Adicione o texto do seu título aqui
It all started quietly.
An occasional failure here, another one there.
Nothing that, at first, truly worried me.
Today, I know that was the beginning of a process that would drag on for years.
My name is Charlie. I’m 66 years old and I work in an administrative role at a mid-sized company. I live an ordinary life — no excesses, no major health problems.
At first, I simply ignored it.
Later, I began to notice it was happening more often.
Sometimes it worked.
Other times it didn’t.
And when it didn’t, there was always a ready explanation.
Tiredness. Stress. A bad day.
Over time, those explanations started repeating themselves far too often.
The path I followed also became the same every time. Doctor’s appointments, trying medication, adjusting doses, stopping, starting again. At certain moments it felt like things had improved — but it never lasted.
Do you know that feeling of going to bed already half-expecting that nothing will happen?
Of waking up the next day trying to act normally, even though you know something isn’t right.
The discomfort didn’t stay confined to the bedroom.
It began to show up in the relationship, in the conversations that were avoided, in that silence that settles in when neither person really knows what to say.
That became my reality for years.
What bothered me most wasn’t just the failure itself.
Of course, there was the physical side of it. The difficulty maintaining an erection, the unpredictability, that feeling that your body no longer responds the way it used to. That alone is enough to wear any man down.
But the worst part came afterwards.
It was the sense of powerlessness, of having no control over something that had always been a normal part of your life. The feeling that you’re doing everything right and, still, nothing changes.
The irony is that I was surrounded by information. I spoke to doctors, read about the subject, saw recommendations all the time. And even so, no one seemed willing to go beyond the basics.
The process was always similar. An appointment, quick tests, a new prescription. Sometimes the medication changed, sometimes the dose was adjusted. In some cases, they simply suggested “taking a break”.
It would work for a short period. Then everything returned to the same point. A brief sense of relief followed by another failure, almost always when you least expect it.
Over time, this starts to affect more than just your sex life. It affects the relationship, your confidence, the way you see yourself.
My partner eventually said, during a difficult conversation, that something had to change. That it couldn’t continue like that.
She was right.
The problem was that I had already done everything I was told to do. I followed medical advice, tried different approaches, was patient. Still, nothing seemed to solve it in a definitive way.
The day everything began to change started with an ordinary conversation.
It was a typical Thursday. I was at home, working less than I should have been, trying not to think too much about it. That familiar strange atmosphere, when you avoid facing the problem head-on.
A close friend came over to see me. Nothing planned. Casual talk, coffee, ordinary things. At some point, the subject ended up going there. Not because I brought it up, but because it’s hard to hide something that’s been bothering you for so long.
I told him everything. The failures that started sporadically, the periods when it seemed to improve, the treatments that never lasted. The frustration of doing what you’re told and still ending up in the same place.
He listened without interrupting. When I finished, he said something that made me pay real attention.
He mentioned that he knew a doctor who worked with a different approach. That he had seen cases similar to mine, in men who showed no obvious structural problem, yet didn’t respond to traditional treatments.
He said it wasn’t lack of desire, nor simply a matter of age. It was something most doctors simply didn’t look at closely.
I was sceptical. After all, I had heard everything already. Hormones, circulation, stress, psychological causes. One more explanation didn’t sound like much.
But at that point, I was tired enough to listen.
A week later, I was sitting in a doctor’s office, talking to someone who didn’t start the appointment by talking about medication.
There was something no doctor had ever explained to me before.
The doctor I spoke to this time didn’t seem rushed. He spent more time with me than any other doctor had. He asked questions that went beyond the obvious. He wanted to know about my routine, my work, my medical history, when it all started and how things had developed over the years.
At no point did he seem interested in rushing towards a prescription.
After listening to everything, he leaned back in his chair and said something that completely changed the way I understood the problem.
He said the issue wasn’t exactly where I had been trying to fix it. That the problem wasn’t the organ itself, but something that happened before the response ever reached it.
