Thanks to James for sharing his story…
“Last weekend, I was at my local sex club around 2AM in full view of several others and having intercourse from behind with my girlfriend in our regular rough manner (she likes the hair pulling, and the bum slapping, etc.) when I suddenly slipped out, then like a drunken teenager, tried to immediately reinsert. But she must have zigged and I’ve always been much more of a zagger in these situations, because I think I hit her tailbone on the way back in and thus, crumpled my penis.
It hurt a good deal and it didn’t pop or bend really so much as well…crumple. It started to bleed rather substantially and I thought it must have ripped the skin near the tip, which I knew was no big deal so I wasn’t too freaked out at this time. Turns out though that the bleeding was coming from the inside and stopped rather quickly as soon as the urethra shut down altogether, which as it happens, was very bad. Penis life-threateningly bad.
We prepared to leave the Club and I paid the tab which took a much longer time than I would have liked. While waiting patiently and sweating casually at the bar in my blood soaked towel, I glanced down below to see that my penis had begun to resemble a Gollumesque type creature – bent and swollen, discoloured and grotesque, he was. So I drove us home because as a firefighter, calling 911 in a case such as this is simply out of the question.
I didn’t think there was anything to be done aside from icing it and waiting for the swelling to go down, so despite my girlfriend’s pleas for medical attention, I laid down with an icepack to try and sleep it off. I got up shortly thereafter however, feeling a need to go to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet to relieve myself. (I always sit down in mixed company, being civilised.) As I released my bladder however, I noticed a terrific pain in the shaft of my penis, akin to what I feel when my family doctor sticks a cotton swab momentarily into the end of my penis to test for STIs. Only this particular painful feeling travelled the full length of my penis rather than remain localised at just the tip, and it also remained blindingly and crippling painful for ten whimpering minutes.
Also, nothing came out. No urine and no blood.
‘Ah’ I thought, ‘time to go to the hospital.’
My girlfriend was kind enough (it was her fault for zigging after all) to drive me to the hospital at 3 AM. The good news was I got in to see the doctor right away. The bad news is that when you get in right away, it’s because something really bad has happened to you.
The urologist on call was summoned and I got to see him around 6 AM. He said we’d do the surgery first thing when regular surgery staff rolled in at 7:30. I explained to him that I was desperate to urinate again, and really didn’t want to do so, due to the thousand-needle feeling it had produced in my penis the last time I attempted to relieve myself. He suggested we put a catheter directly in my bladder and I readily agreed. I’m sure he could have suggested putting it in my eye at that point and I would have asked him to kindly bring it on. Putting the catheter in was no joke for pain, but the relief to my bladder was immediate. No more diaphoretic sweating and chattering of the teeth. I think my teeth were chattering more from the anxiety (a first for me in the symptomatic injury department) than from pain, as it seemed they got louder and faster every time the urologist would describe another risk involved with the surgery, such as:
“Your injury is extremely rare. It’s very good that you came in when you did. Not only are both erectile walls ruptured but the urethra has been torn as well. I’m going to cut your penis open from the underside of the shaft and we’ll do what we can, but there may be permanent erectile dysfunction, your penis might always be bent. It might be (even) shorter than before.” And he actually added “Women will never again be attracted to your horribly discoloured and swollen Quasimodo cock.” Admittedly I was high on morphine at the time so I may not be remembering this conversation exactly verbatim. Also my teeth were chattering REALLY loudly at this point.
Surgery took place much later in the morning than expected because some moaner needed a heart bypass. ‘But it’s only a single!’ I protested. I remember the doctor thinking I was joking.
I woke up from surgery in the recovery room and found out that all had gone as well as could be expected. I spent 2 nights in hospital as I had developed a fever but now I’m home recovering nicely with a catheter in the end of my penis and another backup catheter sticking out of my bladder. I’m looking forward to a full recovery, and trying to avoid erections as the external stitches and the internal urethral sutures tend not to stretch well, leaving me cringing in pain while trying to think of old ladies with too much bling and leopard print dresses holding small dogs and yelling.”