How some kinds of bad news can be cushioned, a bit, if you're lucky.
Ever hear of Peyronie's Disease? It's an interesting thing to look up online, and learning about it will make you feel pretty lucky if you don't have it. In layman's terms (and I'm a layman for sure when it comes to science stuff), it means your penis bends radically when you get an erection. Not just curved, but with a definite hinge point kind of thing. Sometimes it just occurs, and sometimes it's the result of an injury. In either way, one side of the organ develops scar tissue that tightens up, making that side shorter. Some guys get it so badly that it's a 90 degree bend, some luck out with only a couple of degrees, which likely goes undiagnosed, or about a 30 degree bend like mine. Some guys end up bent up, some sideways, some down. It's unnoticeable when not erect, and it can range from no change in sensation to what I've heard is pretty painful erections. Given enough bend and enough tissue damage, it can also restrict flow and cause a whole other raft of consequences, as you can imagine.
OK, so given all that, I had a particularly rambunctious round of sex going about 18 months ago and recall distinctly pulling back to ram forward, and popping out, only to ram forward into pubic bone. I distinctly remember the shot of pain, the impression that I'd just doubled the damn thing back on itself - yeow! - and I distinctly remember being in the midst of having such a good time that I just repositioned and continued. My wife never mentioned anything at the time, and the time from out to wham to in again was probably only a second. Like stubbing your toe, the pain diminished over the next couple of minutes, and the session eventually consummated successfully for her, multiple times, and for me, at its ending.
It was about two weeks later that I noticed a bit of a bend, and a couple of weeks after that that the bend was so distinct that my wife agreed with me that it was definitely, definitely different than before, when I showed it to her. She hadn't mentioned anything to that point, but she's not a talker when it comes to sex (sometimes unfortunately so in my opinion, but oh well).
Naturally, by that time, I'd done lots of web searching, and was pretty up to speed on the condition, which gets referred to as a disease, but not really a disease, unless a dislocated shoulder or broken arm is a disease.
As I implied, I'm one of the lucky ones, and I got a direct upwards bend. That and it being only that 30 degrees or so, starting at an inch or two from the base, lets me participate merrily along, causes no pain for me, and it has the added benefit of rubbing along the anterior vaginal wall, i.e. gets to the G-spot and stimulates it, so I've had no complaints at all about it. It is different, and since there is shrinkage along the top side in my case, there is some shortening, although it's probably a half inch if anything in my case. That means I can't get quite as deep as I could straight in when I could go straight in, which I sure regret. On the other hand, ask your ladyfriend if she'd rather have a 1/2 inch deeper or continuous G-spot massage, and I'll betcha can predict her answer!
So, there I was - I'd recognized that I had it, and had evaluated all the treatments for it online, including the myriad of companies that would just love to swap some of your money for their latest stretching device or homeopathic miracle drug or implant (some surgical assembly required - no thanks!).
Since I had a periodic urology checkup scheduled upcoming, I did nothing til then. I knew I'd bring it up to the urologist, and figured he'd need to see what I was talking about, so I took some selfie cell phone shots of soft, semi, and hard. I also made damn sure I kept that phone in my own possession - I could imagine the outcome if it got into the wrong hands!
That appointment went ok, all tests normal, and at the end, I finally brought it up. Telling the doc what you've just learned, I also told him about the photos I had on the cell. He scrolled through them, dispassionately in that physician sort of way while I no doubt blushed (something I don't normally do, understand). Then he went through the various options and said we should just wait and see if it "progressed" (oxymoron there for sure - "progress" in doctorese = gets worse in patientese!) by my next checkup, and that if it changed noticeably or started causing me any problems in the meantime, to come back right away. I left with renewed confidence in my ability to do research online and with a confirmed conclusion that there wasn't much to be done that was within my interest (traction of some sort in a stretching device? drugs administered by syringe in the penis accompanied by side effects I didn't want to think about? yep, I was lucky!).