I didn’t understand straight away.
So he tried to explain it in simple terms, without technical language.
He asked me to imagine the body as a communication system. The brain sends a command, that command travels along a specific pathway, and only then does the body respond. When that pathway is intact, the response happens without effort. When it starts to fail, the command still leaves the brain — but it arrives weak, delayed, or incomplete.
That’s when everything started to make sense.
According to him, in many men this pathway weakens over time. Surgery, illness, medication, stress and ageing don’t switch the system off all at once, but gradually reduce the efficiency of nerve communication.
The result shows up later.
The response stops being predictable. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t. And the longer this goes unnoticed, the harder it becomes to restore normal function.
Before we finished, he asked a simple, almost casual question. He asked whether any doctor had ever talked to me about the health of the nerves involved in erection.
I shook my head and said no.
The two factors almost no one pays attention to
At some point in the conversation, the doctor said there were two main reasons why this was happening to me. Two points that rarely come up when erectile dysfunction is discussed.
The first had to do with silent wear and tear.
He asked about my routine, how long I had been working the same way, whether I had undergone surgery, used certain medications for long periods, dealt with constant stress. As I answered, he explained that the nervous system works under continuous load. Every day, the brain sends thousands of commands to the body, and those signals always travel along the same pathways.
Over time, that constant traffic takes its toll.
Surgery, inflammation, long-term medication use, poor sleep, chronic anxiety. None of this “switches off” the nerves overnight. They’re still there. What changes is their ability to transmit the signal with strength and precision. The command is sent — but it arrives weaker than before.
According to him, in many men this process happens without pain, without any clear warning. You only notice it when the response begins to fail.
The second factor came right after that.
When a nerve stays weakened for too long, the body starts compensating in ways that don’t actually fix the problem. Communication becomes irregular. Sometimes it responds, sometimes it doesn’t. And each new failure reinforces that pattern, as if the system were learning to function poorly.
He explained that this isn’t something sudden. It’s a repeating cycle. The response fails, the body adapts to the failure, the nerve is stimulated less, and the pathway becomes even weaker.
At one point in the conversation, he was very direct. He said that I had been trying to fix the consequences for years, while the cause was still there, untouched, being ignored.
In that moment, for the first time, it made sense why nothing I had tried ever lasted.
Why don’t the usual methods work?
At one point in the conversation, I asked the question that had been echoing in my head for years. I said I had taken medication, followed instructions, done everything that was recommended. I asked why none of it ever lasted.
The doctor smiled slightly, the way someone does when they’ve heard that question many times before.
He explained that almost all traditional treatments follow the same logic. They try to correct the final effect, but they don’t address the root of the problem.
According to him, medication can create a temporary response. Blood flow increases, rigidity appears, but the system responsible for initiating and sustaining that response continues to function poorly. The command doesn’t improve. The pathway isn’t restored. A reaction is simply forced for a short period of time.
He mentioned that this is why so many men go through the same cycle. At first, the drug seems to work. Then it requires adjustments. After that, it loses effectiveness. And in many cases, it stops working altogether.
When I talked about the different attempts I had made over the years, he was direct. He said that, instead of strengthening the system, those approaches ended up masking the problem. The nerve remained weakened, communication stayed faulty, and the body became used to relying on external stimulation to respond.
That made me think about how many times I had repeated the same process, expecting a different outcome.
So I asked what was left to do if that path didn’t lead to a lasting solution.
He leaned back in his chair for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully, and said that there was another approach. One that didn’t try to force the body to respond, but instead worked to restore the system responsible for the response.
Then he said he was going to show me something.
A technology that started to attract the attention of researchers
The doctor stood up, opened a drawer in the cabinet beside his desk and took out a small device. It was discreet, simple — nothing that looked like a complex medical machine.
I stared at it, trying to understand where exactly that fit into the story.
He noticed my silence and said that this technology had existed for years, but was almost always associated with neurological rehabilitation and physiotherapy. Very few people made the connection with erectile dysfunction.
