One of the things many people worry about as they undergo treatment for testicular cancer is how will this affect them afterwards? Well, I finally received my answer.
One thing I was worried about was testosterone levels. One of my nurse friends said it would be good to have lower testosterone levels because it would decrease my future cancer risks. However, commercials are constantly pointing out how my becoming a fat, lazy slob as I get older has nothing to do with me being a fat lazy slob, but low testosterone (that they would be able to fix). Feeling like I was in a "damned if I do..." position I asked my urologist about it. I was told that high testosterone doesn't increase the chance of prostate cancer, but it makes it grow faster if you do get it. And low testosterone may make you more inclined to be a fat, lazy slob, but it doesn't really cause any health problems on its own (being a fat, lazy slob does though). Worried that my levels would be half, he told me how most duplicated organs aren't working 100% all the time anyway. That is why people with one lung or kidney can still function, because the remaining one turns it up a little. After going through a bunch more explanation in doctor talk which I kinda blanked out on, we decided to test my testosterone and the results came back that I was at normal levels. So, I have to blame being a fat, lazy slob on something else...like the lack of global warming in my area making it too cold to go outside.
Recently, my wife went to her "female doctor" and somehow came home with an appointment for me! I get enough doctors' appointments scheduled on my own without having to do someone else's homework too. Anyway, I was told to go back to the Jerkatorium (official doctor lingo for a sperm bank) and see what my levels were, just in case we ever want to have another kid, which I am told we aren't having, but do this just in case we change our minds one day, which isn't up to me anyway, and it is always a woman's prerogative to change her mind so I should just keep my mouth shut...or something like that. I will spare you the details of the inner workings of the Jerkatorium, because I have previously written about that. But what I did find disturbing this time was the addition to the "library" of DVD "aids". While carefully pushing them around trying my best not to actually touch anything in there, (because after all I know what people do in that room because I was about to do it) I noticed most of the DVD cases were empty. I wish I could immediately decontaminate everything I am wearing as soon as I leave that room, so it certainly would never cross my mind that I should grab a integral part of the functioning of this room and bring it home with me. Ewww! Anyway, we will just fast forward to the results. That came back saying I was normal too! Not normal for a testicular cancer survivor, but normal for a normal person...assuming normal people go into a room, look at dirty magazines, leave their business on the counter, and occasionally steal DVDs.
So the moral of the story is, don't steal from the Jerkatorium because you DO know where that stuff has been....NOOO, that's not the moral of the story! The moral is, not only is testicular cancer a very survivable cancer, but you can regain your normal life back. You won't be half a man. You can still have normal levels of testosterone and swimmers, and even if your tests results don't come back normal, you can easily fix the testosterone levels, and if you froze your swimmers like I did before surgery, you can still have children or use it for disgusting pranks to put on YouTube and none of your friends will ever eat or drink anything at your house again.
And there are even some positives of being part of the One Nut Club! I will close with this Top 10 List:
Top 10 Benefits of Only Having One Testicle
10 You only have to manscape half as much (if you are a manscaper).
9 When you test your levels, you health insurance company is actually paying for you to look at porn!
8 You have more room in your underwear.
7 Not as much to get sweaty down there.
6 People are afraid to use the phrase "Don't go off half cocked" around you.
5 When it is really cold out you can say "I am freezing my ball off!"
4 When your toddler is flailing around like a twerking jellyfish, your chances of getting hit in the nuts just dropped by 50% (anecdotal evidence).
3 Your self exams are done in half the time. Don't forget to do them!
2 You can make the comment "I would give my right (or left) nut for ______" then you could offer to go get it from the surgeon.
1 When you wear Speedos you only have to worry about stuff slipping out on one side.
Showing posts with label sperm bank. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sperm bank. Show all posts
Friday, March 29, 2013
Monday, June 18, 2012
My First Father's Day
Well if you weren't able to guess already, we were able to get pregnant. The swimmers we had frozen before I had chemo apparently thawed out just fine. However, my "friends" (and I use that term rather loosely) were quick to point out that they could have given me any sample and I wouldn't know the difference until the baby comes out. After all, you go the the "bank" they give you just a regular insulated coffee mug with a little test tube inside with your name on it. It seems like for as much as we paid for me to look at their dirty magazines and practice a little self abuse, they would come up with something a little nicer than some cheap looking insulated coffee mug like you get at trade shows for free from vendors you never heard of.
We were actually visiting at my parents' house when we found out the swimmers reached their target. My parents were overjoyed, which is surprising because people normally have totally different reactions if somebody shoves a urine soaked stick in their face. It was at this point that it dawned on me that I don't know nothing about birthing no babies. The coming months were filled with me cramming my head with everything from how to change diapers to how every single thing your child touches, eats, sees, smells, and hears will do irreparable damage to it and make you a bad parent. So, I will admit, I am one of those parents who is double checking every little thing that comes near my child to make sure it has passed a thirty-four step inspection.
