We get home and I feel like I can't bend at the waist. Surprisingly, the place I hurt the most isn't the neighborhood that the "boy" was removed from, it's my waist. For those that don't know, to cut down on the chances of the cancer spreading, a four inch (all though if feels more like a foot) incision is made around the waist line so that they can take the boy and all of his plumbing without the chance of introducing any air into the "neighborhood". Unfortunately people with such...um...strong stomachs like me, you know that kinda pooch out from the massive belly muscles I have developed through years of inactivity, it sorta makes elastic waistbands slide right down to the incision. The irritation on the incision is bad enough, but there is also the rubbing on all the stubble from the shaving that they did. I am not sure what they were doing, but I thank God that they didn't slice everywhere that they shaved or I wouldn't recover until 2012. I think gender reassignment requires less shaving than I received.
The whole car ride home, I am holding ice on the bandage, while feeling every bump and every quick stop. We make it home and now the hard part, getting out of the car and up the stairs to the bed. Moving as fast as a snail with a broken foot, I finally get to the top of the stairs. At the side of the bed I see another problem. When you can't really bend at the waist, it is very difficult to transition from standing to laying. With my wife holding on to me I do a controlled, slow-motion fall back into the bed. Fresh ice, and a cold Pepsi, and I am happy and drift off into sleep. An hour later I wake up, my back and butt hurt from spending so much time on them, my waist hurts from the slice and dice, and yet the area of attention, still doesn't really hurt. I roll over, take a hydrocodone throw fresh ice on my bandage and the remaining boy, and repeat this process over the next several hours.
The funny thing about being on IVs so long, is that it pumps a lot of fluids into your body that eventually have to leave. So, at this point I am thinking about how I am going to transition from the horizontal to vertical position without bending at the waist. Unfortunately, I didn't think through this earlier, because I got in bed on my side, which leaves my right/operation side as the side that has to do all the initial work to get me out of bed, and that side of my body isn't really working right now. With my wife's help and some moves that would have landed us on the Chinese gymnastics team, we manage to get me upright, and immediately decided I will be sleeping on the other side of the bed for a while.
Peeing was a chore in itself. I have to steady my drugged, wobbly body, keeping my waistband far away from all recently operated on parts, while standing upright and hitting the toilet. I didn't fall down in my first attempt, but I did manage to pee right down the front of my boxer shorts. I change shorts and decide to sit in the recliner. It felt great doing the gentle transition to horizontal...until it was time to get up. Again, something I should have thought about earlier, the handle is on my right side (the arm I can't really use) and at the same time, I have to push down the front with my feet (something else I can't really do). In another move that would win my wife a gymnastics medal, she manages to pull up on the handle while simultaneously pushing down on the front of the recliner. I am relieved until I realize, I still need to try to stand up, all without letting the recliner recline again.
The next few days are a constant challenge of trying to remember not to lift ten pounds (you get a very painful reminder if you forget), attempting to do everyday things that are extremely challenging, constantly icing down my incision and my remaining ball, taking narcotics, and walking around like a geriatric pimp. At least I am walking around like I would assume a geriatric pimp would walk around. I am hunched over, limping with one leg, wildly swinging one arm. Looking like I am trying to strut my swagger while having a grand mal seizure.
The constant phone calls wishing me well are a welcome diversion, while having my privates turn purple from the bruising and swelling aren't. And then there is the ever present side effect of narcotics. Constipation. As someone, with irritable bowel, that is rarely a malady I concern myself with. However, I realize I haven't had that urge for a while now. And I know that there is a batter on deck, I just can't figure out how to get him to the plate without being able to push him towards the...um..."on deck circle", because every time I try to give a little nudge, it feels like I am ripping my stitches loose. The next day or two involves weening myself off of the medications that keep me from going to the bathroom every five minutes along with eating and drinking all the good fatty foods that usually induce toilet lifting, propulsive diarrhea. It's funny how having cancer makes you appreciate all the little victories in life. Leaving skid marks in the toilet made me feel like I had just beat all the Kenyans in the Boston Marathon.
However the hardest part of cancer is still the waiting. I am waiting to hear what kind of testicular cancer we dug out of me. I am waiting to hear what my next treatment is. I am waiting to hear how much I can lift now. I am just waiting. Tomorrow, I will talk about some of the answers I did get and some that I am still waiting for.
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