SAMANTHA'S CHRONICLES

No penalty after family jewels fix

They actually reattached Chris's penis

In Summary

• Hospital release comes with no follow-up on otherwise criminal deed 

A man holds a paper over his groin
A man holds a paper over his groin
Image: COURTESY

I have finally been discharged from hospital and I’m glad to be back home. The oxygen tanks did their job and I’m as right as rain. My mum, bless her, gave me a ride and she’s now fussing all over the place.

“Windows need opening, must put fresh linens in the bed, oh, and toss out the food that been in the fridge too long,” she says. On and on she goes.

I’m glad for the help, though. There’s nothing like a hospital stay to make you feel five years old again and in need of your momma. I understand Chris had a successful operation and is making a slow recovery. They actually re-attached his penis. Yes, the one I cut off.

Surgeons can do pretty much anything these days. They worked for 11 hours straight, re-attaching blood vessels less than a millimetre in diameter and sewing together other tissues. Can you imagine that? The skill involved to do something like that? A tube was inserted above the pubic bone to drain urine from the bladder until the penis heals. He may have use for it yet. The lucky bastard. Note to self: Next time you cut off a penis, throw it away.

“When was the last time you shopped?” my mum asks from the corner of the room. “There’s nothing to eat.”

“I like takeaway,” I answer back. “I’ll call the chicken place.”

Speaking of Chris’s penis, why am I not in jail? I was waiting for the ball to drop every minute I was in the hospital, but the doctor my mother inadvertently spilled the beans to about my non-existent medical condition did not say a word. I could not understand it. Why did he let me get away with it?

“Takeaway? No way. I’m here to cook,” my mom says. “I’ll dash to the supermarket and pick up a few things. Do you need anything?”

I need a lot of things! I have a list somewhere in the maze that is my SQ room. I can’t be bothered to find it.

“Whatever you get is fine, mom,” I say.

It’s a little cramped in here and I’m glad when she leaves. The kind of things that have gone down in this room have been insane, and it’s weird to have my mom here. The pilot (Was his name Eric?) that I made do all sorts of crazy BDSM things to me (blush), Frank the insane, the pastor’s wife… Lol. The pastor’s wife. Yes, mum please leave, I need to sage this room before you get back. I watch as she leaves.

Simply put, sage clears bacteria in the air. It clears up to 94 per cent of airborne bacteria, putting people in a positive mood. The unwanted energy needs a clear path to leave, so it’s a good thing mom opened all the windows. All the bacteria from my sexual shenanigans is now making its way out. It’s been cramped in here too long and has probably mutated. Ha ha.

As I feel the calming effects of the sage, wisdom and clarity take over. Nice side-effect. Yeah, so the doctor. Why did he let me off the hook? I take a deep breath. Simple. He would look incompetent. He made a diagnosis based on nothing but my word. What kind of doctor does that?

Thereafter, to admit to being wrong – again based on nothing but my mother’s word – would be professional suicide. So he let it go. Of course, he did. I let out a deep sigh of relief from a breath I didn’t notice I was holding. I can’t believe I got away with it. But I have.