The other thing I didn't know about babies, was apparently you need approximately 43,560 square feet to hold all the items that your new baby will absolutely not be able to live without, use once, then outgrow, and need to be stored for any future babies. And while we are discussing things I didn't know, when you are buying stuff for a new baby, everything made previous to the point that you arrived at the cash register at the baby store, is very dangerous and should be burned and the ashes locked in a safe and the safe thrown in the ocean (safes are located in Aisle 4 and you don't want to get a used safe). Personally, I think the baby industry (and there is definitely a baby industry) and the Consumer Product Safety Commission get together twice a week to declare everything that babies had before now, is harmful and must not be used under any conditions. Which makes perfect sense, otherwise all those cribs, highchairs, and bottles we all grew up on, and apparently survived, would still be in use today, meaning we would not need to buy new ones. When you tell people you are going out to purchase said new products many older people (i.e. people that bought baby products last year) will say "you can just borrow mine" and you respond "they (whoever that is made up of) say that is unsafe now" and the response is "well it never hurt (insert name here)".
We went through all of the doctors' appointments where you listen to sounds that mimic a cow trotting through mud and pictures that look more like a black and white radar scan of an approaching cold front than any sort of mammal, but yet you still get choked up and excited. And then there is the time that you stare at the screen, trying to see if the jet stream is going to cause a Nor'Easter when the nurse looks at you and smiles and says that "jet stream" is actually a penis. Oh the feeling that goes through a future dad when he first sees his son's jet stream. Already I was thinking of all of the tools I would be buying him and all of the time we would spend working on cars together (although, that probably would have been the case if we were having a girl too).
I will admit, as the big day approached I got more scanxiety even if a scan wasn't imminent. I had waited so long for a child that I was so paranoid something bad would happen before I would be able to meet him. And let's face it, less than a year before, I had lost my job, got cancer, and we had a miscarriage in a matter of a couple of months, so I am not unfamiliar with bad luck. But after a lot of anxiousness and praying we finally were told to check into the hospital.
For anyone unfamiliar with labor, I will try to explain what happens. You rush to the hospital where your wife seems to be in a lot of pain and there is a lot going on, but on the outside nothing really seems to be happening. While all this is going on, every single person that is on your hospital floor will walk into your room, shove his or her hand underneath your wife's gown and loudly shout out a random measurement ("6 cm!", "80%!!", "10/6!", "less than 12 parsecs!!"). I think even the kid that delivered our food shouted out "THX1138!" before she left. All I know about these random numbers and measurements was the baby was still bigger than that. So, after close to a day of "labor" that only seemed to produce an exhausted wife and goop that I wasn't sure was pre-baby goop or left over lube from the constant measuring, the doctor gets down and looks like she is trying loosen an oil filter on a Honda and says,"Well, he's not going to fit, but you can still push for another hour if you want." Although I liked our doctors there, that has to be one of the dumbest statements I have ever heard in my life! As you can imagine, my wife was over the whole push-measure-push-lube-push-measure-measure-measure-push routine. So it was off to surgery.
I walk into the operating room after they had prepped my wife and I see her laid out on a table, tubes here and there, a curtain, and a line drawn across her stomach. The doctor said, "You can stand here on this side of the curtain as we cut or..." I don't remember anything after the "or" because I really didn't care what was on the other side of the curtain as long as I was on that side of it. I was even more glad I had chose that side after the procedure started. I don't know what they were doing on their side of the curtain, but on my side of the curtain my wife was being pushed and shoved around on the table like she was the little girl from the Exorcist (minus the head spinning around). Finally the shaking stopped and they walked around the side of the curtain with...a purple baby. The comments my "friends" made about switched samples are running through my head and I search my memory for any purple family members (although there was that one distant aunt...), but after a quick wipe down he became the most beautiful, non-purple baby I have ever seen. Any doubts of grabbing the wrong coffee mug at the sperm bank, were gone for good when one pediatrician at the hospital told us that our new baby was tongue-tied and this would lead to a lifetime of speech impediments, difficulty eating, crossed eyes, sloppy trumpet playing, inability to make friends, receding hairline...basically he was going to turn out like Quasimodo without the musical ability. This caused a huge smile on my wife's face and mine. Not because we wanted my son subjected to a lifetime of being a social pariah, but because I am tongue-tied and although sometimes I may have the problems the doctor foretold, it is not from being tongue-tied. It was like a little sign from God saying "See, now you know for sure he is your son."
In fact, I think every single part of that experience was a blessing. I used to think Father's Day was just another holiday where you give people stuff (or realize you forgot to buy stuff to give to people until the last minute). But today I have had to hide my emotions as I played with my son, thinking about how much happened to get him here and how hard I am going to fight to be around as he grows up. And one last thing on being a father after having testicular cancer/chemo, the procedures and processes involved in making this happen are very expensive. I had contacted Livestrong during our efforts and received a long list of organizations willing to help make our miracle happen, many of them offering their services for free. The earlier you contact these organizations the better, as many want to help from the very start. Luckily for us, we were able to have our miracle without needing to use these organizations. But, we are keeping all of the doctors' bills to show him anytime he asks for anything expensive.
We were actually visiting at my parents' house when we found out the swimmers reached their target. My parents were overjoyed, which is surprising because people normally have totally different reactions if somebody shoves a urine soaked stick in their face. It was at this point that it dawned on me that I don't know nothing about birthing no babies. The coming months were filled with me cramming my head with everything from how to change diapers to how every single thing your child touches, eats, sees, smells, and hears will do irreparable damage to it and make you a bad parent. So, I will admit, I am one of those parents who is double checking every little thing that comes near my child to make sure it has passed a thirty-four step inspection.
