One last thing I’d like to share from this experience was the conversation between my husband and I, the one that sealed his decision 100%. It was hard to have to say it, but I believe it needed to be said, and it got the point across. It went a little something like this: “Let’s say that we don’t circumcise, and the worst case scenario happens: perhaps phimosis? So he has to go to the doctors for steroid cream. Maybe he will be mad that we didn’t do it when he was a baby. I know there is a tiny percent of men who wish they had been circumcised when they were children, so I will take the blame for that one. I will apologize and tell him we did our best, and that I’m sorry that he fell into the small percent of men who wish later on in life that they had been circumcised as babies. I alone will take the blame if he feels that we wronged him in some way. In return, will you take the blame if we circumcise and the worst case scenario happens? Will you apologize, and tell him we did the best we could for him? Will you look at him in his perfect little angelic face, as they lower the lid to his coffin, and tell him that you didn’t know better? That if you had of known the end result, you wouldn’t have done it? Well, let’s never find out.”
I had to remove myself from some of the intactivists pages on Facebook because they are getting me too worked up and they are also being to hateful.
I understand their concern for the kids and their anger and passion for child and human rights but they are outright being mean sometimes to some pro-circ parents. Instead of instructing these parents (who love their children dearly) they attack these parents. These parents then shut down and nobody gains anything…..
Is surgery necessary?
Cases of hypospadias in boys vary in severity – the vast majority are minor and do not require surgical alterations for a boy/man to live normally. (1, 13, 23) In fact, there are multitudes of adult men the world over who were born with hypospadias, have never been surgically altered, and they function just fine. They are able to pee standing up, and engage in intercourse with no issues. They are able to reproduce equally as well, as semen leaves the penis in relatively the same area as it otherwise would during intercourse. Approximately 70% of hypospadias cases are those in which the urinary opening is on the bottom side of the glans. (1, 13, 18, 32, 36)
There are also healthy adult men born with more rare forms of hypospadias (further down the shaft, or near the scrotum for example) who are happy with their intact body and never chose to be surgically altered. (1, 13, 23, 29) They may urinate while sitting down, and may need alternative methods for procreation (to effectively place semen into a female partner, for example). But their penis functions fully as any other would. Men with severe hypospadias continue to experience vascocongestion (erection) and orgasm (muscle contraction) the same as any other man.
A clear North/South divide is emerging in attitudes towards male circumcision. In May the Dutch Royal Medical Association became the first national medical group to declare that the procedure is both medically unnecessary and an abuse of the rights of the child, in the same way as female circumcision, or female genital mutilation.
On the other hand African countries are actively encouraging circumcision because trials in 2007 in Kenya, Uganda and South Africa showed that it dramatically reduced the risk of infection with HIV/AIDS. According to a report in the BMJ, 14 countries in southern Africa are promoting circumcision with radio and television campaigns.
In Swaziland, where HIV prevalence is 45%. circumcision is even regarded as “crucial to the survival of the state”. Botswana plans to circumcise all boys by 2012. Even Rwanda, where HIV prevalence is only 3%, is promoting it as a cost-saving public health measure.
However, the Dutch doctors are sceptical of the African data. They believe that while it might delay infection, it will not prevent it. They also say that there are some complications which cannot be ethically justified for a “medically futile” procedure.
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Prepare for battle!, August 23, 2009
By Ben Dover
Amazon Verified Purchase(What’s this?)
This review is from: DivaCup Model 2 Post-Childbirth (Health and Beauty)
So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva “Moon Cup”. Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.
The theory is that the cup catches your pan drippings, and you empty it a couple times a day, washing it with hippy soap, and reinserting. It presupposes you are enough of an Earth Mother to be OK not only with your monthly outpourings, but also with generally fossicking around in your flaps. Now, I am no stranger to gore. Nor am I squeamish about my delicate rose of delight, except that I have no such illusions about it and indeed am always reminded of nothing so much as stuffing an oddly-warm raw turkey. So, when after several weeks of teasing, the Period Fairy threatening to postpone the Communist Invasion until I was actually getting on the plane (I was about ready to scream and cry at some hapless unwary male just as a sacrifice to appease her) at last I greeted the rosy-fingered dawn and set about embarking on my new life as a eco-friendly Diva.