I’ll admit I was sceptical at first. An electronic device didn’t seem related to everything I had been dealing with. It felt too simple for something that had resisted so many previous attempts.
The doctor noticed my reaction and said he’d had the same doubts at the beginning. He explained that he only started paying attention after seeing the studies — and, more importantly, the clinical results.
He explained that the technology is based on neurostimulation, a method used to activate specific nerves through controlled electrical impulses. These impulses follow the exact same pathway as the natural signal sent by the brain.
According to him, the key point wasn’t creating an artificial response, but reinforcing the nerve communication that already existed and had lost efficiency over time.
That’s when he made an observation that really caught my attention. He said the studies showed something interesting: the stimulation reached the nerves responsible for the erectile response without interfering with other bodily functions. The signal was targeted, specific, with no systemic side effects.
He mentioned research carried out by European academic centres, including Technical University of Dresden, which analysed how neurostimulation acts on different types of nerve fibres. The results pointed to improved response in the target nerves, without impairing other neurological functions.
As he spoke, I began to realise this had nothing to do with improvised solutions or easy promises. It was a technology that had been studied for years, just applied in a different context from the usual one.
For the first time, something sounded genuinely different from everything I’d heard before.
But that wasn’t all.
After explaining how neurostimulation acted on the nerve, the doctor said the effect didn’t stop at the immediate response. He explained that something else was happening, something many people don’t notice at first.
He returned to the idea of communication between the brain and the body. He said that when this pathway is stimulated repeatedly, the nervous system doesn’t just respond better in the moment — it begins to reorganise itself. The nerve starts to react with greater consistency, the signal travels with less interference, and the body stops “hesitating” the way it used to.
According to him, this process creates a kind of functional protection. The nerve is no longer as vulnerable to the intermittent failures that had been happening. The response stops being unpredictable and starts to occur in a more stable way.
In simple terms, he summed it up by saying that the method works on two levels at the same time: it activates the erectile response and strengthens the nerve pathway responsible for it.
That was exactly what had been missing from every previous attempt.
I kept looking at the device on the desk, trying to process everything.
Could something like this really be simpler than everything I had already tried?
The problem with imitations
My immediate reaction was obvious. If the solution was to stimulate the nerves, then surely any similar-looking device would do, right?
The doctor stopped me before I could even finish the thought.
He said that this was exactly where most men go wrong.
He explained that, in recent years, many devices have appeared promising electrical stimulation, erectile recovery and fast results. At first glance, many of them seem to do the same thing. Small, electronic, with similar names and convincing technical descriptions.
But that’s where the similarity ends.
According to him, the real difference isn’t the shape or the promise, but how the stimulation is delivered, the precision of the electrodes, the correct intensity, and, most importantly, which nerve is actually being stimulated.
He said that many generic devices use imprecise impulses, poorly targeted signals, or are simply too weak to cause any real change in the nervous system. Others may stimulate the area, but in the wrong way, failing to reach the neural pathway responsible for the erectile response.
The result is almost always the same. Some sensation in the moment, sometimes even a partial response, but nothing that lasts. After a few attempts, everything goes back to where it started.
When I asked how to tell something serious apart from a simple imitation, he was direct. He said he only trusts technologies that have gone through clinical testing, medical validation and development specifically for that purpose — not generic adaptations sold as universal solutions.
That’s when he explained why he only recommended one specific device to patients who genuinely fit this type of treatment.
The supplier the doctor trusts
I asked how an ordinary person could tell a serious device apart from something generic sold as a miracle solution.
The doctor didn’t respond with a speech. He simply picked up the device that had been on the desk since the start of the appointment and turned it so I could see it properly.
He pointed to a small marking on the body of the device and told me to look closely. There was an identification code that allowed the development, testing and origin of the technology to be traced.
He explained that this was the real difference.
Not what’s promised on the front of the box, but what can be verified behind it.