The other thing I didn't know about babies, was apparently you need approximately 43,560 square feet to hold all the items that your new baby will absolutely not be able to live without, use once, then outgrow, and need to be stored for any future babies. And while we are discussing things I didn't know, when you are buying stuff for a new baby, everything made previous to the point that you arrived at the cash register at the baby store, is very dangerous and should be burned and the ashes locked in a safe and the safe thrown in the ocean (safes are located in Aisle 4 and you don't want to get a used safe). Personally, I think the baby industry (and there is definitely a baby industry) and the Consumer Product Safety Commission get together twice a week to declare everything that babies had before now, is harmful and must not be used under any conditions. Which makes perfect sense, otherwise all those cribs, highchairs, and bottles we all grew up on, and apparently survived, would still be in use today, meaning we would not need to buy new ones. When you tell people you are going out to purchase said new products many older people (i.e. people that bought baby products last year) will say "you can just borrow mine" and you respond "they (whoever that is made up of) say that is unsafe now" and the response is "well it never hurt (insert name here)".
We went through all of the doctors' appointments where you listen to sounds that mimic a cow trotting through mud and pictures that look more like a black and white radar scan of an approaching cold front than any sort of mammal, but yet you still get choked up and excited. And then there is the time that you stare at the screen, trying to see if the jet stream is going to cause a Nor'Easter when the nurse looks at you and smiles and says that "jet stream" is actually a penis. Oh the feeling that goes through a future dad when he first sees his son's jet stream. Already I was thinking of all of the tools I would be buying him and all of the time we would spend working on cars together (although, that probably would have been the case if we were having a girl too).
I will admit, as the big day approached I got more scanxiety even if a scan wasn't imminent. I had waited so long for a child that I was so paranoid something bad would happen before I would be able to meet him. And let's face it, less than a year before, I had lost my job, got cancer, and we had a miscarriage in a matter of a couple of months, so I am not unfamiliar with bad luck. But after a lot of anxiousness and praying we finally were told to check into the hospital.
For anyone unfamiliar with labor, I will try to explain what happens. You rush to the hospital where your wife seems to be in a lot of pain and there is a lot going on, but on the outside nothing really seems to be happening. While all this is going on, every single person that is on your hospital floor will walk into your room, shove his or her hand underneath your wife's gown and loudly shout out a random measurement ("6 cm!", "80%!!", "10/6!", "less than 12 parsecs!!"). I think even the kid that delivered our food shouted out "THX1138!" before she left. All I know about these random numbers and measurements was the baby was still bigger than that. So, after close to a day of "labor" that only seemed to produce an exhausted wife and goop that I wasn't sure was pre-baby goop or left over lube from the constant measuring, the doctor gets down and looks like she is trying loosen an oil filter on a Honda and says,"Well, he's not going to fit, but you can still push for another hour if you want." Although I liked our doctors there, that has to be one of the dumbest statements I have ever heard in my life! As you can imagine, my wife was over the whole push-measure-push-lube-push-measure-measure-measure-push routine. So it was off to surgery.
I walk into the operating room after they had prepped my wife and I see her laid out on a table, tubes here and there, a curtain, and a line drawn across her stomach. The doctor said, "You can stand here on this side of the curtain as we cut or..." I don't remember anything after the "or" because I really didn't care what was on the other side of the curtain as long as I was on that side of it. I was even more glad I had chose that side after the procedure started. I don't know what they were doing on their side of the curtain, but on my side of the curtain my wife was being pushed and shoved around on the table like she was the little girl from the Exorcist (minus the head spinning around). Finally the shaking stopped and they walked around the side of the curtain with...a purple baby. The comments my "friends" made about switched samples are running through my head and I search my memory for any purple family members (although there was that one distant aunt...), but after a quick wipe down he became the most beautiful, non-purple baby I have ever seen. Any doubts of grabbing the wrong coffee mug at the sperm bank, were gone for good when one pediatrician at the hospital told us that our new baby was tongue-tied and this would lead to a lifetime of speech impediments, difficulty eating, crossed eyes, sloppy trumpet playing, inability to make friends, receding hairline...basically he was going to turn out like Quasimodo without the musical ability. This caused a huge smile on my wife's face and mine. Not because we wanted my son subjected to a lifetime of being a social pariah, but because I am tongue-tied and although sometimes I may have the problems the doctor foretold, it is not from being tongue-tied. It was like a little sign from God saying "See, now you know for sure he is your son."
In fact, I think every single part of that experience was a blessing. I used to think Father's Day was just another holiday where you give people stuff (or realize you forgot to buy stuff to give to people until the last minute). But today I have had to hide my emotions as I played with my son, thinking about how much happened to get him here and how hard I am going to fight to be around as he grows up. And one last thing on being a father after having testicular cancer/chemo, the procedures and processes involved in making this happen are very expensive. I had contacted Livestrong during our efforts and received a long list of organizations willing to help make our miracle happen, many of them offering their services for free. The earlier you contact these organizations the better, as many want to help from the very start. Luckily for us, we were able to have our miracle without needing to use these organizations. But, we are keeping all of the doctors' bills to show him anytime he asks for anything expensive.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Hmmmm....Livestrong Does More Than Make Bracelets
As we wait for my "junk" to wake up after chemo (or what's left of it after surgery), our doctor has mentioned all the possibilities we have for getting pregnant. Many of those possibilities cost a lot of money.
