i have heard of guys getting rid of a leech, by getting a divorce.

It seems it wasn't that rare to happen during the Vietnam war. Here is a very fine account:

"What is it, Sergeant Bass?" Mellas asked.

"You'd better go have a look, Lieutenant. It's the damnedest thing I ever saw. Fisher's got a leech
right smack up the hole in his cock."

"God," Hamilton said. He looked up at the clouds and then back down at the steaming coffee in his
hands. He raised the coffee. "Here's to fucking leeches."
[...]
Doc Fredrickson had Fisher flat on his back with his trousers pulled down, in the mud in front of
Fisher's hooch. Those Marines from Second Squad who weren't on hole watch were standing in a
semicircle behind Fredrickson. Fisher was trying to joke but his grin was very tight. Doc
Fredrickson turned to Jacobs, Fisher's most senior fire team leader. "Go tell Hamilton to radio for
the senior squid. Tell him we'll probably need an emergency medevac."

"E-e-emergency," Jacobs repeated, his stutter more pronounced than usual. He immediately started up
the hill. Fredrickson turned to Mellas, his eyes serious and intent in his narrow face. "Fisher's
got a leech in his penis. It crawled up the urethra during the patrol and I don't think I can get it
out."

Fisher was lying back with his hands folded behind his head. Like most bush Marines he wore no
underwear, in order to help stave off crotch rot. It had now been several hours since he had peed.

Mellas looked up at the swirling fog and then down at Fisher's wet smiling face. He forced a laugh.
"You would have to find a perverted leech," he said. He checked the time. Less than two hours until
dark. A night medevac this high up and in this weather would be impossible.

"You might as well put your trousers on, Fisher," Fredrickson said. "Don't drink any water. It'd be
a bad place to have to amputate."

Jacobs came slipping back down the hill, breathing hard. He was stopped by Bass, just outside of the
immediate circle of Fisher's curious friends. "I p-passed the word, Sergeant Bass."
[...]
"What's the problem?" he asked cheerily.

"It's Fisher," Fredrickson replied. "He's got a leech inside his urethra."

Sheller pursed his lips. "Doesn't sound good. No way of getting to it, I suppose. Can he urinate?"

"No," Fredrickson said. "That's how we found out."

"If he could piss we wouldn't need you," Bass growled.

Sheller looked briefly at Bass and then quickly shifted his eyes to the ground. "Where is he?" he
asked Fredrickson.

"He's down there packing his gear."

Sheller headed toward where Fredrickson pointed. Fredrickson turned to Bass and Mellas and shrugged
his shoulders as if to say "You tell me" and turned to follow him. Bass snorted in disgust. "Fat
fucker."

Sheller had Fisher drop his trousers again. He asked how long it had been since he last urinated and
then glanced up at the sky and down to his watch. He turned to Mellas. "He'll have to be medevaced.
Emergency. I'll go see the skipper."

"Move it, Fisher," Bass said. "You're getting out of the bush. Get your ass up to the LZ."

Fisher grinned and started back toward his hooch, pulling on his trousers as he went. Bass turned
toward the holes and shouted through his cupped hands. "Any of you people got mail to go out, give
it to Fisher. He's getting medevaced." A general scurry took place immediately. Bodies disappeared
into hooches and fighting holes, digging into the packs and plastic bags the men used to keep their
letters dry.

"Jacobs," Bass shouted, "tell that goddamn Shortround, Pollini, to change shirts with Fisher. He
looks like Joe Shit the ragpicker. And tell Kerwin in Third Squad to trade trousers." Jacobs,
grateful for something to do, moved off and began collecting the most worn-out clothing in the squad
to replace it with Fisher's less worn-out clothing.

Sheller came back up to Bass and Mellas and dropped his voice. "He's going to be in a lot of pain. I
can dope him up, but I don't know what will happen to his bladder or kidneys."

"Well, we don't either," Bass said, "but we ain't been to no fancy Navy medical school."
[...]
Fisher began to moan and Hawke and China both turned to look at him, glad to use the moaning to pull
back from the confrontation. Cassidy turned his back on the group and walked off the LZ.

"Oh, goddamn it, Lieutenant Hawke, I have to piss bad. Oh, shit. Why aren't they here?" Fisher was
barely short of crying. "Oh, fuck those bastards. Fuck those bastards." He tried to rise, attempting
to relieve the pressure, then gave a short fierce cry that he clamped off with his teeth. Hawke
caught him before he fell over. Fisher grimaced and said, "Shit. I can't stand up or lay down
neither."

