Today was my scan and my urologist appointment. Two things I wouldn't necessarily say I was looking forward to, but I was anxious to get them out of the way.
With the foretold doom and gloom from the purveyors of precipitation prediction, I left the house a half an hour early and with all the inclement weather...I ended up at my doctor's office an hour early. I am not sure where I drove through a time shifting wormhole, I think I should have taken a left turn at Albuquerque, but whatever the reason, I suddenly had an hour to kill. Luckily my scan orders weren't for any specific time and the hospital was less than a mile from the urologist office. I thought an hour would be more than enough time to get irradiated. I forgot, however, about hospital bureaucracy. After all the red tape and going to this desk, then that one, then the other one, I flew into my urologist's office with less than five minutes to spare. I don't get the scan results until I talk to my oncologist next Friday, but the lady didn't have the "Oh, crap!" look on her face when she looked at them that the nurse that did my ultrasound had on her face when they found the cancer. I am taking that as a good sign.
While signing in at the urologist's office, the receptionist was asking the usual litany of questions, among them was if I had a procedure done. I wasn't sure what she meant or why she was asking (maybe it looked like I had lost weight in the groinal area) so I said I had the one procedure in September. She responded by asking if that was the only procedure. I stated that I only had one left, so there wasn't too many more procedures he could do.
I go back to the exam room and tell the doctor of the problems I have been having. First he discussed the results of my testosterone level test. He said I am at the bottom end of normal, which isn't bad considering I have only half of the production facilities. Next, he looked at the area that my general practitioner had suspected that a stitch trying to push its way out. He grabbed a package containing some fierce looking tweezers, and digging around down there, pulled out a stitch! It was like a magic trick...that hurts and bleeds a little. Next we addressed the thorn in my side ever since the operation (figuratively and literally). He came up with two scenarios. Option one is that I could have scar tissue that is constantly building up, and for some reason the walking is breaking it apart causing the pain. I am still not sure I understand that explanation, which is probably why he gave it to me to shut me up and get me to quit whining. The other thing that could be happening is that my stitches are dissolving. Apparently they dissolve at different speeds in different bodies, and the fact that he pulled one out of me today is evidence that they haven't dissolved completely yet. He says as these stitches are starting to dissolve they get weaker and break, which could be that "popping" feeling I have been experiencing. The only solution he had for me was an "abdominal brace" to use just when I plan on doing a lot of walking, since every time it has let loose, I have been doing a lot of walking.
So I went to Wal-Mart, which in itself is a lot of walking, and found their assortment of braces and supports. Most focus on the back, but I did find an abdominal one under a pile of dust. It basically looks like a back brace that has been slid around to the front and had $10 added on to the price tag. I haven't really walked with it yet, since I was already hurting pretty bad from walking around trying to find it, but I did try it on. Basically, you strap on this elastic and velcro thing fairly snugly. Then, there is a ring that you pull and through a complex series of cables, pulleys, and winches in the back, it supplies the added support. I must say, just from walking around a little bit to test it tonight, it feels really good. I am just fortunate that this is happening in the winter, where I have heavy jackets to cover up this contraption! My wife says is looks like some S & M mechanism. I will admit I am not that up on S & M paraphernalia, so I guess I have some research to do the next time I can't sleep.
There is one final bit that I have left out about today. The urologist discussed the last test I took and I will admit, it has me more than a little bummed, even on the verge of depressed. When I went to read my dirty magazines, the nurse called and said I didn't have many swimmers, but I had swimmers. I specifically remember asking her, if they were good swimmers and she said they were. Today, I found out that was not the case. I don't have many swimmers, and a good portion of the ones I do have are not very good ones. I don't remember the exact term he used, I just know as he was describing them, I am thinking of little sperm swimming in neverending circles, a few ramming repeatedly into random objects, and other sperm just wiggling around aimlessly screaming "I want a juice box!". The good news is that I am producing the little guys so the chemo didn't shut down the factory. However, it appears that the factory hasn't yet been retooled after the chemo (pun intended), and that I haven't completely gotten rid of the affected guys yet. It can take as long as seventy two days for the little guys to regenerate, so he wants me to wait another three months, and test again. And I am definitely NOT supposed to try to have kids in the mean time.
First of all, I know this wasn't a big setback. We have frozen guys, and it isn't out of the ordinary at all for the little guys to be affected like this. When the factory starts pumping out quality product again, the baby making attempts can resume. What I will admit was absolutely devastating to me today was that two weeks ago the nurse told me I was good to go. When you hear so much bad news, the good news really lifts you up, and to get told today that what the nurse told me was incorrect seemed like it knocked me down lower than I was before. I know it shouldn't bother me. It is a minor set back. But it is bothering me. A lot. Four months from now, I should be able to move on with our plans for baby making. It is just that I thought I had a bulk of this cancer crap behind me, and today I get told I have this Klingon that won't get off my butt.
Trying to always find the bright side in everything, I admit it was kind of tough today. I was just blindsided by that news. The one thing that kept me from really getting down in the dumps was I had told my good buddy Willie before today that I would stop by his house that is within a mile of my doctor's office. As usual, Willie cheered me up with random fire department stories and tales of the latest thing he hid from his wife and got busted on. It worked out well that I saw him within five minutes of the news today. I guess one of the few bright spots is by May, there should be some new magazines in the jerkatorium for my next test.
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