Before my cancer support group the other day, another woman and myself were both sporting our Livestrong bracelets, and talking about upcoming Livestrong events before the meeting started. This lead into a conversation about Lance Armstrong and the Tour de France. After the meeting started, when it was my turn to discuss things with the group, I asked if anyone knew of any foundations that would help pay for fertility treatments for testicular cancer patients. Then someone asked me something so obvious, I felt absolutely stupid for not thinking of it myself. She said, "Have you called Livestrong?" I hadn't. I hadn't thought to call the foundation started by a guy who had testicular cancer and had fertility problems and successfully fathered children since his treatment. Why would I think to call that guy?!?! Did I mention I felt stupid?
So, first thing the next day I called Livestrong and talked to a really nice young lady who sounded like she was about twelve years old. I am hoping she was twelve years old, because she gave me names of several places that offer help for people in my situation, and all those names were wrong, and if she were twelve I could say "she got the names wrong, but she's only twelve, what do you expect?" HOWEVER, they were just barely wrong, so I was able to type them into Livestrong's website and get the correct names for the foundations I was looking for. Now back to the twelve year old, I am pretty sure she wasn't twelve (unless Texas doesn't have child labor laws), but nevertheless, do you realize how awkward it is talking about testicular cancer and fertility issues to someone on the phone that sounds like a twelve year old girl? I expected Chris Hansen to get on the phone about halfway through the conversation and ask me what I was doing.
So, after figuring out the correct foundations, I started researching them. Some of them had requirements that I qualified for and others I didn't qualify for. One in particular I think was all talk. They would pay for everything provided you filled out your application after getting diagnosed and prior to any treatment and you had to wait until you heard back from them before you proceeded, but then they would pay for everything! Of course they will pay for everything, because they know there is absolutely no chance anyone will do that. Your mind is going a million miles an hour once you have been diagnosed, the last thing you are thinking of is looking up foundations and filling out applications. Here is a timeline, I got preliminarily diagnosed on a Tuesday, confirmed that Friday, was told to immediately go make a "deposit" at the "bank" followed by another on that Monday, and have my surgery Thursday. That left literally a two hour window between my official diagnosis (which you need for the application) and the deposit to fill out the application, send it off, and wait for a reply. Yeah, I am sure they give out tons of cash. (That is sarcasm by the way.) But I am also sure that company is telling everyone about this great program they have.
One of the more promising leads is a hospital. that I am all too familiar with, will do in vitro for free (if it comes to that) for testicular cancer patients in my situation (poor). They have very little requirements, like you have to make less that $75,000, which I just barely squeaked under that requirement by about $70,000. I love this hospital and would be happy to work with them, although admittedly, most of the time I am there I am on my back and unconscious. But from what I remember about my visits there, they are good.
A question that frequently comes up when I mention in vitro is "Does that mean you guys will be like the Octomom?" In our doctor's conversations about in vitro, not once has she mentioned the word "litter". I don't think I need a bunch of kids at once, because not being a sports person I am not trying to make a "team". Although being a fan of music, a power trio might be nice. We are still hopeful though that the other tricks our doctor is having us do will work, including my junk working right again at some point.
So as we approach another set of fertility appointments, I am getting anxious to hear what the next step will be. Do you remember the old flea circuses on cartoons and stuff? I feel like my swimmers are having to do a sperm circus, because they are constantly washing them and counting them and freezing them and thawing them and who knows what else. All I know, is the toughest thing I have had to do so far is look at dirty magazines. Wait until we have a kid and I tell them all the hardships I went through to create them. I am sure they will want to hear it.
Before my cancer support group the other day, another woman and myself were both sporting our Livestrong bracelets, and talking about upcoming Livestrong events before the meeting started. This lead into a conversation about Lance Armstrong and the Tour de France. After the meeting started, when it was my turn to discuss things with the group, I asked if anyone knew of any foundations that would help pay for fertility treatments for testicular cancer patients. Then someone asked me something so obvious, I felt absolutely stupid for not thinking of it myself. She said, "Have you called Livestrong?" I hadn't. I hadn't thought to call the foundation started by a guy who had testicular cancer and had fertility problems and successfully fathered children since his treatment. Why would I think to call that guy?!?! Did I mention I felt stupid?
So, first thing the next day I called Livestrong and talked to a really nice young lady who sounded like she was about twelve years old. I am hoping she was twelve years old, because she gave me names of several places that offer help for people in my situation, and all those names were wrong, and if she were twelve I could say "she got the names wrong, but she's only twelve, what do you expect?" HOWEVER, they were just barely wrong, so I was able to type them into Livestrong's website and get the correct names for the foundations I was looking for. Now back to the twelve year old, I am pretty sure she wasn't twelve (unless Texas doesn't have child labor laws), but nevertheless, do you realize how awkward it is talking about testicular cancer and fertility issues to someone on the phone that sounds like a twelve year old girl? I expected Chris Hansen to get on the phone about halfway through the conversation and ask me what I was doing.
So, after figuring out the correct foundations, I started researching them. Some of them had requirements that I qualified for and others I didn't qualify for. One in particular I think was all talk. They would pay for everything provided you filled out your application after getting diagnosed and prior to any treatment and you had to wait until you heard back from them before you proceeded, but then they would pay for everything! Of course they will pay for everything, because they know there is absolutely no chance anyone will do that. Your mind is going a million miles an hour once you have been diagnosed, the last thing you are thinking of is looking up foundations and filling out applications. Here is a timeline, I got preliminarily diagnosed on a Tuesday, confirmed that Friday, was told to immediately go make a "deposit" at the "bank" followed by another on that Monday, and have my surgery Thursday. That left literally a two hour window between my official diagnosis (which you need for the application) and the deposit to fill out the application, send it off, and wait for a reply. Yeah, I am sure they give out tons of cash. (That is sarcasm by the way.) But I am also sure that company is telling everyone about this great program they have.
