Recovering from testicle surgery has been rough. Nearly losing a one in Thailand put me in a bad place.
It’s been tough to get back into the swing of things.
I lost all of my streaks.
Day after the testicle surgery
Getting to the surgery was a nightmare. But after the surgery was worse.
I spent the whole night not sleeping in the hospital. High of painkillers watching YouTube videos.
Plotting ways to avoid the £3000 pounds that the surgery would cost me.
The painkillers persuaded me that the staff had got confused and would think I had already paid my bill.
If they remembered I had to pay, it wouldn’t matter because I would escape the hospital before they could collect the bill.
At around 6am, I was ready to leave; I pictured myself fleeing in my gown. I wanted to leave before the hospital got busy.
But I waited for the doctors’ approval to leave hoping that they had forgotten about the bill.
I had my phone and my clothes. They didn’t have my passport. They only knew my first and last name because it was on my driving licence.
Drugged up me imagined my great escape. Once the doctor approved me and the nurses removed my IV, I would bail.
Around 9am the doctor approved me to go.
The nurse came in and removed my IV. Just as she was leaving, she said “I was free to go once I cleared the bill”.
The hospital hadn’t forgotten the bill, they would make sure I paid.
The nurse came in with the bill. I looked it over, in shock at the cost. It was close to £3000.
I explained that I didn’t have that much cash available; it would take me till Friday to gather it into one account. They weren’t happy about this.
They give me a form to fill out with additional details.
Delirious me lied about my address, I gave them the address of my first hostel that I had already checked in. I gave my old phone number too.
Realising I wouldn’t just get to walk out the door. My master plan transformed. They would have to let me out to get my passport. When they let me out, I would fly back to Ireland before they could chase me up for the money.
They weren’t into me leaving unaccompanied. Instead, they said they would have their driver take me to my accommodation.
While I was figuring out how to escape the hospital staff called my first hostel. The hostel said I had checked out a week prior.
This pissed off the hospital staff as they realised I had lied about my address.
This time I gave them my actual address.
They had me on lockdown in my private room. The nurse’s desk was straight outside so there was no way I was getting past.
They wanted to keep me in the hospital until I paid the bill. Which meant I would stay three extra nights.
I wasn’t the first sleep deprived, drugged up tourist they had dealt with.
I said some bullshit excuse, “I must have written the wrong hostel name”. The names were similar, so they believed this.
They then called my actual accommodation, who volunteered to bring my passport.
Paying the bill
It was now the afternoon. My brain kept telling me to bail. I realised I would have to pay and accepted defeat. I turned my attention to getting the money together as I realised how stupid I was being.The drugs were wearing off and I was getting some brainpower back.
To perform the surgery, I should have had to pay them 80% of the surgery fee as a deposit. Which they tried to charge. I didn’t have that much in my account.
But in between muffled screams I persuaded them I could only pay around £500 as it was the maximum payment my account would allow – it was also most of the money in my bank account.
They performed the surgery.
This meant I had to gather the remaining £2500 if I ever wanted to leave the hospital.
I called my mum and explained the situation.
I was planning to avoid mentioning my twisted testicle. But I explained the entire situation to her and said I needed money.
She sent £1000, and I maxed out my overdraft to make up the amount.
I then entered intense negotiations with the hospital to get a discount. Saying that I could pay them £2700 today instead of the total amount on Friday.
The negotiations went back and forth. The manager had to speak to her supervisor. They left the room and came back an hour later saying they could do that. They charged my card, and I left. Defeated.
Days after the hospital
After almost twenty hours in the hospital with no sleep and constant painkillers, I could leave. £2700 poorer.
I had to take my moped back to my house. Which meant speed bumps and sketchy Thailand roads.
I tried my best, but I couldn’t avoid all the bumps in the road.
Riding a moped in poor conditions after groin surgery is not something I can recommend.
I began to wonder if my right testicle was worth three grand.
I booked a flight home that night, fearing having to go back to the hospital in case of infection.
But the only reasonable flight of twenty hours was on Friday.
I spent the next three days waiting for my flight in Thailand sitting in my room depressed. Doing no work.
Once a day, I’d go for lunch and buy a bunch of junk food from the 7/11 store.
I had to waddle to the store like a cowboy.
I slept flat on my back the entire time like a vampire.
Showering was difficult as I couldn’t get my crotch wet.
I’d sit watching YouTube videos. I watched David Dobrik’s vlogs for three days straight. Taking breaks from the vlog to watch Netflix. Doing no work at all.
I started the flight home on Friday afternoon.
The only upside of the entire trip was that this was the best airport experience I’ve ever had. I got a wheelchair.
I said to the woman at the airport counter in Thailand that I had had surgery hoping to get more legroom.
She offered me help through the airport and I said no.
But as she was checking over my medical documents and calling the hospital, I decided, fuck it.
So I got wheeled about in this.
I attempted to write this post after three out of four of the flights. During a six-hour layover in London, but it didn’t work. Instead, I ate more junk food.
This trip has been a disaster I wasn’t able to train BJJ, I lost a months accommodation in Thailand; I had to buy two flights home, and I spent £2700 on a twisted testicle. Which is not what you want to happen a month after quitting your job.
I gave myself a few days at home doing nothing, trying to get over how bad the timing was for all of this.
Now I’ve started to build up my Streaks again.
Losing all my streaks because of the operation has bummed me out. It made me not want to start again. But now that I’m sitting here typing this post I’m happy.
I’ve missed tracking my streaks on Streakoid and the satisfaction that comes from doing what you know you should be doing.
I could have built my streaks earlier, but I kept hiding behind the fact it wasn’t the right time.
When life twists your testicle, accept it, forgive yourself for messing up and start again.