He then spoke about the company responsible for developing the device, Comphya SA. He said the choice had nothing to do with marketing, but with technical criteria. Medical partnerships, clinical validation, repeated testing, and documentation made available to healthcare professionals.
I asked whether that meant the device wasn’t passing through improvised middlemen or being adapted commercially, the way so many products in this market are.
He confirmed it. He said the development had taken place in a controlled medical environment, without questionable outsourcing or generic manufacturing repurposed for another use.
He added that each version of the device had undergone independent evaluation before being released, and that the stimulation parameters were not defined by marketing teams, but by clinical and technical specialists.
That’s when something simple clicked for me. This wasn’t just about having access to a technology.
It was about knowing which technology — and where it came from.
Before we finished, he said that for patients who truly fit this type of treatment, his advice was always the same: only use official channels, look for verifiable information, and avoid solutions that promise everything while proving nothing.
He wrote the company’s name down for me and told me to look directly at the official website, where the testing, development background and usage criteria were clearly described.
I left with the feeling that, for the first time, no one was trying to convince me of anything —
they were simply showing me how to verify it for myself.
My personal experience with Caverstim
That same evening, I got home and went straight to the computer. I visited the official website the doctor had written down for me and placed the order.
A single device. No exaggerated kits. No extra promises.
My partner glanced at the screen and asked if I was sure, after everything I had already tried. I explained what the doctor had told me. About nerves. About communication. About treating the pathway, not just the response.
She listened in silence. She didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t try to stop me either.
I remember thinking that if this didn’t work as well, I would probably stop looking for anything at all.
The device arrived a few days later.
It was smaller than I expected. Discreet. Nothing that looked like heavy medical equipment. I held it in my hand, read the instructions carefully — more than once. The use was simple. Straightforward. No strange preparations.
On the first night, I’ll admit nothing extraordinary happened. I used it as instructed and went to bed without much expectation.
In the first few days, nothing changed.
I even caught myself thinking I was repeating the same cycle again. That quiet expectation followed by frustration. My partner asked if I had noticed any difference. I told her not yet.
After almost a week, I started to think I’d made another mistake.
I seriously considered putting the device in a drawer and forgetting about it.
But I didn’t.
It was around the second week that something began to change — and not in the way I expected. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t dramatic. It was a sense of predictability. Less tension. Less of that constant fear of failing before even trying.
One night, I noticed my body responded without effort. No uncomfortable waiting. No need to mentally force anything.
The next day, I wondered if it had just been a coincidence.
The next time, it happened again.
Gradually, I realised the response was becoming more consistent. Not perfect. Not instant. But clearly different from what I had experienced for years.
My partner was the first to comment. She said I seemed calmer, less anxious, less trapped in that constant anticipation that something would go wrong.
After a few weeks, it became clear to me that this wasn’t just about the moment itself. It was the feeling that my body was beginning to respond the way it used to, without relying on tricks or desperate attempts.
For the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like I was “trying to make it work.”
It was simply happening.
But the real test was still to come.
A few weeks later, a period arrived that had always been critical for me. Those days when stress builds up, routine feels heavier, and exhaustion sets in. Normally, that was exactly when everything would fall apart again.
I knew it. I always had.
This time, I paid attention. Not out of anxiety, but almost out of habit. Watching my body, waiting for any sign that things were about to go wrong again.
Nothing happened.
The weeks passed and the response was still there. Not perfect. Not cinematic. But present. Consistent. Without that sense of instability that had always shown up before.
I wasn’t “bracing myself for failure.”
That alone was already different from everything I had lived through before.
My partner was the first to say that something had genuinely changed. Not just physically, but in the atmosphere between us. Less tension. Less caution. Less of that carefulness that appears when you’re expecting something to go wrong.
After a few more weeks, I decided to call the doctor.
Not to complain. Not to adjust anything. Just to say that it was working.
He listened calmly and asked how I was feeling.
I told him I felt like a different person. That, for the first time in a long while, I had gone through a period that would normally be problematic without anything falling apart. No failures. No constant insecurity.