The Moon Cup comes in two sizes; Size A, for youthful nymphs under 30 who have never given birth and have silken tresses and tinkling laughs and are all size 0, and size B, for Big Ol’ Bitches like m’self, who have either spawned, or are so old (ie over 30) that they might as well have been poppin’ them out like Duggar Donuts, because their sugar walls are now echoing corridors full of cobwebs and slackness. Of course the packaging phrases it more nicely, but I was miffed to see that despite having never replicated, I was still doomed to the Big Gulp size because of my age alone.
So, chalice in hand, fingers washed, and let’s fold that thing like a taco (no, not THAT thing, the other thing!) and cram it up where only one man has gone before and even then not for a damn long time even when he WAS still around. I’m sure I imagined the rusty creaking sounds as I tried to shove something which was larger than anything previous (with the exception of various medical speculums which, I believe, were constructed by the same person who designed the Montlake Drawbridge)into the Gaping Maw.
Now, you’re supposed to roll the cup up, smuggle it past the border, let it expand, then turn it clockwise (or counter clockwise, or then one way and another, stopping when you hear the click, or something…) anyway, you’re supposed to be able to turn this thing like a dial in there.”If the cup does not turn easily, you did it wrong” Oh, of course, I’ll just grasp hold of a thing about the size, shape, and slipperyness of the pointy end of a peeled hard-boiled egg, which is now buried in the meaty folds of my innermost femininity, which, I may add, are well-sluiced with the special effects from a Quentin Tarantino film, and spin that sucker like a dredel.
There is, also, a small stem at the base of this cup, which, being made of the same slippery silicon and about a centimeter long, is about as helpful as providing a live, untrained earthworm for a handle. More on this later.
So, rotate this thing in situ, to ensure a good ‘seal’ and a comfortable fit.
Does. Not. Happen.
Ladies (and gentlemen, although I hope for your sake none of you gentlemen are reading this), I tried. I hauled that thing in and out of there more times, and with much less joy, than Eeyore with his birthday present, and not once could I get that thing to “turn easily”. I finally gave up, since it seemed, at one point, to be “fully inflated” and more or less in the right place. Frankly I think that having left my furrow unplowed for so long, I’m not exactly the proper degree of hotdog-hallway that the instruction-writer was intending to address, but so be it. Let’s give this thing a whirl, if we can’t give it a twist.
Fast forward a few hours in which I’ve done nothing much. To its credit, I don’t feel the presence of THE CUP at all, no discomfort, not even a vague sense of “eugh” as I sometimes have when knowing all that stands between me and my khakis is a small cottony Dutch boy. In fact, I’m getting rather concerned that the Diva Cup has wormed its way in like some form of parasitic jellyfish and is now eagerly migrating up my fallopian tubes, with me all unknowing. Time to go fishing.
And that is where I discover that, while it’s difficult to try and ‘turn’ a Diva Cup newly lodged in your sanctum sanctorum, it’s a freakin’ log-fall compared to trying to recover said Cup after it has gotten comfortably settled in the downy folds of your blood-engorged tissues. Yes, indeed, if cram my fingers up there to the point of pain, I can just, tantilizingly, tickle the end of that goddamn silicone ‘stem’. Grasp it? Not in hell.
Of course the instructions say, if this happens, DO NOT PANIC. Well, thank god for that, because I was already running through the list of people I’d trust with a flashlight, a set of forceps, and an experience that would scar both of us for the rest of our lives. There were instructions for different positions, and “bearing down” and so forth, which I tried, to no avail, and I was pretty sure that my ham-fisted efforts (ahem) were just making things worse on the “swollen” front, so Diva and I took a break, and retired to our respective corners for an hour or so.
Now I brought out my secret weapon: Beer. If, gods help me, I ever have to have a baby, I intend to be drunk off my ass for the delivery, and I surely hope that the Fairy Prince Unicorn Elvis who is my chosen Babydaddy will provide a bedside IV of godly ambrosia, or at least Jim Beam. But anyway, two beers and I’m good to go spelunking in quest of the Holy Grail once more.
Either the beer, or the break, or the combination of all of these and squatting on the bathmat like a Neanderthal crapping, finally, produced enough of that goddamn ‘stem’ to grab (which was good, because I was dreading having use the kitchen tongs Up There or something) and, with a surprising amount of horrible suctioning “discomfort”, the invader was routed! And, wonder of wonders, it was indeed partially filled. Not filled with DELICIOUS CANDY, no, but it did seem to have been, you know… -working-, before I so rudely dislodged it from its parasitic feeding. I felt a combination of grudging respect and intrigue, as one might upon meeting a foe worthy of their steel. Provided we could agree to disagree on the whole “turn 360 degrees in place” aspect, perhaps this could indeed be a workable partnership. Better than bleeding into the Rupununi and attracting every caiman, pirahna, and candiru fish for fifty miles.
