I had just gotten both of my skates on and laced up when my phone rang. It was my husband. He was lucky to have reached me because I rarely check my phone once I get to roller derby practice.
When I picked up, he sounded upset.
“I think I am going to have to take Isaac to the emergency room.”
Heart in throat, I start untying my skates.
“He slipped on the sink and cut his scrotum.”
You could hear the panic in my guy’s voice.
“Excuse me, what?”
“He climbed up on the sink to get his toothbrush, lost his footing and slipped. I think it is punctured, babe. I don’t know what to do.”
Seriously. Seriously. Who’s life is this?
“If I were there now and you didn’t have to worry about my attendance points, would you take him to the ER?”
We have two other children that were going to bed at the time.
“Then I am coming home.”
A strange mixture of laughter and concern filled my voice as I told my coach I had to go home because my family was having a scrotal emergency.
“Family comes first.”
“You betcha and my future grandchildren are being threatened.”
I ripped of my skates and headed out to the car. On the way back, I call to find out how my Little Fish was doing. My husband said that he thought he might have overreacted.
“Isaac is fine now. Go ahead and go back to practice.”
Too late buddy. I am already worried. What if there was a scrotal rupture? No way was I going to practice and leaving my son’s junk hanging in the balance.
When I arrived home, I jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs. I was not prepared for what I found.
Isaac was laying on my bed with one arm folded behind his head and the other holding a Garfield comic book. His legs were wide open and his little package was covered by a towel and a bag of ice.
It looked like a scene from a bad college frat house movie.
“Oh, my poor baby. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” *sweet sad face*
“Can mommy take a peek to make sure we don’t need to go to the hospital?”
I lifted the blankets, the ice and the towel to find the tiniest cut. It was maybe a half-inch long and more like a scrape than a puncture.
I covered him back up. Men and their penises. My husband went to code red immediately. It all reminded me how Oprah once said on a show that the world disregards female genital mutilation but if there were men wandering around with injured penises, the world would stop.
“That must have hurt. You have to be careful when you climb up to get your toothbrush, honey.”
“It wasn’t the climbing. It was the soap on my feet.”
“I can see the problem.”
After a few pages of Garfield and a couple of warm cuddles, I sent my Isaac to bed. I watched him tenderly hop off the bed and limp into his room. I think the strained walk was a little bit injury and a little bit numb scrotum from all of the ice. That probably felt really wierd.
After my husband and I put all the kids to bed, we had a relieved laugh. The final words of hilarity, that I will probably never forget were sadly stated through pained tears when Isaac first hurt himself.
“I wish God had made armor for my penis.”
Indeed, little buddy. You and every other man on the planet.
It doesn’t seem fair when you see armadillos, cacti and even bugs with exoskeleton, that your penis is so vulnerable to the hard sides of sinks, girls shoes, pinata sticks and other mishaps. Life is not fair. Not even for penises.