Jesse G's Guide to Healthy Living, Vol. 1

The lesson: Surgery is bad.

By the age of 25, I had surgery on both of my knees. As far as I know, I don't have some sort of crippling disease. But I do have terrible luck and knees made out of an impressive combination of styrofoam and toothpicks. Maybe a pipe cleaner or two for reinforcement. My knees have the structural integrity of whatever kindergarteners make in arts and crafts, but without the googly eyes.

The first such instance of knee dysfunction came when I was 16. I was playing basketball in my friends driveway when I simply bent over to pick up the ball and inexplicably tore up cartilage in my left knee. I might as well have broken my collarbone opening a jar of pickles. My friends laughed at me, told me to quit being a baby and someone whipped the basketball at my crotch. Let me tell you, a basketball to the crotch does not distract from the pain of a torn meniscus. It only adds different layers of pain. Provides a certain depth. And do I detect a hint of nausea in there as well? Ahhhh... yes, I do.

I had surgery a few months later. By this time I was 17, had a goatee and was a fully grown man, despite being treated at the Children's Hospital. To prove my manhood, I asked the nurse what would happen if I tried to stay awake after she put on the gas mask. She smiled and told me to give it a shot, she'll start a conversation and see how long I could go. Oh yes, I was going to impress this female nurse by showing off my tolerance for anesthetics. Until about 10 seconds in when she started talking like the teacher on Charlie Brown. My last clear thought was getting angry at her for talking like that.

When I woke up I was cold and shaking. Have you ever woken up cold and shaking? And with your leg swollen and propped up? And people were also trying to stop me from shaking so they could put me back on IV, you know, because I shook the needle out of my arm while I was unconscious. I think it would have been less of a shock to my body if they threw me in a tub of water and dropped a toaster in. By the time it was all sorted out, I had the IV needle sticking out of my elbow pit, if that's what you'd call it. I've never heard the term "elbow pit" before, but I really wouldn't know what else to call it. They taped a board to my arm so I couldn't bend it and mess up the IV. So there I was, with the entire left side of my body completely paralyzed. All I was missing was the smell of burnt toast.

After warming up, I was very thirsty. I asked the nurse for a glass of water. She must have misheard me, because she came back with a shot no bigger than a bottle cap. I downed it and asked for another. And she brought me another. And I asked for another. She said that most people are nauseous after surgery and can't hold down foods or liquids. I explained to her that I wasn't a little kid, I was a 17 year old man with a beard. So she brought me a half full glass of apple juice and said if I keep it down she'll give me more later.

Next my dad walked in to visit. I was telling him about all the gas mask and stuff. "Yeah, I tried to fight it and then she started talking all funny. Like the teacher from Charlie Br-AAAAGGGHHH... oh no..." Now remember, I couldn't move. I threw up about half a pint of watered down apple juice all over my chest and bed sheets. My dad started screaming for a nurse as if I'd gone into convulsions.

Dad: "Nurse! NURSE! Somebody help! GET A DOCTOR!"
Jesse: "No, no! No, Dad, please! Not the nurse! I'm fine..."

But it was too late. I got a very nice 'Told ya so' from the nurse while she changed my pukey bedsheets and explained to my dad that I was only sick because I had too much to drink. She never did admit to poisoning the apple juice. The rest of the night at the hospital was quite nice.

Jesse: [waking up in the middle of the night] "hhmmm... wha?"
Nurse: "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. How are you feeling?"
Jesse: [taking a second to ponder] "uhhh... I feel good actually. Yeah. very good."
Nurse: "You should. I just gave you some morphine."

The fun didn't end there though. When I got home the next day, I finally got to change clothes and take a shower. It was then that I discovered a perfect rectangle shaved into my thigh. On my good leg. It didn't bother me all that much, but it's a little peculiar, isn't it? The next time I saw the doctor I asked him about it.

Doctor: "Oh yes. The nurses do that sometimes."
Jesse: "Okay. Why?"
Doctor: "Just standard procedure."

Bullshit. I bet those nurses get together every night and tell each other what ridiculous things they did to their patients.

Nurse 1: "While some kid was sleeping I shaved a patch of his leg. Then I poisoned his apple juice and made him throw up in front of his father!"
Nurse 2: "I gave some little girl sugar pills and told her it was real medicine!"
Nurse 3: "I cut off some boy's nipple and re-attached it two inches higher. I win!"
All of them: "Nurse high five!"

When my second knee surgery came around, I thought I was ready for anything. I'm gonna be cold, shaking, shaved and throwing up. Got it. Cool. I didn't even fight the gas mask this time. In fact, I woke up quite peacefully. After looking around a bit I started taking inventory of my senses. Can I move my hands and fingers? Check. Feet and toes? Hmmm... the left foot is still pretty frozen, I'll give it some time. So I guessed my body slowly thawed out from the anesthesia, from the extremities in. A while later I started poking around a bit more. Chest, stomach and ribs were all good. Heh, my ass is still a bit- HOLY CRAP! I CAN'T FEEL MY PENIS!

I gave it a good yank and it might as well have been someone else's. I was still completely frozen from my waist to upper thighs. Quite alarming. Unfortunately, I had no other choice but to wait patiently to feel again. And then all of a sudden I had to go pee really badly. But I was still numb in the crotch, so I waited. And kept waiting. And waited until I could not possibly hold it in any longer and asked a nurse if I could go to the bathroom. After struggling with the crutches I hobbled over to the bathroom and sat down because I couldn't stand. And... nothing.

I couldn't pee. I had to go as bad as I've ever had to go in my entire life and I couldn't even force myself to. I just sat there for ten minutes, talking to my frozen dick, hoping for something to happen. The nurse eventually came by to check on me.

Nurse: "Is everything okay? Do you need any-"
Jesse: "YES! NO! I mean, I'm fine! No help!"

Eventually I had to give up. It was the least satisfying experience of my life. Ladies, if sleeping with a guy who can't finish the job is ANYTHING like that, my sincerest condolences. I'd be homicidal if that ever happened to me again, let alone regularly.

My lovely girlfriend picked me up from the hospital. She helped me into the car and asked how everything went.

Jesse: "I can't feel my penis and I have to pee worse than I ever have in my entire life but I can't. I think I'm going to die."
Jen: "WHAT? And they let you leave?"
Jesse: "Oh, they don't know. I didn't tell them."
Jen: "Why didn't you tell them?!? What the hell's wrong with you? I'm taking you back."
Jesse: "No, no, no! Look, we're closer to home now and I think I might pee my pants any minute. I am NOT going back there after pissing my pants. Actually, I might be going right now. [checks] Nope. We're all good."
Jen: [sighs] "Fine, but if you don't go as soon as you get home I'm making you wear diapers tonight."

Luckily, soon after I got home I regained partial control of my bladder and broke some kind of record for Longest Low-Pressure Piss.