Outside, the sun is shining, freshly risen through the morning dew. The clouds are parting, letting down the blue sky. The birds are singing their morning songs, and the animals come out to play. I, however, stay in my bed, held there by my ball and chain. Or, to be more literary, only by my ball.
One week since it started. One week taking antibiotics, hoping for a quick recovery. A hope that dwindles day by day. One week were I'm bound to my bed, my testicle hurting in all but one or two positions. Every step I take takes its toll. Even sitting on a chair becomes unbearable after a few minutes. My ball will not let me.
The size of a nice potatoe, and just as hard, my right ball stretches its side of my scrotum to the limit, the otherwise wrinkly skin now almost smoooth. It dangles when I stand, and pulls on the chain that tethers it to my body. Sometimes I wish I could just cut it off. Get rid of it once and for all. Get rid of my right ball. After all, there is still the left left to call upon.
My left ball is doing okay. It is normal, and has taken over the sperm-generating responsibilities the right used to perform. Indeed, it has matured quite a bit since the beginning of this whole mess, and proved itself up to the task. For that, I am thankful.
The right, however, keeps pulling me down like and anchor, trying to drag me deep into the sea of misery it has laid out for me. Pulling, stretching, hurting, itching, I loath it so, the ball I once loved. Goddamn this stupid infection !