PSA: Testicular Torsion

THIS IS THE FACE OF TESTICULAR TORSION.


What is testicular torsion?
In a nutshell it's when the spermatic cord does a 180 and the blood supply gets cut off to the testicles and other structures in the scrotum. It affects 1 out of 4,000 males and more commonly afflicts infants and males during puberty. Some individuals are genetically predisposed to this condition, while for others this may develop after severe trauma to the scrotum...but far be it for me to question how a 21-year-old guy like Josh Druck gets testicular torsion, so let's move on, shall we?

What does testicular torsion feel like?
Pain. Excrutiating, neverending pain. It is like all the murderous atrocities committed in the history of the world, but concentrated in the affected testicle.

Besides the atrocities thing, what are symptoms of testicular torsion?
Swelling on one side of the scrotum, nausea or vomiting, lightheadedness, various lumps and bloodiness, we won't invade Josh's privacy by going into details about that.

Can testicular torsion be treated?
If you are afflicted with testicular torsion, you have 6 hours to get yourself into the hospital for emergency surgery before your no-no's die a withering, undignified death (although God knows why anyone would endure that kind of pain for up to 6 hours). The surgery is called an orchidectomy. If you are unable to go to a hospital, you absolutely should perform surgery - some kind of surgery - on yourself. A rusty steak-knife may be your testicles' last hope.

What's the prognosis?
If all goes well, you and your balls will be romping in the meadows in no time. Otherwise they may atrophy or become severely infected. Looking at Josh's stone-faced expression in the picture above, I'm not exactly sure how positive his outcome was...

Did Josh really have testicular torsion?
This is entirely possible.

Are you for serious?
...Yes?

For more information about testicular torsion, just Google it, you fucktards.

Spectacular Views

It's a good thing I keep a listing of all the prosaic discoveries of my life, no? If I can refer you, dear reader, to my April 10th post in which I pronounce my new love for the band Rilo Kiley, you will see how quickly I have been lured into their sublime music (which ranges from uplifting to cuttingly bittersweet) as well as lead singer Jenny Lewis' sugary but substantial voice - which is just inescapable. Never in my life have I stumbled upon a new band, fallen in love, familiarized myself with roughly 90% of their repertoire, and then saw them live within the short span of two months.

But that is exactly what happened, and the culmination of that love was consummated with my attendance of their performance at the 9:30 Club on Saturday night. I find it only appropriate that my very gracious guest - the erstwhile Stumpy McNoleggs - also happened to have dropped into my life the very same day I first listened to "Portions For Foxes" and thought, Damn, this is some good music. Who can complain about good music and good company all in one night? Throw in the worn-in, slightly ragged but still lively atmosphere of the U Street Metro stop surroundings and you'll have possibly the three great loves of my youth. (The fourth - dirty, empty construction sites - comes later in the night.)

The 9:30 Club was packed, and for once in my college life I was at an event where there were more girls than boys. Rilo Kiley came on a little after 9:00 and broke right into their single, It's A Hit. I fell into it immediately, and I think from that point on the feeling just cemented that this was going to be one of those nights where you can only be happy - effusively, uncontrollably so. They hit on some of my favorite songs like Portions, Ripchord, and With Arms Oustretched, and it was especially great when guitarist Blake Sennett - who I think has a more charismatic stage presence than the slightly shy Lewis - switched up the feel with lead vocals on Ripchord and So Long. My only disappointment, ironically, was with Spectacular Views, which on the CD is nothing short of vibrant and breath-taking (listen to the lyrics and it's like seeing every natural formation of the earth - trees, cliffs, the ocean - unfold before your eyes), but fell flat and lost its vivacity and effervescence when rendered acoustically. Although the set ended a bit early for my taste (the blame likely falls with 9:30), they did leave us with a nod toward Pete Townsend with a cover of "Let My Love Open the Door" that got the whole crowd singing and clapping to the beat. I love that RK can project such a vibe of intimacy and coziness - if they ever do get really big, they need to harness and retain it. I hope they never do lose that touch.

