Bill Sloan

When I was a child, my parents told me that there were these bad things in your throat called tonsils, and that normal people didn’t have these bad organs, because they had them cut out, and only ignorant people who didn’t know any better, and/or poor people who couldn’t afford the surgery had tonsils.

I thought that was the supidest bunch of nonsense I’d heard of. There was nothing wrong with my throat, and I did not need any surgery on my throat.

I’m sure I told my parents what I thought about the idea of a surgeon cutting part of my throat out, but at 8 years old, I did not have any access to any “medical journals,” to show my parents that tonsillectomy was by that time, a discredited surgery, that was no longer performed routinely.

And, even if I could have made such arguments to my parents, it wouldn’t have stopped them from committing the atrocities they did against the bodies of my brother and I.

My brother and I both begged our parents not to have this stupid, unnecessary surgery done to us, and we were told, that “we are adults, and cutting out part of childrens’ throats is what we adults do to you children, and it doesn’t matter what you think about it, or how you feel about it, it’s going to be done to you and your brother.”

I hated the very thought of someone cutting out part of my throat, and did not want part of my throat, or any other part of my body, cut off, or any other surgery done to me.

Neither my brother or I were sick, and what was done to us, was done as a “rite of passage.”

At that time I didn’t even know that term, but that’s what it was, and it was a “rite of passage” that neither one of us wanted any part of.

Neither my brother or I were told that there was another cruel “rite of passage” that our parents planned to do to us, that was even more horrible than cutting out our tonsils, and I’m sure you know that that was.

We did not find out about this “other” cruel thing our parents planned to do to us, unaware, until after we “came to” from the anesthetic.

This stupid act of cruelty that our parents did to both me and my brother, is a trauma that has scarred me, haunting me to this very day, with nightmares.

How any parent could treat their own children so cruelly is beyond me. It is such a horrible story I cannot tell but a little of it at a time.

I did tell a short version of it under a pen name in a newsletter published by a now deceased Intactivist back in the 1990s.

Well, about a year or so after our parents told us that all normal people did not have tonsils, because they had been cut out, but not telling us that there was something that was also cut off of little boys, our parents apparently decided it was time to end the delay in doing their stupid, cruel ritualistic “rites of passage” on their 2 sons.

We were taken to a surgeon who didn’t really examine us, but the surgery was scheduled, sometime in early 1959.

At that time, I was 8 years old, and my brother 10 years old.

Years later, after I finally got up the nerve to try to discuss it with my parents, my mother told me that the surgeon told them that he did not take out tonsils at the request of parents, and did so only on the recommendation of an examining doctor.

My parents were friends of our “family” doctor, so he told the surgeon that me and my brother had had a lot of sore throats.

How I wish I had never told my parents, when I did have a sore throat!

But they still would have done the 2 atrocities to me and my brother even if we had never complained of any sore throats.

The surgeon apparently accepted the family doctor’s recommendation, which he undoubtedly gave, just to stay friendly with my parents.

I suppose the surgeon was somewhat enlightened, but not enough, as far as taking out tonsils at the request of parents went, but he had no such qualms at all about cutting of part of my and my brother’s penises at the request of our parents.

He did not even examine our penises to see if there was anything wrong that required surgery.

After my parents told me what was going to be done to my brother and I (although they only told us HALF of what they were planning to do to us), I came to realize human beings, or at least some human beings were sadistic, although I had never even heard that word, and had a desire to inflict pain and cruelty on others, and often did so in stupid “rites of       passage,” which I wanted no part of.

I could not see why people wanted to be so mean.

And, when some other kid told me that having your tonsils cut out was a good thing because you get to eat ice cream, I thought, those kids are as stupid as the parents who do this atrocity to their children.

I had eaten ice cream, and I sure as hell did not want to get to eat any ice cream, only one time in my life, by having my tonsils cut out.

I naturally knew it would be horribly painful, and it was.

I was so terrified of what my parents were going to do to me and my brother, that the morning of the scheduled surgery, I seriously considered running off and hiding in the wooded area around our residence, and that would stop their evil plans.

