It was January of 2012 and the weather was lousy. It was snowing outside and I was carrying a 60 kilogram box down a ramp. We had been trailing the snow up and down the ramp and my legs went out from under me. Bingo, the load landed right between my legs.
The accident left me with a crushing injury. For the first few weeks, I didn’t go to hospital, hoping that the burning sensation I had when urinating would go away. I thought it would just fix itself but after six weeks I knew I had to see a doctor.
When I first went into the hospital, the doctors didn’t think it was too bad. They told me it could be fixed as there was healthy tissue down there.
Three days before surgery, I met the surgeon for the first time. He took one look at me and said “you’ve got cancer”. Just like that. No tests, no biopsies, none of it.
I was told that I have penile cancer, a rare type of cancer that only a few hundred people are diagnosed with every year. I was then told the only option was surgery.
I almost passed out. I got lightheaded and I started to get wobbly and he told me to lay down right away.
Most people are told if they have stage three or four cancer, but I was told that they had to cut down to the margin, meaning, they would amputate my penis.
I mean, if they can do arms and legs and limbs with bones, why couldn’t they transplant a penis?Thomas Manning
People ask me what it was like to have my penis amputated but after hearing I had cancer, within a few days I had come to terms with both the idea of the amputation, and that I was probably dying. There didn’t seem to be any option but to go ahead with the surgery.
They went ahead with the surgery and from the moment I woke up, I asked for a penis transplant. They thought I was crazy and told me it wasn’t an option. I just couldn’t understand why, so I kept asking. I mean, if they can do arms and legs and limbs with bones, why couldn’t they transplant a penis?
After that, I had a whole bunch of other surgeries — some life-threatening — to make sure there was no cancer left. I didn’t have cancer. Eventually, they told me I was cancer free. I was happy as hell.
But for the next four years, at every check-up and appointment, I would ask for a transplant.
By then, I’d learnt to accept the inevitable: a life without a penis.
Adjusting to a new life
There was a lot of training to adjust to life without a penis. What was there looked like a stub. I was on a catheter, then I had to sit on the toilet. Re-learning how to urinate was the toughest part because of the burning sensation.
I used to date a lot and I used to have an active sex life but that all changed after surgery. I guess you could say it cramped my dating style.
I never dated online but it wasn’t as if I could say, “I’m looking for a girl who’s looking for a guy who doesn’t have a penis. If that’s you, I’m your guy”. You’re not going to meet too many women who want a guy like that so I stopped dating.
So, I didn’t have a penis and the doctors were concerned that they were going to find more cancer, so I thought eventually they would. I halted making plans for the future.
Penis transplant breakthrough
It took four years until there was even a chance of a penis transplant. My doctor called me and I thought at first it was to deliver bad news, but they simply asked if I’m still interested in a transplant. Straight away, I said “yeah sure”.
I then went through over 12 weeks of tests to evaluate my eligibility. There were a few roadblocks along the way but I became aggressive in being my own advocate. I couldn’t wait to get a transplant and when I was this close, I didn't see any other way.
The 16-hour surgery went well but it took me three days before I could look at the new penis.
I was scared of looking at it until I ended up looking at it every day. I have to admit, it was different from my original one but it has always felt like it was mine. I mean, I very much knew that it was a donor’s organ yet at the same time, it was mine. It was working the way it was supposed to. And everything was happening the way it was supposed to.
It’s now fully functional. I take meds, but it’s functional. I think it’s working the way it should be, just the way it’s supposed to work. There’s really no reason to think there was anything different than what it should be. I don’t have any problems with it at all — none.
Psychologically and physically, it’s been hard to adjust. I mean, I never drank alcohol in my life. Never took a cigarette in my life. No illegal drugs or anything. I used to go out with my friends and I was the guy that made sure everybody got home. Now, I take almost 40 pills.
I think it’s working the way it should be, just the way it’s supposed to work.Thomas Manning
Despite the hurdles, I think it’s improved the quality of my life. It was definitely worthwhile but there’s a price — a price for everything.
I feel whole now. Before the operation, I thought I would be back to becoming 95 per cent of who I used to be but I think I lost more than that. I think I’m 80 per cent of who I used to be.
It’s a lonely experience to be one of the only people to undergo this surgery. It’s hard to find someone to talk to about this type of thing. It’s a difficult thing to admit.
I’m open about my experience but sometimes people look at me and they just cringe. I tell people not to feel bad for me. For me, it’s just there, it’s part of me and I’ve learnt to live with it from almost the very beginning.
My dating life has changed quite a bit since my transplant. I get all sorts of different reactions. Some people are in awe, some people look at you and back off a little bit and then some get a little aggressive because they want to be one of the girls who fool around with me and then tell everyone that they did.
I’ve had sex since but it definitely feels different. It’s not like the original. There are definitely some big changes.
If I had any advice for anyone who is thinking about getting a transplant it would be to sit down, take the time and think carefully about if you’re willing to commit.
It’s a long process — you have to be all-in. You have to be sure you’re going to do it as there are no guarantees. It could work or fail but you’re not going to know until you go under the knife. You’re taking a chance. Everybody reacts a little bit differently.
Time heals everything but it's definitely not a straight line to success. There are ups and downs and when I say ups and downs, I mean, real high ups, and very, very low downs. The doctors can walk you through everything but they don’t know what it’s like on the other side. I know what it’s like to be on that table. I received the most up-to-date medical attention and the next person after me has a greater chance of success but in my view, you have to take the shot, take the chance.
The morning they rolled me into surgery, the doctor said to me “you don’t have to do this you know, you can stop right now” but I was all-in.
I simply told them “let’s do it”.
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