medical conditions are a two-fer.

Until yesterday, I thought blue balls were safely in my distant past. I suppose should have got a clue on Monday in the hospital post-op recovery room when my surgeon casually mentioned I might experience some bruising in my crotch area. He also said I would be up and about after a day of rest since outpatient hernia repair was minor surgery with less than a one percent complication rate. That sounded good.

I guess swollen private parts don’t count as “complications.” My first reaction on seeing myself in the bathroom mirror was, well, at least I won’t have to consider those penis enlargement pills anymore. Then, I saw the blue parts below. Holy cow! I wondered if this was what Mel Gibson looked like under his Braveheart kilt. I mean, if you’re going to paint your face blue, why not go all the way? He did walk a little bow-legged in that film.

Now, three days after my operation I can gimp around the house, my colorful appendages aching. As long as I don’t laugh and blow out the stitches, Christmas will be fun. I’m thinking maybe one of the boxes under the tree has a kilt in it.