One of the more promising leads is a hospital. that I am all too familiar with, will do in vitro for free (if it comes to that) for testicular cancer patients in my situation (poor). They have very little requirements, like you have to make less that $75,000, which I just barely squeaked under that requirement by about $70,000. I love this hospital and would be happy to work with them, although admittedly, most of the time I am there I am on my back and unconscious. But from what I remember about my visits there, they are good.
A question that frequently comes up when I mention in vitro is "Does that mean you guys will be like the Octomom?" In our doctor's conversations about in vitro, not once has she mentioned the word "litter". I don't think I need a bunch of kids at once, because not being a sports person I am not trying to make a "team". Although being a fan of music, a power trio might be nice. We are still hopeful though that the other tricks our doctor is having us do will work, including my junk working right again at some point.
So as we approach another set of fertility appointments, I am getting anxious to hear what the next step will be. Do you remember the old flea circuses on cartoons and stuff? I feel like my swimmers are having to do a sperm circus, because they are constantly washing them and counting them and freezing them and thawing them and who knows what else. All I know, is the toughest thing I have had to do so far is look at dirty magazines. Wait until we have a kid and I tell them all the hardships I went through to create them. I am sure they will want to hear it.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Apparently, My Swimmers Should Stay In The Shallow End...
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Cancer Done, Let The Testing Begin!
After having the tumor removed and making through chemotherapy, it is all over but the testing, lots and lots of testing. Today was hopefully the last of one of the weirder set of tests I had to endure. Today I had to see if, well, um, I still have swimmers.
They make a big deal out of telling you that you may be sterile after chemo. But then they tell you dozens of stories of people who have fathered children after having this particular chemo (people like Lance Armstrong). And I have heard lots of anecdotal evidence from people as well that have fathered children after chemo. Today's test will tell me if I can be one of those people. I am more than a little anxious about the results. It is not a big deal either way, we have some frozen guys, I am just a little concerned (without any scientific basis) about freezer burn smelling babies. Normally, I would be doing tons of internet research on the subject, like if you are sterile at first does it sometimes come back later on, and stuff like that. This time, I just want to hear my results, which are two days away...a long two days away. If I find out they are not swimming, then I will do research to see if they end up swimming later on. But right now, I am just hoping to hear good news.
While checking in, some insurance info had changed since I made my "deposit" at the "bank" before surgery. The nurse was asking me about my treatment and everything else, and I got a lot of "I'm sorry"s and "Oh, that's too bad"s and every time I explained why I didn't necessarily see them as a bad thing. I think things happen for a reason, and as cancer goes, or even life, I am doing better than a lot of other people. I can't complain. The nurse said, "You sure have a way of putting a positive spin on everything." Really? What am I supposed to do? I have said this before and I truly believe it, cancer is the one disease where attitude seems to really affect the prognosis. My prognosis never was that I was going to die or anything, but my treatment could have gone smoother too. But what good does it do to fret about it? For someone in the medical field to be surprised that I am happy to be a unemployed cancer patient/survivor just shows that she doesn't comprehend how much better that is than being a victim of cancer. I don't know why, but for some reason the whole exchange with her kind of bothered me. About the only thing that was going to get my mind off of it was to look at a bunch of porn. As luck would have it, she took me to a room to do just that!
This being my third visit, I felt like an old pro. The bad thing is, it is the same "educational magazines" and "documentaries" as the other two times. And someone really needs to learn some etiquette on magazine care and maintenance. I don't remember the centerfolds being wadded up and shoved in the magazines last time I was in there, so I am assuming it was one guy who was in a real hurry with all of the centerfolds. And who rips pages out of a magazine at the sperm bank?!?! I mean, we all know what people are doing with those magazines. They pretty much have that same purpose in the real world, but in this environment, that activity is their sole purpose. I don't even like touching them to turn the pages (well, the pages you can turn) much less rip out a page and take it home with me? And how do you get it home? Are you going to walk through a hospital annex proudly waving your latest art acquisition? Are you going to fold it up to hide it? Won't the creases ruin it much like they ruined all the centerfolds? And while I am on the subject of this type of material, I have never really been a connoisseur of the films. Don't get me wrong, I have stumbled across the occasional one on Showtime or HBO late at night, but they are not near as in depth as these documentaries were. And while the documentaries were running it dawned on me that the "hardcore" documentaries are really just horrible. I am sure some people must appreciate them, but the one that was on the TV when I got in there today, didn't look like much fun for any of the parties involved, and there were an awful lot of parties involved.
At any rate, I was able to complete the test and after scrubbing all of the dirtiness off of me, walked out of the lab. As you leave the hospital grounds, you have the weird sense of guilt that you are certain that everyone knows what you just finished doing and they are looking down on you. I guess as far as tests go, it could have been worse. I will take this over a colonoscopy or CATscan any day (although I think I did see those in one of the videos there). I think other tests would be more tolerable if they provided dirty magazines. I think I will take a few to my chest X-ray in a couple of weeks. Maybe I should start slow and just bring a Paul Reed Smith Guitars catalog with me instead.
