25 March 06
After towelling myself dry in the shower, I felt something warm trickling down my leg. Blood was coming from a mole on my scrotum.
What should I do? I thought. I'd best get back to my cell and try and stop the bleeding. But I need to shower this blood off my legs first.
I turned the shower on.
“What the fuck are you doin’ in there, England? Showerin’ again?”
“I’ll be right out,” I said.
Hurrying home, I thought, I can patch this up up with Band-Aids. Hopefully, Frankie won’t be in my cell setting up the chessboard.
Walking down the run, I noticed someone as tall as my cell door attempting to hide behind it. It was Blackheart, my Lakota Indian friend, trying to surprise me.
“Blackheart, I’ve really gotta use the toilet right now. I’ll catch you later.”
“You’re supposed to use the toilet before you shower,” Blackheart said and left.
I sat on the toilet - drip-drip-drip-drip. Using two Band-Aids, I stopped the bleeding.
On the yard, I sought the advice of George, an ex-paramedic, who was with Frankie. “George, my ballbags bleeding. Could you get me some medical supplies?”
“Englandman, you’re gonna hafta let George see it,” Frankie said.
George looked me up and down.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “I just need some extra Band-Aids by lockdown.”
“I’ll get you Band-Aids and some ointment,” George said. “But I think you should get it seen. How did it start bleeding?”
I explained what had happened.
“You should tell that cop to get you down to Medical, and they’ll give you supplies,” Frankie said.
“A bleeding mole on the scrotum merits an examination,” George said.
A female guard, Officer Diaz, was nearby.
“I think I need to go to Medical,” I told her.
“Why?” she asked.
“It’s kind of embarrassing,” I said. “I’d finished showering and I noticed my testicle sack was bleeding.”
“If you’re bullshittin’ me, I’m gonna put you on report,” Officer Diaz said in a severe tone.
“I’m telling the truth,” I said, my face blushing.
She glowered at me.
A crowd gathered. My humiliation increased. Inmates spoke on my behalf.
“He’s not the type to bullshit.”
“He’s serious. His sense of humour is different from ours,” Bones said.
"He’s a Limey. His sense of humour is as dry as a popcorn fart,” Slope said.
Officer Diaz snatched my ID, and entered the control room.
I was surrounded by curious inmates.
“The goddam Limey’s balls are bleedin.”
“Just put some salt on that motherfucker – or sulfur,” Slope said.
“Which ball is it, dawg?”
“The left,” I said.
“Let’s see it!”
“I’d rather not show it, if you don’t mind.”
“What were you really doin’ in the shower, Englandman?” Frankie asked.
“Whackin’ off his Prince William too aggressively,” George said. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’d just dried myself off and I noticed my ballbag was bleeding through a mole.”
“Sounds like bowlshit to me,” Slope said. “I reckon he’s been yankin’ his crank and rippin’ moles offa his bawls. It must be a new sex-fetish thang outta England.”
“It could be he’s a sadomasochistic closet homosexual who gets his rocks off by cuttin’ his scrotum,” George said.
“It’s all that fuckin’ standin’ on his head,” Two Tonys said. “He thinks he’s in trainin for Cirque du fuckin Soleil.”
“See where naked yoga gets you, Englandman,” Frankie said.
On and on they went, until Officer Cooke arrived with my ID.
“The sergeant said just to give you a Band-Aid,” Officer Cooke said, and walked away bandy-legged. Everyone was laughing by the time he turned around, and said,”I was just kiddin’. Go to Medical. You’re never gonna live this down, Jon.”
Walking to Medical, I wondered how I would be received by the nurse, Odd Job.
Gingerly, I entered the building.
“Wazzupwivya now? Odd Job said.
“When I’d finished my shower, I noticed my ballbag was bleeding.” My face blushed again.
“Whatthahellwuzya doin’ in there?” Her eyebrows leaped.
“Just having a shower.”
“How much blood?”
“Enough to make me brave coming down here. It was dripping out of a mole.”
“What colour is the mole?”
“Almost black, like the others. I’ve got loads of moles down there.”
Odd Job giggled and shook her head.
I was beginning to relax, but a guard said, “It could be cancer.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Odd Job said, rolling her eyes. “'Eres what I can do for ya. I can take a look at it – "
Oh no, I thought. I imagined Odd Job ordering me to tear the Band-Aids from my short hairs.
“ – or, I can give ya Band-Aids and antibiotic ointment to take home, and if the bleedin' doesn’t stop you can come back to see the doctor.
Phew! I thought. “I’ll take the Band-Aids, and see the doctor if it keeps bleeding.”
“Alrighty then. Keep a record of if and when it bleeds.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Back at the yard, I was greeted by Officer Cooke, who was doing a funny walk: “Did you get fixed up?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Go easy on yourself in the shower," Officer Diaz said in a tone full of insinuation.
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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood