The Story So Far - From York

11 minute read time.

I noticed whilst on holiday that one of my testicles was a bit larger than the other, and had started to ache a little.  This could be overcome by wearing tighter underpants and going swimming in cold water.  Don't get me wrong, the right nut had always been slightly larger than the left, but something felt a bit different about it.  Every now and then I gave it a prod, much in the same way a tradesman would test to see if putty had dried around a window and then mused as to what had made it become bigger.

After returning from holiday I decided I should go to see a doctor fairly quickly.  I kind of new that as my doctor didn't have x-ray vision that he would need to examine the testicles in the appointment.  I realized it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience, for either the doctor or I.  Sure enough he asked a few questions around sexual partners and then told me to hop up onto the couch and lower my trousers.  He did a few tradesman like prods and asked me where the ache was.  Given that I am in a very happy relationship and have been for a number of years the news that he thought it was an STI was a bit strange, but I thought Id go with it given the option that it might me something much worse.  His parting words were tumors are small and gritty things, what you've got is probably an infection. I skipped gingerly to the pharmacy to pick up the 'tablets of shame'.  Nothing says 'dirt bag' more to a pharmacist more than a man requesting those sort of tablets!

After a week of the antibiotics and playing five aside football very cautiously nothing much had changed. So I went back to see him and he suggested I get a scan done, just to be sure.  At this point I was getting a little worried and decided to push for an early ultra sound scan and rang the appropriate people to push it along.  The scan went fairly well in terms of chit chat.  Neither the lady scanner nor I wanting to really acknowledge the fact she was pushing what looked like a wet cold bar code scanner into my groin.  She looked at the screen and I held onto my penis as instructed and kept it out of the way of the mater in hand.  There was no reassuring ping sound like you get in the supermarkets, but her face turned somewhat serious and she stopped the small talk.  You need to see a doctor she said, this evening or tomorrow.  You need to see one she reiterated, and she was going to urgently send over the results in about one hour.  I had hoped I had some fluid build up in the right nut, but her face and insistence I saw a doctor quickly was a little alarmingly and wasn't looking like a simple fluid thing.  

I drove straight to the local doctors and tried to make an appointment.  The lady on the reception was 'chuff all' use and said I could have an appointment in three days time, or at best a telephone appointment the next day.  However she said the ultra sound scans don't come through that quickly and there would be no point.  I did some pleading and asked what if they did get faxed over and they were marked urgent.  She said she would keep an eye out on the fax machine and that was the best she can do.  The next day the telephone appointment didn't happen and needed me to chase.  Eventually another doctor called and advised it looked like a tumor and needed a be referred to a consultant to have a prod of it also.  My head at this point started to spin and my body started to ache all over. I had heard tumor, this meant cancer, and that meant slow lingering death.  I like to think I'm a fairly educated man, but this was my natural response and I felt more than a bit despondent over the weekend.  I now hate weekends.  Weekends are where nothing happens.  The NHS slows up and you just have to wait until Monday when you can start chasing again.  Its like a void of nothingness.  Fridays are the last chance saloon of ringing round and trying to get people to do their job.  I appreciate other people are in the queue, but throughout this process it seems the more you ring and pester the quicker things happen.  Its a sad fact of the NHS it would seem.

I went back to work as normal and tried to forget about the large space hopper testicle I seemed to be sitting with at my desk.  It probably hadn't grown any in the last 12 hours since I got the news.  But to me it was something I needed resolving quickly.  Something which was potentially nasty and grim.  My only hope was that ultra sound lady and GP were wrong and the consultant could see it was something not as serious.  After a fair amount of ringing around I managed to get an appointment with a consultant within the week and went to see him Wednesday evening.  Once again I was examined and prodded, but this time he had a different repertoire of prods.  He even used his forearm to push down either side of my stomach.  After this I sat in front of him and he delivered his verdict.  At this point I must point out my partner was sitting next to me.  She has been a real rock of support throughout this process.  Its a tumor, he said calmly.  No doubt about it and we need to remove it, he followed on before pausing for a response.  Whilst this is what he said, to me it was interpreted as being a death sentence.  It may sound over dramatic, but I just fell into a pit of depression.  The world had sunk away and I was spiraling downwards.  The consultant was excellent and started to give the information to my partner and she was asking the questions I should have been asking.  He advised he would need to do some pre op checks that evening and I would need to go into surgery on Friday morning for the testicle to be removed.  Interestingly at this point whilst I had my bloods taken and x-ray on the chest down, I started to experience shock.  My mind was spinning, I was crying and my legs started to jump around to the point where I had to hold them down.  

Friday came and I was oddly pleased to be having the operation.  It felt cathartic to remove something which was not healthy in the body.  Okay it meant losing one testicle, but I still had another one.  The left testicle would be king, in the land of the scrotum.  The consultant explained pre operation whilst he was drawing on me with a felt tip that he would also do a biopsy on the left testicle. Not a problem I thought, left testicle was about to be crowned king of the scrotum.  He could take a small nibble from him without him flinching.  Well maybe a little.  Also the consultant added, the right testicle is the dominant one and the left one is a little small.  This didn't sound too good.  He then added that the left testicle was probably under developed.  Pardon! this is the to be crowned king of the testicles I thought.  You cant speak about him that way!  However I hoped he would step up the job in hand after the right one left and they went their separate ways.  Soon after this I was sucking in the happy juice and into the land of the unconscious with the general anesthetic.  

