"Yeah, it's cancer..."

From Tuesday to Friday, seemed to take an eternity.  I think the hardest part of this whole ordeal is the constant waiting to hear bad news.  My wife and I show up at our appointment Friday morning with no idea what to expect.  I was even trying to read the nurses face at the ultrasound for some clue of what to expect today.
My regular family doctor has obsessive compulsive disorder, so you had better be on time for his appointments. He is religious about keeping his schedule and guess we got a little spoiled by that.  We are in the waiting room for forty five minutes which seems like a very sadistic way to find out if you have cancer or not.  If this were a TV show, it would be a cross between Regis Philbin's Who Wants To Be a Millionaire and Maury.  You sit there with tunnel vision just waiting for the results and to hear if you are a winner.  You sit there surrounded by literature about all of the worst maladies to ever affect the human urinary tract, so for the whole forty five minutes, you can't think of anything but what you may or may not hear.
I have already accepted my fate in one aspect.  Something is growing in my testicle and from what I have read, that is not normal, be it cancer or alien baby (and I don't recall being abducted, but then again, that is how they do it, you don't remember).  So, I am fully prepared to hear that we will probably remove the testicle.  It is just the "why" that is killing me.  My wife is surprisingly strong, maybe too strong.  I want her to be strong, but I would also like to see her just a tad bit upset.  You know a reminder that she cares, that kinda thing.
After peeing into a cup for what seems like the 32nd time, we go back to the examination room.  The nurse takes my "vitals" and notes, "Your blood pressure and pulse are considerably higher than the last time you were in here."  My wife and I both have some nervous laughter as I say, "That's because I am anxious about what I will hear today."  The whole thing seemed so unreal.  From Tuesday until Friday, all I can think about is:  Do I have cancer?  Will I have surgery?  I need a haircut, am I just wasting my money if I am getting chemo?  Will I be able to have kids?  Should I buy special underwear?  Of course my blood pressure is going to be up, what a stupid statement!!!  My vitals were up before the forty-five minute wait in the urology torture chamber, it's really up now!
The doctor comes in, and immediately tells me to "hop up there let's examine you again".  Now, I know I am there about my balls, but you don't want to be the guy that drops his pants every time the doctor walks in, just in case one of those times he is just listening to your heart.  Plus, he has windows with just the middle part blocked.  Now I can see outside whether I am standing or sitting, so I am pretty sure, people can see my junk at one point.  But I guess the thought behind the shades, is people outside will never be able to see your junk and your face at the same time, and that is supposed to make you feel more secure.
So, he confirms that I am supposed to jump on the exam table sans pants.  I pull them down, he feels the spot on my testicle once again.  Then starts explaining where we are going to cut, what he is taking out, how long I will be in bed, how much ice I will need...a lot of things except the one thing we were there to hear.
As he starts to push us out of the office I ask, "So, is it cancer?"  He responds with a nonchalant "Yeah, it's cancer."  I am sure glad he broke it to me easy like that.
The other thing I was not at all prepared for was his pause at the door.  He remembers that I told him I didn't have kids.  He says although I should still be able to have kids, I should probably make a "deposit" at the "bank" just in case.
We leave the office stunned.  I find out my surgery is less that a week away.  I have realized, I can deal with all of this news, it is just hard for me to talk about.  We get to the car, my wife is frantically calling both of our families, her work, and everyone else that needs to know, all while trying to talk so I can't hear.  I am thumbing away on my phone sending e-mails to my friends.  Part of me hates people worrying about my medical problems, but there is a bigger part that really needs all the support I can get right now.
Among the calls we make, one is to the sperm bank that tells me to stop by in a couple of hours to make the transaction.  I think that is where I will leave it for today.  Tomorrow's blog will talk about the next few days and answer all those questions you have always wanted to know about sperm banks and also address how you get in the mood when you are told just a couple hours earlier that you have cancer and are loosing a testicle.  I know you all can't wait.