Fast forward 6 months, set to go back for my checkup, old and new photos in the phone that showed no real change, and a satisfactory sex life that had adjusted to less rear entry (if I'd had a downward bend, that might have been more - I do favor missionary over canine, so I was fine with that), not much else. A couple of days before, I got the usual call from the doc's office, a young female voice unemotionally confirming the appointment, then reading from a script, I supposed, saying that the doctor wanted to do some measurements, and not to be concerned, that if there were a problem gaining erection, a "vaso-dilator" injection would be available. Uh, inject?! Uh, as in a shot in my crank?!?! Whoa, instant anxiety!
I had some Viagra around somewhere that I'd gotten during a temporary phase of no doubt self-induced doubt a year or two back. It sure worked then, but I was determined not to get dependent on that sort of thing until I really, really had to, so hadn't finished the bottle. I found it, and on the day of the appointment, I left work early, went to the gym and worked out, then took a long and thorough shower, figuring if I were a doc, I'd sort of appreciate a patient who was a clean as humanly possible in the genital regard. Then, as I left the gym, I popped the Viagra on a pretty empty stomach. If that didn't work, I'd tell the doc I'd taken it, not knowing anything about drug interactions and not wanting one of those four hour plus events they caution you about. I suspected that just having it in my system would give me the confidence not to have needed it in the first place. And, naturally, I wondered just how all that would work. Was I supposed to bring along dirty magazines to help the process along? Did they provide a closed room with select DVDs for such things? I knew I could tune into some porn via the cell phone, so wasn't worried, just curious. It's not every doctor's appointment where they want you to get a hard on.
When I got to the doctor's office, it was already late in the afternoon (for doctors), and there were other patients in the waiting room. I checked in, grabbed a copy of some magazine and settled in for the wait. About a half hour later, the waiting room had emptied to just me. Soon after, I got called back, taken via the bathroom to give the usual sample, ushered to the usual small room with the usual upholstered and paper-covered examining table thing, given the usual thin "robe," and told to disrobe, that the doctor would be with me in a moment. Putting on the ridiculous outfit with the ties in the back, I took a seat on the table, adjusted things so I wasn't "presenting," tried to figure if the Viagra had taken effect (the slight nasal congestion indicated it had although as expected, I was fully deflated, lacking any motivation to be otherwise), and waited some more.
Eventually, the door opened part way and I could hear whoever was holding it from the outside say, "No, it's late - you go ahead, I'll lock up. He's the last one today, he's a regular, and there's no worry." Kicker was that it was a female voice, definitely not the usual Doc Adams.
Now, I've had female doctors in the past for various things, but never for urology. I don't consider myself any more sexist than average, but I was, if not exactly intimidated, certainly surprised at what I expected and a bit, ok, intimidated. Was I going to have to show some female my stuff? my bend? And was that young (and attractive) assistant going to come in with her so they had security coverage or whatever that concern would be? Doc Adams always dealt with me solo, but I could see where a female in a room with a male with his genitals exposed would require different protections. Maybe I should just keep quiet about that and it wouldn't come up, so to speak - and where was Doc Adams anyway? And, of course, I was regretting the Viagra - what if I popped a woodie spontaneously - perve stuff for sure.
While I was going over this, in walks a 40-ish, attractive woman in a doctor's lab coat, file folder in hand. I quickly, because hey, we all do this part quickly, checked her out: maybe 5'5", medium build, not large but not small breasts from what I could tell while obstructed by the lab coat, ditto her hips, shapely calves, sensible 2" heels, auburn hair, blue eyes, pale polish on well trimmed nails that went with her lipstick, no rings. Could have been English or German or whatever descent - definitely western European, maybe Irish?
"Hello, Mr. R...," she started, "Doctor Adams got the flu and asked me to fill in for him. I am Doctor ---, his partner at the other office where he practices."
"Hello, doctor. I hope he'll recover soon."
"Oh yes, he'll be fine, but the flu is something neither he nor his patients would want to have around during appointments, right?"
"Absolutely. It's a mean strain this year, from what I understand."
And so it went, through the review of the test results from last time, questions about general health, and so forth. She was easy to deal with, and I figured the topic wouldn't even come up, when she wrapped it up, "Well, that's about it except for the Peyronies. How's that doing? Any change in angle or urinary or sexual function?"
"Uh, oh, well, uh . . . " I started, my nervousness now front and center, "Uh, no, not really. It's fine."