I came round with a nurse gently slapping my face and saying my name. I made it I thought, I made the surgery and now time for some coffee and cake before heading home.  Oh gawd what the hell is that pain my mind interrupted the cake thoughts.  It was painful, but really a keen pain.  The nurse then asked me to rate the pain from 1 - 10.  I was tempted to tell her it was not a trip advisor sort of a moment, but the pain was getting worse and I could feel myself starting to squeal.  Six! Its six out of ten I said as she pumped some morphine in me.  Ahhhhhh, lovely morphine I thought as I tried to look at the wall clock.  6:50, nope 7:10, the time kept changing every time I looked at the clock. I had to ask the nurse who said it was 2:00.  Yep the morphine pain relief was good, but had only taken the edge off the pain in my abdomen.  At this point I must say that whilst the easiest way to a keen amateur surgeon would be to take the testicle out via the scrotum. The consultants like to a bit more of a challenge and go in somewhere south of the belly button and north of the penis. So hence the pain in not where you would expect it.  Also the scrotum seemed to have little pain to it, apart from a small opening on the left side where he had annoyed lefty by nipping at him.  aka the under performing and under developed last testicle.  The nurse asked if I would like some more morphine, which I nodded at and said I gave the pain a 4/10.  Then I was wheeled back to the ward where there was coffee, but no cake.  

After the operation my abdomen swelled up where the scar was and was a little numb.  The incision was about four inches long and was looking like a cool scar you would see on an Action Man.  This later had a wonderful bruising colour for a few days which had yellows, reds and blacks involved in it.  Imagine a french summers evening sunset, but with more stubbly pubes.  I did forget to mention that you go down to theater in hospital pants and fully bearded up down below.  You come back without the pants, and a hairstyle which resembles the 1980's pop band Flock of Seagulls.  The incision on the scrotum had the look of a pigs bladder football, complete with stitching, which made something that is not appealing even less so.  I showed these to my partner a few days later and her face showed the look of horror, whilst her mouth said it didn't look that bad.  Two weeks off work on the sofa whilst right testicle was 'thrown in the bucket' as the consultant told me and was sent to Leeds for the Cancer specialist to have a look at it.  More waiting and waiting for the next appointment in Leeds.  

Do I miss the testicle? No, now that the swelling has gone down and the pain of moving around has diminished then its like it was prior to the tumor starting.  Does the scrotum look lopsided and like an empty hairy shopping bag? No, it actually looks like a cold scrotum and not as much like a pair of Grandad nuts.  These are the none medical terms of reference. Would I have a false testicle put in? I don't see the point at the moment.  The risk of infection and having to teach it to stay in place seems to outweigh the visual aspects. 

As a result of the left testicle not pulling his weight the consultant advised my GP that I would need a testosterone top up at some point.  Apparently lefty had been shirking his duties for many years since he dropped into place in my youth.  Righty had been picking up the slack.  We now had it confirmed that righty was the George Michael of the pair.  I was left with what is known as an 'Andrew Ridgely' testicle.  After reading this site I got some good tips on the type of testosterone transfer method to ask for and headed to my GP.  Injections are not my thing, and I tend to pass out so asked for the patches or the gel.  My GP, the one who had advised the tumor probably wasn't a tumor at first, was all to happy to oblige and get me some gel sachets. To be fair testicular cancer is not that common and I don't think he had come across it before and his medical training told him something different.

I readily applied the first sachet of gel after carefully reading the instructions.  I needs to be applied to set areas of the body and then allowed to rest on the skin for six hours before washing. I also took careful note of the bold paragraph saying that the use of testosterone might well make me fail anti doping tests in professional athletics.  The chances of me getting a debut at The City Ground for Nottingham Forest was/is very doubtful at my age, and combined with my lack of skill.  But I thought better safe then sorry and should mention it when I get the call up.  Within an hour of the gel applying my muscles stopped aching and my hot sweats diminished.  All of a sudden I wasn't lethargic and a grump, I was full of beans and yip yapping to my partner.  It was then her turn to feel a bit down as I wanted plenty of conversation about what was going on at her work and for once being really really interested. One persons ying is another persons yang.

So after saying good by to the consultant in York I was to be referred to Leeds NHS to follow my right testicle.  

Anonymous
  • FormerMember
    FormerMember

    That is a great piece of writing! Kept me enthralled and also you managed to make it light hearted in parts.....I am sure it wasn't! Hoping the testosterone continues to improve your life (!) and your right testicle steps up to the mark!

    Very best wishes

    Julie

  • FormerMember
    FormerMember

    Julie

    Thanks. I find the whole process of cancer treatment and writing blogs so alien and new to me. Hope all is well with you and best of wishes to you.

    Pip pip

    Mark