He simply told me to keep following the guidance, without rushing, without exaggerated expectations. He said that when the system starts responding again, the most important thing is to maintain the correct stimulation for the necessary time.
I didn’t need any further explanation.
After so many years trying to “fix” things, it was the first time I didn’t feel like I was fighting against my own body.
One year later
I’m writing this now, more than a year later.
Life went on as normal. Work, routine, everyday problems. Nothing changed outside of that — and maybe that’s exactly the point.
It’s been just over 14 months since that appointment. Since the first time I used the device the doctor showed me.
Do you know how many times I went back to where I was before?
None.
Zero.
After years dealing with frequent, unpredictable failures — that constant feeling that something could go wrong at any moment — that simply stopped being part of my daily life.
Yes, there were bad days. Stress. Fatigue. Arguments. Normal life.
Before, any one of those things was enough for everything to fall apart.
Now, it isn’t.
For the first time in a long while, I felt my body responding consistently, without adjustments, without that quiet fear that nothing would happen.
I kept using the device exactly as instructed. No excess. No dramatic changes. It became part of my routine, like so many other simple things you do without thinking about them.
My partner, who had been sceptical at first, was the first to notice the real difference. Not just in the bedroom, but in the atmosphere between us. Less tension. Less caution. Less of that constant anticipation of failure.
At one point, she said it felt like something had “fallen back into place.”
And yes, I know exactly what you’re thinking now.
And yes, I know exactly what you’re thinking now.
“How much does this cost?”
The price was £37.
It’s not cheap in the sense of being disposable. It’s not something you buy on impulse without thinking. But that’s when I stopped and did the maths.
£37 spread over a year — 365 days — comes out to just over 10 pence a day.
Ten pence.
That’s less than a cup of coffee. Less than most things people spend money on without even noticing.
And when I compared that to what I had been paying for years — repeated medication, treatments that never lasted, appointments, and frustration piling up — the contrast became hard to ignore.
Not to mention the cost that never shows up on a bank statement: lost confidence, strain on the relationship, that constant feeling of waiting for things to go wrong.
When I put everything side by side, it became obvious.
The £37 wasn’t the problem.
The real cost was continuing to spend time and energy on something that never truly solved anything.
For me, the decision was easy.
Is Caverstim right for you?
I’ll be direct.
Caverstim is not a miracle.
It’s not something you use today and wake up tomorrow with everything magically solved.
If you have a structural injury, have gone through recent severe trauma, or have a condition that requires immediate surgical intervention, this isn’t the right path. In those cases, medical evaluation comes first.
But.
If you recognise yourself in what I lived…
If you’ve been through that exhausting cycle of trying one thing after another, always hoping that “this time it will work”, and always ending up in the same place.
If you’ve heard phrases like “this is normal for your age”, “it’s psychological”, or “let’s adjust the dose” more times than you can remember.
If you’ve caught yourself anticipating failure before even trying, not because of lack of desire, but out of fear of going through the same frustration again.
If you’ve tried medication, breaks, changes — and nothing ever stayed stable.
If you’re tired of dealing only with the final effect, while no one seems to look at what’s happening behind the response.
If, at some point, you realised that the problem isn’t lack of will or effort — it’s that your body simply doesn’t respond the way it used to, and you don’t understand why.
If you want to stop improvising and finally understand what’s really going on.
Then this text is for you.
Then you are exactly where I once was.
Like many other men who stayed trapped for years in this same silent cycle.
From here, there are two choices.
You can keep doing what you’ve always done. Hope that this time it’s different. Accept that maybe “this is just how it is now” and keep trying to work around the problem when it shows up.
Or you can try a different approach. One that doesn’t try to force the body, but reconditions the system responsible for the response. One that has already been tested, studied, and used by thousands of men who were in exactly the same place.
The decision is yours.
All I can say, with complete honesty, is this:
I wish someone had explained all of this to me years ago.