They make a big deal out of telling you that you may be sterile after chemo. But then they tell you dozens of stories of people who have fathered children after having this particular chemo (people like Lance Armstrong). And I have heard lots of anecdotal evidence from people as well that have fathered children after chemo. Today's test will tell me if I can be one of those people. I am more than a little anxious about the results. It is not a big deal either way, we have some frozen guys, I am just a little concerned (without any scientific basis) about freezer burn smelling babies. Normally, I would be doing tons of internet research on the subject, like if you are sterile at first does it sometimes come back later on, and stuff like that. This time, I just want to hear my results, which are two days away...a long two days away. If I find out they are not swimming, then I will do research to see if they end up swimming later on. But right now, I am just hoping to hear good news.
While checking in, some insurance info had changed since I made my "deposit" at the "bank" before surgery. The nurse was asking me about my treatment and everything else, and I got a lot of "I'm sorry"s and "Oh, that's too bad"s and every time I explained why I didn't necessarily see them as a bad thing. I think things happen for a reason, and as cancer goes, or even life, I am doing better than a lot of other people. I can't complain. The nurse said, "You sure have a way of putting a positive spin on everything." Really? What am I supposed to do? I have said this before and I truly believe it, cancer is the one disease where attitude seems to really affect the prognosis. My prognosis never was that I was going to die or anything, but my treatment could have gone smoother too. But what good does it do to fret about it? For someone in the medical field to be surprised that I am happy to be a unemployed cancer patient/survivor just shows that she doesn't comprehend how much better that is than being a victim of cancer. I don't know why, but for some reason the whole exchange with her kind of bothered me. About the only thing that was going to get my mind off of it was to look at a bunch of porn. As luck would have it, she took me to a room to do just that!
This being my third visit, I felt like an old pro. The bad thing is, it is the same "educational magazines" and "documentaries" as the other two times. And someone really needs to learn some etiquette on magazine care and maintenance. I don't remember the centerfolds being wadded up and shoved in the magazines last time I was in there, so I am assuming it was one guy who was in a real hurry with all of the centerfolds. And who rips pages out of a magazine at the sperm bank?!?! I mean, we all know what people are doing with those magazines. They pretty much have that same purpose in the real world, but in this environment, that activity is their sole purpose. I don't even like touching them to turn the pages (well, the pages you can turn) much less rip out a page and take it home with me? And how do you get it home? Are you going to walk through a hospital annex proudly waving your latest art acquisition? Are you going to fold it up to hide it? Won't the creases ruin it much like they ruined all the centerfolds? And while I am on the subject of this type of material, I have never really been a connoisseur of the films. Don't get me wrong, I have stumbled across the occasional one on Showtime or HBO late at night, but they are not near as in depth as these documentaries were. And while the documentaries were running it dawned on me that the "hardcore" documentaries are really just horrible. I am sure some people must appreciate them, but the one that was on the TV when I got in there today, didn't look like much fun for any of the parties involved, and there were an awful lot of parties involved.
At any rate, I was able to complete the test and after scrubbing all of the dirtiness off of me, walked out of the lab. As you leave the hospital grounds, you have the weird sense of guilt that you are certain that everyone knows what you just finished doing and they are looking down on you. I guess as far as tests go, it could have been worse. I will take this over a colonoscopy or CATscan any day (although I think I did see those in one of the videos there). I think other tests would be more tolerable if they provided dirty magazines. I think I will take a few to my chest X-ray in a couple of weeks. Maybe I should start slow and just bring a Paul Reed Smith Guitars catalog with me instead.
Monday, October 11, 2010
All Babies Returned in the Same Condition I Received Them
What a difference a day makes! I don't know if it was coincidence, people reading my blog, or both, but today happened to be a pretty good day.
As I have mentioned earlier, chemo starts Friday, and I am rushing to get myself prepared, do the things I need to do before chemo, and say hi to people before I sequester myself for the next month. First of all, I received many well wishes from people who have read my blog. Thank you very much! The people that contacted me today have been good supporters throughout this, and it was good to hear from them again today. Of course, I have been running around so much today, I have yet to e-mail them back. Great way to thank my supporters, they e-mail me good tidings, and I ignore them all day. No wonder I don't have more support.
Then out of the blue, my car show buddy called and asked if I could do lunch. Since my life right now only involves doctors' appointments and endless internet surfing, I decided I could move some things around and go to lunch. He showed up in the car he hid from his wife for a few days (what a great idea, why didn't I think about that?!?!) and we ran off to start complaining about prescription companies. After talking about how his mail order prescription company was shortchanging him, delaying his prescriptions, and giving him the runaround, I tell him about my similar experiences with my mail order prescriptions. Then it dawned on us that we were talking about the same company! At least they are consistent. Shortly after that, I message another friend and we arrange lunch for later on this week. For a guy with nothing to do and no friends, my social calendar is getting pretty busy!