The rest of the night was spent walking with Stumpy through D.C., primarily Dupont Circle and Georgetown. And I have to say - despite the fantastic weather, the polished sparkle of Georgetown and the Waterfront, the pulsating feel of DC on a Saturday night - it was all just a backdrop for conversation. Random conversations, good conversations, deep conversations, funny conversations, risky conversations. Are we ever going to return to Baltimore in our lives? What kinds of friendships do we treasure most? I love 24-hour CVS, and Stumpy has never been to the Waterfront. And there's the Arlington skyline right across the Potomac. It is a rare case for something to grow so well when you take it out of its structured context of familiarity. Walking, conversing, laughing, exhausting yourself - none of these things are new, but once in a while in the right settings, with the right people, you still get a rush, and very much so. The best thing about Saturday night is that whereas some may say that we didn't really do anything, I still think it's great to mine for so much pleasure out of just walking and talking.

And of course, I have not forgotten - my fourth love.

There is a small dirty construction site on K Street along the row of restaurants and shops. It seems like they had knocked down two of the buildings and dug out the foundations. It is just a giant hole in the ground, littered with two-by-fours and various pieces of machinery. It is cool because it is the only spot along all of K Street in Georgetown that is completely quiet, empty, and ignored on a Saturday night. You can see the sides of the buildings that surround the site - their brick walls probably hadn't seen light in years, or maybe in decades. Spectacular views, right?

Painting My Collar Blue

Over the past few weeks, I've come to the realization that there is no longer any use in denying it: I am just one of the guys. When I think about it, I realize that this has pretty much been the case since I've been at Hopkins, where my close-female-friend count more or less plateaued off at a low 3 after the second day of college. After meeting my new roommate Nina (female friend number 1), I met the girls across the hall from us: Lael (female friend number 2) and Kristen (female friend number 3, later to be replaced by Cathleen Hamel towards the end of sophomore year). And...it's pretty much just been those girls that I see regularly for the past three years.

This point was only emphasized this past weekend when I spent three solid days being Blake's only female recruit helping his mom fix up their old house to be sold. Despite my incessant giggling and the occasional complaint about having to wash my hair with soap instead of shampoo, I think I did a decent job in keeping up with the nonstop poop jokes (courtesy of Big Marco and his junior-year legacy) and wrestling with Chris in the backyard. (Technically he never really pinned me...but I guess he could argue that technically I'm not supposed to bite my opponent.)

But to segue into the weekend, I have to say it totally rocked. Basically Blake drove his recruits (me, Luis, Chris, and Mike Mueller) out to Fredneck where we spent three days taping, painting, tearing down, spackling, sanding (and whatever else) Blake's old house so his mom can get it on the market. I know - working on a house doesn't seem all that great, but when you do it with your friends and all food expenses are taken care of, it definitely starts looking up. Paint fume inhalation was at an all time high, the Big Marco poop jokes never got old, and we ingested a digusting amount of free food, the top prize for which goes to Chris for eating 4 or 5 plates of crab legs at Rick's Chinatown Buffet while the rest of us looked on with a mix of awe and weirded-out-ness. (I think I saw the owner of the restaurant sobbing like a little baby as we were leaving.)

Here is a photo of Blake before spray-painting the bedrooms. The torn Chuck Taylors confirm that yes, it is Blake in that bunny suit:

WHERE IS THE PICTURE?!?!? OKAY PEOPLE, I'M WORKING TO GET THE PIC BACK UP, BUT I'M NOT WORKING VERY HARD.

And in the evenings, we rested our heads at the very ghetto Econolodge, where Chris' sheets had stab-holes in them, Luis was stopped by a cop for being Hispanic, and Blake and I awoke to the sounds of "we have to get away from the cops!" outside our room.