"Hang on, Fisher, they'll have you out in no time," Hawke said. He sat down on Fisher's pack,
putting his hands under Fisher's armpits, supporting him halfway between lying and standing, taking
most of Fisher's weight.
[...]
A few minutes later Sheller, the senior squid, and Lieutenant Fitch, the skipper, came up on the LZ
from the company command post. Fitch looked small, almost catlike, next to Sheller. When they
reached Fisher, Fitch looked at him briefly and then turned to Mellas and Hawke. He was wearing his
half-merry, half-mischievous look, accentuated by the dapper mustache he was cultivating. "Looks
like Fisher's gone and fucked himself up good, doesn't it?" he said. He turned to Fisher. "How'd you
manage to do this after what you brought back in your dick from Taipei? I've heard of being a
carrier, but you're something else." He turned back and waited with the others as Sheller timed
Fisher's pulse.

When Sheller joined them, his face was troubled. "Skipper, if we don't get him out in another hour
it's going to be dark and he's going to come apart. His heart is already racing, even with the
morphine. I don't have anything to give him except more morphine and, well, too much of it . . . you
know. So I'm holding off on a second syrette. In case."

"In case what?" Fitch asked.

"In case I have to do something here."

No one said anything until Fitch broke the silence. "What do you do if the chopper doesn't make it?"
he asked.

"The only thing I can think of is try and cut a hole so's he can relieve the pressure. He isn't
going to like that."

"I don't think in another hour he'll care very much," Hawke said.

"What's the story on the bird?" Mellas asked.

"Same-same," Fitch replied. "The only way they'll get here is to flat-hat under the clouds right up
the side of the mountain. Let's hope they have enough room." He paused. "And light," he added
softly.

"I'm going to need a place to work on him that's cleaner than the LZ, Skipper," Sheller said. "I
can't do it in the mud." He looked pale and was breathing shallowly. "Also, I'll need lots of light,
so it'll have to be pretty lightproof."

"Use my hooch. Snik and I can rig something else if he has to stay the night," Fitch said, referring
to Relsnik, the battalion radio operator.

"Oh, Jesus no, Skipper." It was Fisher, who had been listening to them all along. "They got to get
me out."

"Don't worry," Fitch said. "If we have to operate we'll take a picture of it before we start. That
way you'll have some proof to back up your stories." Fisher managed to grin. Mellas was fidgeting,
moving his weight from foot to foot.
[...]
"It's got to be done, Jim," Hawke said quietly.

Fitch nodded, still looking at the senior squid. "How do you feel, Sheller?" Mellas was surprised to
hear the senior squid called by his name.

"I don't have a catheter, Skipper, and trying to ram something up the urethra to clean out the leech
would just make a mess of it. The only thing I can think to do is cut into the penis from the bottom
side. Two cuts. You can see where his urethra's swollen right up to the leech. Cut one is just up
from there on the bladder side to relieve the pressure. I'd try to keep it small. Stick in a piece
of IV tubing to keep the cut open and keep him drained until we get him out of here." Sheller fished
into his pockets and brought out a freshly cut piece of tubing. "I'll need to sterilize it and have
some floor space to work on, sir. I can grease it with bacitracin to help it slide into the cut."

"That's only one cut," Fitch said.

"Yeah. OK." Sheller swallowed. "Cut two. I'd cut into the leech to bleed it and kill it. We don't
want it moving upstream." He looked at the silent group, realizing it was all on him. "I'll use
Fredrickson. It'll make Fisher feel better if it's a squid he's used to."

Hawke looked grimly satisfied. Bass kept looking at Sheller and then back to the skipper with no
emotion on his face.

"OK, Squid. Go ahead on it." Fitch spoke crisply with no hint of doubt. He turned to Hawke. "Ted, go
up and tell those guys to move Fisher down here."

Sheller moved off and crawled into the CP hooch without saying anything. He started to clear it out.
The others, except Mellas, Hawke, Fitch, and Cassidy, returned to their positions.

The entire hill was quiet, on the 100 percent alert that happened every dusk and dawn. Mellas
watched Fredrickson and Lindsey talking to Fisher as they began to move him off the landing zone on
a stretcher made by wrapping a poncho between two tree limbs. Fisher suddenly cried out and Lindsey
cursed quietly. Hawke, who was walking alongside the stretcher, quickly stifled Fisher's cry by
placing his hand over his mouth. Mellas walked beside them, figuring it was better to say nothing.

When they reached the CP they pulled Fisher inside the small hooch. Sheller was laying out his kit
and lighting candles. Fredrickson removed Fisher's filthy trousers and folded them carefully.
Outside the hooch the two radio operators huddled next to their equipment while Fitch tried to make
the entrance lightproof. Hawke and Cassidy sat on the ground, quietly talking.

Inside, Doc Fredrickson looked at Sheller, whose chin was trembling slightly underneath the fat.
Fisher was writhing in pain and trying not to scream. Fredrickson crawled behind Fisher, putting his
knees on each side of Fisher's head. He then leaned over and put his hands and full weight on
Fisher's shoulders. The candles flickered in the draft, casting shadows across the draped ponchos.

"It's going to be OK, Fisher," Fredrickson whispered, bending close to Fisher's face. "It's going to
be OK."

"Oh, fuck, Doc, stop it. Stop it from hurting."

"It's going to be OK."

