I just wish it had been done when I was a baby and did not remember all that pain.
I have often said that if my son kills me in my sleep when he is 14 it should be considered justifiable homicide. After all, I signed the surgical paperwork to have him butchered. He's 13 now.....
I did not believe in circumcision, and we agreed not to have it done if we had a boy. Unfortunately he was born with Hypospadias, in which the urethral opening did not form at the tip of the penile shaft. If left uncorrected he would urinate from an opening that had formed about halfway up his shaft. Obviously surgery was necessary.
However my mistake was allowing my HMO to choose a female surgeon, who in a matter-of-fact manner described how she would "peel the shaft back like a banana", repair the damaged organ and tissue, then "sew it all back together" I sat glassy eyed as she described this, my hand firmly holding tight to my own penis through my trousers. The surgery she said, would be done at six months, and the child would be "incapable of feeling any pain".
No pain my ass. My wife called from his hospital room the night after the operation. He had ripped out his IV and was screaming, and the nurse could not locate a anesthesiologist. I was home with our 18 month old daughter, got a family member to cover, then rushed to the childrens hospital 40 miles away....
After several hours a doctor was located obviously angry that my six month old child had pulled out his own IV line. Yet the next morning was far worse. As the surgeon leaned over to remove the bandage, I retreated to the back of the room, again holding onto my own penis for comfort and protection (from what, I don't know). Next to the surgeon stoically stood my wife, along with several nurses, the anesthesiologist, orderlies, and several medical students; this was a teaching hospital.
The words "Oh Dear!" from the surgeons mouth still rings loudly in my mind. After they were uttered I saw blood squirt from my sons genital area and splatter the white curtains and walls of the room. Blood was on the surgeon, on the medical students, but the worst was my wife. Already exhausted from more than 30 hours without sleep, her rose colored blouse was spattered with blood, and she had the look of pure heartache on her face. My God, I thought, she looks like Jackie Kennedy in Dallas!
Quickly we were whisked out of the room, the shrill sound of our son screaming amidst the sounds of various emergency codes called on the hospital intercom. In time we were told he would be fine, and I convinced my wife to drive home and get some sleep, I would call her if anything arose and our daughter needed someone at home....I asked an orderly to give my wife a scrub shirt to cover her bloodied clothes and was denied, we were told that people had a tendency to steal the hospital attire....
The boy is healthy, happy, and functioning fine below the waistline. He does not remember the incident. But I do. My apologies if I took this subject too far off topic.