But not without some boundaries first. I tied a ROPE to that stupid stem this time.
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If you read the stories in the link above you may think to yourself …. “ah ha circumcision hardly has any complications”…. But these stories are only a tiny portion of the true harm of circumcision. Not all stories make the headline or the courtroom. Many men maybe fine with their circumcision and have no ill effects but many men suffer in silence… Snowmen may have physical harm, some make have mental or emotional damage. Either way, these “complications” go unreported or under reported or filed away under unknown or other causes.
I did not write this. I do not know the source.
If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome including toilet-flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have you laughing out loud – guaranteed!
Overview: I had to take my son’s hamster to the vet. Here’s what happened…
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was “something wrong” with one of the two hamsters he holds prisoner in his room.
“He’s just lying there looking sick,” he told me. “I’m serious, Dad. Can you help?”
I put my best hamster-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
“Darling,” I called, “come look at the hamster!”
“Oh, my gosh,” my wife diagnosed after a minute. “She’s having babies.”
“What?” my son demanded. “But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!”
I was equally outraged. “Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn’t want them to reproduce,” I accused my wife.
“Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?” she inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)
“No, but you were supposed to get two boys,” I reminded her (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).
“Yeah, Bert and Ernie!” my son agreed.
“Well, it’s just a little hard to tell on some guys, y’know,” she informed me. (Again with the sarcasm, you think?)
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. “Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience,” I announced. “We’re about to witness the miracle of birth.”
“OH, gross!”, they shrieked.
“Well, isn’t THAT just great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little hamster babies?” my wife wanted to know. (I really do think she was being snotty here, too, don’t you?)
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later. “We don’t appear to be making much progress,” I noted.
“It’s breech,” my wife whispered, horrified.
“Do something, Dad!” my son urged.
“Okay, okay.” Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
“Should we call an ambulance?” my eldest daughter wanted to know. “Maybe they could talk us through the trauma.” (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)
“Let’s get Ernie to the vet,” I said grimly.
We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. “Breathe, Ernie, breathe,” he urged.
“I don’t think hamsters do Lamaze,” his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God’s sake.)
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
“What do you think, Doc, a c-section?” I suggested scientifically.
“Oh, very interesting,” he murmured. “Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?”
I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
“Is Ernie going to be okay?” my wife asked.
“Oh, perfectly,” the vet assured us. “This hamster is not in labour. In fact, that isn’t ever going to happen… Ernie is a boy.”
“You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um…. er…. masturbate – just the way he did, lying on his back.”
He blushed, glancing at my wife. “Well, you know what I’m saying, Mr. Cameron.” We were silent, absorbing this.
“So Ernie’s just…just…excited?”, my wife offered.
“Exactly,” the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face. “It’s just…that…I’m picturing you pulling on its…its…teeny little…” she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
“That’s enough,” I warned.
We thanked the veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the hamster and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
“I know Ernie’s really thankful for what you did, Dad,” he told me.
“Oh, you have NO idea!” my wife agreed, collapsing into uncontrollable laughter again.
Click the link below to read the entire article! (I did not write it)
It’s a Boy!
Are you expecting a baby boy? Congratulations!
There are a few things you’ll probably want to consider while waiting for the little gentleman to arrive. Breast milk vs. formula, cloth diapers vs. disposable diapers. There are a lot of choices you have to make for your son. One choice you may be thinking about is whether or not to circumcise your baby. You’ve probably heard a lot about circumcision, but can you trust everything you’ve heard?
The fact of the matter is that the U.S. has a lot of untruths circulating about circumcision.
The simple truth is that circumcision is neither necessary nor required. There is no special care required of you when you leave your baby whole (no Vaseline and bloody bandages in diapers). There is no compelling reason to perform surgery on the genitals of a healthy infant. There is no condition in childhood that would be cured by removal of the foreskin. After six years of research, I have never come across a single sound reason to circumcise an infant. You should not need to be convinced NOT to have genital surgery on your bouncing baby boy. It should be the other way around. Why WOULD you circumcise?