Dear readers–thank you very much for your spider stories! We’d like to announce that Grant (not to be confused with Ann’s boyfriend Grant) is the winner of our submit-your-crazy-spider-story-to-us contest. Here, in his own words, is his spider tale of woe:
I was a traveling consultant for Accenture and working in St Louis in 2009. I was staying at the Westin St Louis which is one of the nicest hotels in the city and right across the street from Busch Stadium. One Tuesday I was toweling off after a shower and felt a pinch in the nards. I assumed I had toweled off with too much vigor or something, so I ignored the sensation and went about my day. All day I felt like I had the flu. I was achy and such, but I had a concentrated ache in the mommy daddy button. I finally dropped my pants to have a look around 5pm and noticed indeed there was a small black welt dead center between the fellows on the old coin purse. I naturally panicked and called the local urgent care clinic and my mom (a doctor) for advice on how to proceed. Both said head to the ER immediately because if blood flow got compromised, I would loose my nuts that very night!
I checked out of the office and sped as fast as rush hour in St Louis would allow me. I got to Barnes Jewish hospital and hour later, so panic stricken, I thought I would pass out behind the wheel. Since this was the largest hospital in the city, I had to wait in the ER lobby for 2-3 hours with the gun shot victims and drug overdosers. My sore sack was quite irked. I finally saw a doc who informed me that the urologist had already gone home and it looked like a bruise, so take Advil and an ice pack and check back if it got worse. I assumed since he was calm and not concerned, that I should not be, but that would prove incorrect.
I worked from the hotel all day Wednesday sitting on top of an ice pack like I was trying to hatch some birds. I managed to get to work Thursday so I could get on a plane home (I did not want to spend a weekend sick, balls in peril, in St Louis). I got home to my lovely girlfriend’s prepared meal, but she gasped when she saw me and demanded we go to the ER. My whole body was as red as a lobser and the trouser oysters had swelled to the size of one tenis ball, all tone and definition obscured. The small bruise looked more like a leper sore; it was not a bruise after all but rather necrosis. My jewels were in real peril! I demaned to eat dinner before going to the ER because, in my own words at the time, “it’s normal dammit!”
At the advice of my doctor, we selected a nice private hospital since I didn’t want to repeat the hours and hours in the lobby like in St Louis. We went in, were seen immediately, and I was started on all typed of IVs. They assumed it was allergy related due to my lobster-red skin, but IV benadryl did nothing for my complection, and certainly not for my balls. I was admitted that night. The night nurse was setting me up in my room while talking about how proud her grandson was about discovering how to pee in a potty and touting his penis as the most amazing thing on earth. It was good to know someone else had working plumbing as my balls were looking quite bad off. They did a few ultrasound exams to confirm blood was flowing, or in the words of the ER doc, I would be in surgery in 30 minutes or less. The exam showed blood was flowing, but man is it awkward for the the imaging tech to grease up your junk and massage them with a wand. I had to hold my dong out of the way so he could use both of his hands to position ball and wand. I imagined myself somewhere less embarrassing, but then was brought back into the moment when I was instructed to move my wiener from one side to the other so he could scan ball #2. The entire exame was repeated a second time to be sure things still worked. I was very glad to hear that they did.
I spent 2 days in the hospital being pumped full of antibiotics until they eliminated all of the usual suspects and concluded I had been bit on the sack by a brown recluse spider. The necrosis stopped growing when they put me on spider anti-venom, but it was already the size of a half dollar. The wound took 2 months to close. I had to buy jock straps to limit movement of the injured area. Despite the open sore, my girlfriend demanded some tender lovin’ about a week after I got out of the hospital and I was curious I was even capable. Thankfully, everything worked just as well as before. I was known for the rest of the project by my St Louis team as either Peter Parker or Spiderman. It didn’t help that I was good at my job as when I would make a programming breakthrough to impress the client, the global director would start singing the theme song. If I expressed that a certain set of functionality could not be delivered, he would say “come on, Peter!” The joys of travel.