Next I had received a text from a friend that she had given birth this morning. My wife and I made our way over to the hospital where my little frozen babies are, at which point my wife reminded me that even though I may have done that certain activity the last few times I was in this medical complex, I was under no circumstances allowed to do it this time. Good thing too, they didn't have any of the magazines or videos I had been accustomed to on my previous visits here. We get up to her room and see a brand spanking new baby. I hold her in my arms (the baby, not my friend), and I realize I have never held a baby this small before. I never realized how tiny those things are when they are first hatched. I also didn't know that you are supposed to make a "baby burrito" out of them either. I think I was holding a complete baby, I at least know I was holding a bunch of tightly bundled blankets with a tiny smiling head poking out. I assume all the other parts were in the blanket tortilla somewhere. I held her for a long time (for me) and after about two minutes I handed her off to my wife and to my surprise, I didn't break her, which is always my fear when holding babies. I hope when we have ours in has an owner's manual or at the very least a tag somewhere that explains the correct way to fold a baby burrito. Soon more people poured in and the room started getting a little crowed. I figured I had made it this far without breaking any babies, I should probably quit while I was ahead and leave. I have an almost spotless record of only breaking one baby. My sister. But I only broke her arm, and to be honest, she was kind of asking for it. OK, she wasn't asking for it, she was just laying there, but she should have been paying attention and moved out of the way when I executed an almost perfect flip, which has a pretty high difficulty score for a eight year old. I would like to keep my baby breaking record completely clean, except for the one blemish, but I don't think family should count, especially when it was her fault.
We ended up the day by stopping by and getting the last of my chemo food rations. We left with a cart full from Sam's Club, so I should be able to survive as a hermit for my four weeks of dealing with chemo. And if we have miscalculated and the chemo makes me not want any of the stuff we bought (which we are told is entirely possible), I have enough food to last through a nuclear winter or two.
So today ended pretty well. I heard from some good friends. Got to see a few more. I have my food pantry stocked with chemo food. All I have left to do is a couple of things on the "Honey Do" list and prep a for a few projects that I hope I will be able to work on while dealing with chemo. Outside of that, I may try to squeeze in a couple more meetings with friends before my four weeks in solitary confinement. This week is shaping up to be a pretty good one. All that AND no broken babies!
As I have mentioned earlier, chemo starts Friday, and I am rushing to get myself prepared, do the things I need to do before chemo, and say hi to people before I sequester myself for the next month. First of all, I received many well wishes from people who have read my blog. Thank you very much! The people that contacted me today have been good supporters throughout this, and it was good to hear from them again today. Of course, I have been running around so much today, I have yet to e-mail them back. Great way to thank my supporters, they e-mail me good tidings, and I ignore them all day. No wonder I don't have more support.
Then out of the blue, my car show buddy called and asked if I could do lunch. Since my life right now only involves doctors' appointments and endless internet surfing, I decided I could move some things around and go to lunch. He showed up in the car he hid from his wife for a few days (what a great idea, why didn't I think about that?!?!) and we ran off to start complaining about prescription companies. After talking about how his mail order prescription company was shortchanging him, delaying his prescriptions, and giving him the runaround, I tell him about my similar experiences with my mail order prescriptions. Then it dawned on us that we were talking about the same company! At least they are consistent. Shortly after that, I message another friend and we arrange lunch for later on this week. For a guy with nothing to do and no friends, my social calendar is getting pretty busy!
Next I had received a text from a friend that she had given birth this morning. My wife and I made our way over to the hospital where my little frozen babies are, at which point my wife reminded me that even though I may have done that certain activity the last few times I was in this medical complex, I was under no circumstances allowed to do it this time. Good thing too, they didn't have any of the magazines or videos I had been accustomed to on my previous visits here. We get up to her room and see a brand spanking new baby. I hold her in my arms (the baby, not my friend), and I realize I have never held a baby this small before. I never realized how tiny those things are when they are first hatched. I also didn't know that you are supposed to make a "baby burrito" out of them either. I think I was holding a complete baby, I at least know I was holding a bunch of tightly bundled blankets with a tiny smiling head poking out. I assume all the other parts were in the blanket tortilla somewhere. I held her for a long time (for me) and after about two minutes I handed her off to my wife and to my surprise, I didn't break her, which is always my fear when holding babies. I hope when we have ours in has an owner's manual or at the very least a tag somewhere that explains the correct way to fold a baby burrito. Soon more people poured in and the room started getting a little crowed. I figured I had made it this far without breaking any babies, I should probably quit while I was ahead and leave. I have an almost spotless record of only breaking one baby. My sister. But I only broke her arm, and to be honest, she was kind of asking for it. OK, she wasn't asking for it, she was just laying there, but she should have been paying attention and moved out of the way when I executed an almost perfect flip, which has a pretty high difficulty score for a eight year old. I would like to keep my baby breaking record completely clean, except for the one blemish, but I don't think family should count, especially when it was her fault.
We ended up the day by stopping by and getting the last of my chemo food rations. We left with a cart full from Sam's Club, so I should be able to survive as a hermit for my four weeks of dealing with chemo. And if we have miscalculated and the chemo makes me not want any of the stuff we bought (which we are told is entirely possible), I have enough food to last through a nuclear winter or two.
So today ended pretty well. I heard from some good friends. Got to see a few more. I have my food pantry stocked with chemo food. All I have left to do is a couple of things on the "Honey Do" list and prep a for a few projects that I hope I will be able to work on while dealing with chemo. Outside of that, I may try to squeeze in a couple more meetings with friends before my four weeks in solitary confinement. This week is shaping up to be a pretty good one. All that AND no broken babies!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Does Marvin Gaye have a cancer song?
So, at this point in my blogging (as I try to catch up to date) I have just been told I have cancer and I should probably make a "deposit" at the "bank". We don't have kids yet, and we have been trying. The doctor said I shouldn't have a problem conceiving in the future, after all only one of the "boys" is "moving out" but ol' Lefty will still be hanging around. However, just in case I do go through chemo or radiation, the doctor thought it would be a good idea to make a deposit with both barrels rather than a single shot.