I still can't decide if this is the best part, but walking away three hundred bucks richer definitely was a boost. And just so you all know that despite all the "male-bonding" I'm still a girlie at heart, I came home and promptly spent a small chunk of my paycheck on some new clothes.

Holy Mother of Destruction

May 6, 2005 (I know, this was forever ago - please forgive.)

After 2 weeks of continuous working and zero sleep, the only way to celebrate the end of classes (and the last day of Logic!) was to drink nonstop from 3 in the afternoon until bedtime. Luckily for me, this was a plan that the always-illustrious Ryan Carroll (AKA Stumpy McNoleggs) was more than happy to execute. Needless to say, nobody was sober enough to piece together the missing details of this glorious day. All I can remember is the following, and then Stawek crying about his leg and asking us to take him to the hospital for the rest of the night:

5:30 - 6:00?
The group of us - all ridiculously ass drunk despite the presence of daylight - go 2 blocks up to the Schnapp Shop to buy more booze. My guess is that this was around 5:30 or 6:00 in the evening because there were a shitload of cars out on the road and it boggles the mind how none of us were hit. Stawek jumps on Chris Canary (for reasons that only Stawek will understand), and Canary proceeds to drop him on the sidewalk like a ton of bricks. In his defense:

Schwartz Reiter: I feel bad about making slawek a cripple though
Schwartz Reiter: but he shouldn't have been wriggling around like that
o0 freelancer 0o: oh is that why you dropped him?
Schwartz Reiter: well he was being good for a little while and then suddenly he just started writhing around like cats do when they don't want you to hold them any more
Schwartz Reiter: but unlike a cat, he wasn't prepared to land on his feet

That is my longest lucid memory. Bits and pieces of the rest of the day/night include:

- speaking Spanish to some freshman named Josh who later passed out
- forming a Kentuckiana bloc with Shaun
- eating bread, but not the crusts
- seeing Ryan magically appear in a wife-beater
- drunk-dialing
- various other things that are not appropriate for a classy, public forum

There's really no way I can do the day justice, so I can only leave you with this.

Also: I know I've really bailed on this blog thing, but I promise it'll be back after Wednesday, when I regain some shred of sanity.

Good luck with the end of the semester, y'all!

The end is in view!

Quick update on this last week:

All work.
No sleep.

...okay, that second one was a lie. I averaged about 4 hours a night, which is still suicide-inducing. (Speaking of which...let me segue into my paper on physician-assisted suicide...No, I'm just kidding. Like I really want to talk more about PAS after writing a 17-page paper on it. Any more PAS-talk and I'll need a dose of lethal medication - ah hahahaha. Haha. Ha.) Of course, I still have a crapload of work left to do - plus I'm still poor - (I'm still the same old Amy Chen,) but the end is nearing and in 3 days it will all be over. ...Until my final exams. *sigh* The fun never stops.
But, on this beautiful Sunday, I was finally rewarded for all my hard work by a fantastic day, the details of which I will not go into because nobody really wants to hear about other people's days. (Don't worry, I know you guys.) Instead, readers crave conflict! Angry rants! Scandalous backstabbing! So, to reward you for patiently waiting an entire week for me to restart my blog, here is some of that:

....well...originally I wrote a rant about spoiled, rich kids...the type that spends $600 on a dog or whines cuz her dream trip to Nice and Barcelona might turn into a "hellhole" visit to Vienna and Munich. (To quote her xanga: "i don't want to go to germany and austria. those places suck compared to where i wanted to go." Boo-fucking-hoo.) But...the rant really came out a little more hate-filled and bitter than I intended, and I don't think it'll make me look any better to post something like that. So...I removed it. Sorry. There will be no conflicted, angry rants with scandalous backstabbing.

Instead, here is a link to information about the safeguards concerning Oregon's Death With Dignity Act.

P.S. You can tell by the totally unorganized structure and off-the-wall ramblings in this post that I'm really starting to go crazy from all this work and lack of sleep. Please forgive.