Fredrickson was looking intensely at Sheller, willing him to do it. The senior squid finished
lubricating the IV tube, switched it to his left hand, and looked back at Fredrickson across
Fisher's body. He picked up a small knife in his right hand and, using his elbows, he spread
Fisher's legs and crawled between them. He looked up at Fredrickson again. With anguish on his face
he silently mouthed, "I don't know if I'm right."

Fredrickson nodded his head in encouragement. "Do it," he mouthed silently. "Do it."

Fisher started moaning again, arching his back, trying to get his bladder and kidneys off the floor.
The senior squid put the knife in the candle flame. Then he poured alcohol on it. There was a slight
hiss and the alcohol smell filled the hooch. He lifted Fisher's penis back, pushing it firmly
against his stomach. Even that pressure made Fisher scream.

Fredrickson leaned his whole body over Fisher's face, muzzling him, pressing down on his shoulders
and upper arms.

Sheller pushed the blade into Fisher's penis. Fisher screamed and Fredrickson put all of his weight
on him to keep him from rolling. Blood and urine streamed over the knife blade, the initial burst
spraying Sheller's hands and chest. Then Sheller pushed the makeshift catheter up the smooth side of
the knife into the incision and quickly slipped the blade out. Urine coursed out of the catheter,
flowing over Fisher's hips and crotch, filling the tent with its hot smell, running onto the mud,
soaking the nylon poncho liners under Fisher's body.

"Goddamn. Goddamn. Oh, goddamn," Fisher cried, but each "goddamn" lessened in intensity with the
lessening force of the coursing urine, until all that could be heard was Fisher's ragged panting and
the deep breathing of Fredrickson and Sheller.

Fisher broke the silence. "What would I say if this was a movie?"

Fredrickson shook his head back and forth and snorted a laugh. "Shit, Fisher," he said. Sheller,
still breathing hard, merely nodded at Fisher.

Fisher winced and took in a shaky breath. He held it, then let it out all at once and turned his
head to the side, looking at the floor of the hooch. "Kind of a mess."

Sheller nodded. "Yeah. Kind of a mess," he said. He was covered in blood and urine. He flicked a
glance at Fredrickson, who nodded very slightly. Then Fredrickson suddenly bore down on Fisher with
his full weight. Senior Squid took Fisher by surprise and quickly punctured his penis again, this
time to pierce the leech and kill it.

Fisher bucked his hips upward, screaming. "Jesus Christ, Squid. What the fuck?" Fredrickson kept his
full body weight on him, trying to keep him still.

"Sorry," Sheller said. Blood from the swollen leech was running along the flat of the knife. He
pulled it out and took a deep breath. Dark blood oozed from the second cut, mixing with the redder
blood and urine from the first.

Sheller sat back on his haunches, his knees under him.

"You fucking done?" Fisher asked.

Sheller nodded yes.

The small hooch, filled with the three young men, the light from the candles, and the warm smell of
urine, was quiet.

From outside they could hear FAC-man, the forward air controller, shouting. "Get him up to the LZ.
The bird's coming in."

"Now what?" Fisher asked.

"I don't know," Sheller answered. "They get you to Charlie Med. The usual repair work. Infection's
the main problem around here. We don't know what got carried in by the leech or on the knife for
that matter."

"No, I mean..." Fisher hesitated. "You know, later. Back home."

FAC-man poked his head through the ponchos. "I've got the fucking chopper. Get him up on the LZ.
What the fuck you waiting for?" He ran off into the dark with his radio on his back, talking to the
pilot.

Sheller rolled out of the way as Fitch and Hawke came through the opening of the hooch and grabbed
the stretcher. He didn't answer Fisher, using the interruption as an excuse. What would scar tissue
do? Infection? Had he cut tubes he didn't even know about? He honestly didn't know what would happen
and was fully aware he might have doomed Fisher to be not only childless, but impotent.

--------------
from: Karl Marlantes, MATTERHORN

The "leech in Cambodian man's penis " story has now made international 'weird' news. But relax a bit, and don't forget that if this sort of event makes the news, that means that it doesn't happen too often.

Leech enters man's body through penis
A man in Cambodia was forced to go to hospital after a leech sucked blood from his body after entering through his penis.
26 June 2020

An elderly man in Cambodia was left in agony after a leech entered his body through his penis.
Surgeons discovered the creature inside the unnamed man's bladder after he travelled to hospital because he was suffering pain when trying to urinate.

Medics questioned the patient, who revealed that he had stripped off and gone for a swim in the river.

It's thought that the leech travelled up his urethra and into his bladder. It then latched on and drank a pint of his blood, which caused the leach to rapidly expand in size.

Doctors at the hospital in Phnom Penh have warned people to be vigilant when swimming in ponds while leeches are active.

The hospital said in a statement: ''The waters are rich with leeches and other insects during the rainy season.

''Consult with the specialists immediately if you are experiencing pain in your body to get it treated correctly.''
https://www.femalefirst.co.uk/bizarre/l ... 47928.html