“You have testicular cancer…”

A little about me.  About twelve years ago, I was diagnosed with Barrett's Esophagus.  My surgeon told me to have the damage I had at such a young age, I would almost certainly develop esophageal cancer at some point in my life.  However, if I do what the doctors say (get regular scopes, don't drink, smoke, or cook meth, etc.) it shouldn't be a big deal.  We would catch it early, cut it out, I would get a lollipop and be on my way.

In my presurgery check up to fix some of my esophageal problems, they noticed I had a hydrocele.  For those not familiar with scrotal anomalies, a hydrocele is a fluid filled little gooey thing that sometimes hangs with the boys, technically speaking.  I am still not sure why stomach/esophagus surgery involved a resident student getting to third base with me, but I am kinda glad it did (more on that in a second).  They sent me to a urologist to have an ultrasound done to make sure it was only a hydrocele and I was taught how to do self exams, because hydrocele can sometimes hide more serious problems.

Fast forward twelve years.  I have come to terms with the threat of esophageal cancer and am prepared to hear that after every scope.  Thank God I have not had to hear that yet, in fact I am still holding at the very early stages of Barrett's.  While doing a self exam (honestly I was NOT playing with the boys...much) I found something that didn't feel quite right.  Knowing the risks, I decided the best thing to do would be to wait and see if it went away.  A month later, when it still hadn't gone away, I decided the best thing to do, would be read on the internet on what it may be.  After reading it could be something serious, I decided to give the doctors a crack at it.

I think I knew in the back of my mind what it was that morning.  The doc said he wanted to see me right away, and as I was getting ready in the shower I found myself crying.  I didn't tell anyone what I was doing or where I was going, certain that the doctor would tell me it was nothing and third base would cost me and my insurance company $125.  They sent a nurse practitioner to check me out first.  Yeah, I was hoping it was a chick too, because they had a name like "Stacey" and after all, nurses are always chicks, right?  (Even though I know more male nurses than female nurses)

Well, it was a male nurse that made me drop trou and started feeling me up.  He didn't seem to enjoy his job at all, and to be honest, I wasn't getting much from it either.  This was the point where I was glad they found my hydrocele earlier and taught me how to properly do a self exam (not to be confused with self exploration).  The nurse said "that's just your hydrocele, it's nothing to worry about".  I argued that I wasn't talking about the hydrocele and I got that you-just-want-me-to-feel-you-up-again look.  He felt where I was talking about and his demeanor completely changed.  He asked if I had a history of testicular cancer in my family and I felt like I was punched in the face.  He called in the doctor who immediately told me he suspected it was cancer, another punch in the face, and ordered me to immediately go to have a bunch of tests done.  (I was felt up twice in one day, from what the media tells us, that is what junior high school is like nowadays.)

Keep in mind, no one knows I am going through this at this point.  Calling my wife and family at work wouldn't have helped anyone.  So, after having the This Is How We Remove a Testicle Talk, I drive on the verge of tears with no one to talk to on the way to the next set of tests.  I arrive for the ultrasound with a bevy of fresh out of nursing school beauties to greet me.  Let's face it, I haven't had a chance to show girls that hot my "junk" since that awkward moment in high school at the public pool.  One blond beauty checks me in, another hot young thing calls me back, Pamela Anderson's younger hotter sister takes my vitals, and then a lady two days from retirement walks in and tells me to strip them off and lay down.  So, twenty disappointment filled minutes later, I finish the last of my ordered test and head home in a daze.

At 4pm, I arrive home thinking I have been on the verge of tears all day, I should probably write everything down for my wife, because I don't know that I can tell her verbally.  Having developed hypoglycemia from my stomach/esophagus surgery twelve years ago, I ate lunch four hours late and the teary feeling seemed to subside (low blood sugar can make you emotional).  Confident that I, being a man, can now tell my wife in a very manly way that I may have cancer and I may being losing a testicle, I run through what I will say when she comes home.

My wife walks through the door, knowing that there was "something I needed to tell" her when she came home.  She sat down next to me on the couch, asked what was wrong and I very calmly and deliberately blubbered on like a little baby.  Not able to make out what I am trying to say, she then sees the mark on my hand from the blood tests and starts to freak out herself, especially since she had no idea I even planned on going to the doctor that day.  In a moment of genius, since I can't talk, I show her the receipt from the urologist (which doesn't say anything really) which really just made the whole situation even more confusing.  I finally manage through Charades, Pictionary, and pantomime manage to point to the urology receipt, say "cancer", point to my crotch, and say "maybe".  A few minutes and several Kleenexes later, I relay the events of the day to her and told her we would find out more on Friday.

Which brings us to the end of the day's blog.  What will happen next?  Does Tom have testicular cancer?  If he doesn't have testicular cancer why did he lie on his profile?  Tune in tomorrow to find out what happened on Friday...