But, I was too scared to do so.

As much as my brother and I feared and hated our parents forcing upon us having our tonsils cut out, we did not run away on the morning of the atrocity, but went on ahead to the hospital.

We both had a natural aversion to someone cutting out part of our throats, and if we had known what else our parents had planned for us, we certainly would also had a natural aversion to it, too.

Waking up from the anesthetic is a horror I will never forget and which has haunted me since 1959, and will haunt me until the day I die!

First thing I remember was a horrible, horrible pain in my throat, unlike any I have ever had, before or since.

And, then I vomited blood!

The nurses held out a turquoise plastic jar to catch the blood.

Then, I discovered that there was a Crown of Thorns around my penis!

I use those words, because the only thing I had seen before was the paintings of the Crucifiction of Jesus, and the Crown of Thorns on his head.

That is exactly what the horrible, brown, scratchy stuff that was all around my penis head looked like.

Another comparison might be a ring of barbed wire.

I immediately thought, what does this crown of thorns around my penis have to do with part of my throat being cut out?

Then, I realized it had nothing to do with cutting out part of my throat.

It was something else, that our parents did not tell us about, because it was so horrible,  they wanted it done to us without our knowledge.

If, before the surgery, someone had told me that our parents would have part of me and my brother’s penises cut off I would have said, “No, Way. Our parents would never do such a thing to us. They are cruel, and mean, and stupid to want our tonsils cut out, but they would never, ever think of having part of our private parts cut off!”

Well, waking up in that hospital to that horror I found out different.

Our parents had played a dirty, rotten, dispicably evil trick on both me and my brother, and I knew that I could not trust them.

I was as angry as hell over what our parents had done to my brother and I.

First, they had the horrible paint inflicted on our throats, then, just like the people who crucified Jesus, they enjoyed more sadistic delight by having us shamed, and humiliated by having part of our penis cut off, and a crown of thorns put in our foreskins place.

Once we came out from the anesthetic, our parents obviously couldn’t keep the secret that they had a second atrocity planned for us.

That morning in the hospital is the first time I recall hearing the word, “Circumcised” If I had heard it before, it went out one ear and out the other.

Our parents really fixed us up good!

By having our penis skinned and a horrible pain in our throats, my brother and I couldn’t shout out at them: “WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO OUR PENISES ??? !!! You didn’t tell us about this !!!”

No, we could barely speak, the pain in our throats was so horrible.

Makes me think of vets who neuter dogs, then cutting the dog’s vocal cords, so their cries of pain cannot be heard.

I don’t remember being able to ask any questions, but do remember our father telling us, “You have been circumcised.” And, he drew a picture to try to explain what had been done to us, but the drawing didn’t mean anything to me.

My penis really didn’t look any different after the cutting than it did before.

The reason?

Mother told me that while my brother had been left intact, that my father had insisted on having me cut, when I was born three years later, despite the doctor not wanting to do it.

But, my I had not been skinned to my father’s satisfaction, so he wanted me skinned again, and that stupid, evil surgeon did it simply at my father’s request.

I never remember my glans being covered with skin before that atrocity in the hospital, and it didn’t seem that anything was missing, afterwards, but I did know my penis had been cut, and that horrible, horrible crown of thorns put around it.

And, I was as angry as hell at my parents, the doctors, and everyone else who did this sensesslesly brutal act to my brother and I. Ever since that morning in the hosptial all those years ago, every time I hear any word starting with cir- spoken, I relive the horror I woke up to in that morning.

Circumstances, circumference, any word that starts with those three letters, brings back all the horror to me.

My brother’s crown of thorns hurt him so much, that, despite the pain in his throat, he let the nurses know it.

I did not know until years later, when my mother told me that during our first night at home after the atrocity, that the stitches came loose and my brother had to be taken back to the hospital to be re-stitched.

In my dying moments, I will relive the horror that was done to me and my brother in that hospital, as I have done every day of my life, since.

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