That’s right, all of this crap is just spewing out of me like a volcano. Sorry, but it really helps me. My T and my Pdoc have heard this, of course.

Sorry to be a bit graphic. Lots of triggers ahead, you may not want to read this if squeamish.

This is probably WAY TMI. Sorry if that is the case. This may belong elsewhere, like the Men's forum, but it's pretty much a tale of PTSD as much as it is a tale about masculinity and male sexuality.

When I was in 7th grade, 12 years old, over Christmas break, I got sick, really sick. I developed a testicular torsion. Which is when a testicle twists around inside the scrotum and cuts off its own blood supply, or more accurately cuts off the outflow blood. Tissue dies within a matter of a couple of hours. The testicle swells dramatically, with me, it was somewhere between an orange and a grapefruit. The pain is excruciating, and to go with it, nausea, vomiting, high fever. It is considered a life-threating emergency, because within a day or two the dead tissue can go septic and toxic.

This happened on a Thursday morning, I woke up throwing up and with some swelling and pain. And, because of Super Dad (super nightmare, that is), I was totally afraid of my own shadow, I didn’t say anything, and of course, I knew little about human anatomy and didn’t understand what was happening. I just hoped it would get better, but it kept getting worse and worse. I finally broke down and told my mom 24 hours later when it was terrible, I was dead dog sick, probably physically the most sick I had ever been, and I survived two bouts of really bad pneumonia as a younger kid.

I even basically kind of passed out getting to the car and going to the Dr. They didn’t have enough sense to take me to the ER, but I ended up there in short order, only after the Dr. did a digital rectal exam to check for intestinal bleeding (why I have no clue). So, pain and humiliation a 12 year old boy had trouble understanding. Another punishment from God is what it felt like (I know that feeling well by this time in my life).
They did emergency surgery on me, and I ended up not going home until Tuesday. I was a pretty sick puppy for a few days. And, even though they removed the testicle, I had “phantom pain” for a long time, a couple of years on and off, which was also no fun, since it usually came with a heaping helping of puking my guts out. And it could happen anywhere, the bouncing on the school bus was a prime location, since I had always struggled with motion sickness anyway.

Of course, dad loved this. We were isolated from most people, but his “circle” of business/work people were in our house on a fairly regular basis (when we had to play “perfect family” like some kind of cruel joke). He just delighted in telling these people, mostly men, about what had happened, in my presence so I would be totally traumatized and humiliated. Honestly, there have been times in my life when I thought about suicide, that was one of them, I remember one time he had people over for dinner, I had to wear a tie to please him, and I just kept thinking I should go out to our detached garage and hang myself with my pretty blue tie (hated ties back then, I’m a real clothes horse now and have about 200 of them in every possible shade and pattern, about 10 times for every suit I own, LOL).

I also had to see the urologist pretty regularly for about 3 years, and dad insisted he go into the exam room every time and watch, this was like 2 times a year. I hated him with a passion; it was another humiliating experience, standing naked from the waist down having a doctor examine my genitals while he watched. And, he always had a really weird look on his face, like perverted fascination with my anatomy. Which of course, he would later use as a weapon against me when we were home. Telling me I was not a man or wouldn’t be because I was castrated like a horse (even though I had one perfectly functional testicle fully capable of producing hormones and sperm, and I went through puberty at a pretty normal 14 despite all of that).
This all severely played into my issues today. One thing, I was really embarrassed and scared that I looked “abnormal” or “damaged”, even though other than a scar where they made the incision, I looked perfectly intact, as they implant a prosthesis during the surgery. But, it made me feel like damaged goods. His taunting and torture didn’t help matters, calling me the “f” word, and a mama’s boy (ironic, he thought I was both gay and sexually attracted to my mother – I assure you I was never sexually attracted to my mother, and I’m a perfectly functional hetero male in all respects). I also had some of my own fears once I knew more about sexuality and reproduction – I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to father children or perform sexually or even have enough testosterone to grow a beard or need to shave. Like I would be eunuch or something. My first time with a woman was a bit nerve-wracking because of this, but it got better.

Even now, I still wonder from time to time. I have had times when I felt “less than a man”, I didn’t always relate well to other men in social situations, and I have always desperately just wanted to be “one of the guys”. Finally, to this day, I worry about my fertility, even though I will never have kids, a door closed to me in my mind because it just wouldn’t be fair to try to be a father when I am a hot mess myself. Still, I always desperately wanted a son so I could be the kind of father to him I never had. I have a dog, he’s my kid, and yes, I do refer to him as “son” all of the time – “hey, son, want to go for a walk?”

Ah, more good times with dear old dad. Little wonder I have C-PTSD, eh?