We walk out of the doctor's office still in shock that this is all real, I do have cancer. I have this poison growing inside of me and I just want it gone. You know that feeling when you hear a story about a tapeworm or some other just as nasty parasite deep inside the body, and you get that chill down your back and you go "lllllleeeewwwwwwww". Yeah, that's kinda what you feel like. You can't wait to have it out of you, and for a brief moment I contemplate the pros and cons of going home and laying the family jewels on a band saw, and how difficult it would be to just remove one jewel. Those are the thoughts that are going through my head when the sperm bank tells me to drop by in a couple of hours to...um...open my account.
There's a reason you don't hear the word cancer in too many love songs, or any songs for that matter except that one Nirvana song, at least I think he said something about cancer. Who the hell knows? But anyway, the cloud of cancer floating around in your mind is definitely a mood killer, especially testicular cancer. Not only is your mind racing from being told you just have cancer, but when you are trying to make a deposit, THERE IT IS, your cancer right there in the palm of your hand (or near it). More than a little bit overwhelming. A very nice nurse gives you a cup and tells you to go to your little room and "there are magazines and videos in the cabinet". HOLY CRAP! I thought that was just in bad movies and sitcoms, it really is that way! I am in no mood to do this. My wife is waiting in the other room, plus there is also the thought that everyone knows what you are doing in there, and they are waiting for you to finish because they have other things to do, other customers that need to open accounts.
Still nowhere close to being in any kinda mood and now with a stupid Nirvana song going through my head and thinking "does he really say 'I wanna eat your cancer...'?" I decide to open that cabinet and look at the titles of the "documentaries". That's what a good friend of mine calls them so that they don't feel quite as bad about watching them. I have never really been into that type of documentary anyway, so nothing is really catching my fancy. I just decide to watch whatever is already in there, something about "First Timers" maybe it was because the video seemed to be stopped somewhere in the middle, but I was just lost. For one thing the movie was obviously filmed before the invention of the razor. And, if these are "first timers" they are awfully fast learners!
I decide to move to the magazines, mostly Playboys with a few Penthouse sprinkled in. I start reading the covers and find girls from TV and movies that I have always wondered about. I set those aside and I am too busy flipping through to focus on the task at hand. Especially since some fantasies are better off just as fantasies. Some of my favorite actresses were a lot hotter in my head naked that they were in a magazine. I finally just put them down and try to concentrate.
Now I won't go into anymore detail except to say there is a little problem with the mechanics and physiology here. First they give you a cup the size of a small drink at the movie theater, so you already feel the pressure to fill it up. I mean, hey at least ONE guy had to overflow the next size down to have to move everyone up to this size. The other is...well...you don't want to spill the cup...um...but you aren't typically aiming down. Let's see how can I explain this delicately. It's about as easy as trying to fill up a test tube, from a Rainbird sprinkler, with out spilling any of the water coming out of the sprinkler. That was one of the many rules in there, "Any missing samples should be reported immediately". And I agree, they should, but how many guys, already in an extremely embarrassing situation, are going to walk up to the nice old lady at the front desk and tell her "clean up in aisle 2".
A few days later, I had to go in and give my second and final sample. I am asked for my ID just as I was the first time, but I'm not opening a new account, why would she need my ID again? Do people come in here pretending to be someone else? This cost $125 a pop, if you are looking for your jollies, go downtown and save a lot of money. The curiosity is killing me, I have to ask why. She tells me in the past, people get divorced and people lie saying they never opened an account there, hoping to get out of child support. Hmmm, never thought of that. Never under estimate the males ability to be a slimeball.
Anyway, I am ready to be assigned my room. I hope this time I get a different room with better videos. But then again, I did want to look at the one magazine again. As I wait, I see a guy walk out of a room, obviously after successfully making a deposit. God, please don't let me have that room. I know that's what people do in these rooms, but I don't want to actually see the guy that just left. I get a different room. THANK YOU! I feel like I am an expert at this now. The cancer thoughts have subsided some, and I know what to expect in these rooms. Plus, I was told to not make any other deposits on my own for four days, so I know I am filling up that cup this time. Oops, not even close to full. Oh well, another $125 down.
I walk out, alone this time. And that's where it hits me. I just left a spankatorium because I have testicular cancer. And I am having surgery. Where else is it? Will I need chemo? Will I need radiation? Can I go back and take a magazine with me, I could really use some company right now. The drive home, my thoughts swirl in my head. I haven't been sleeping well since the diagnosis, and being full of "deposit" wasn't helping my sleep pattern either. I don't know what the future holds. I don't know what to hope for. I just don't know. I find myself wandering through stores and restaurants on the verge of tears for the second time this week. I wind up at the state park overlooking the lake that I was supposed to be on by now. I see a few other boats enjoying the end of summer. Now I won't be able to work on the boat for weeks... I really should have taken that magazine. But then again I know where that magazine has been. Full of self pity, I drag my butt back home, as I prepare for my surgery. I never thought there would be a day I would want part of my genitals taken out as soon as possible, but I swear I can feel the cancer growing inside me and Thursday can't come soon enough.
Tomorrow, I will write about surgery day, as we close in on where I am at now, one week away from surgery and not even three weeks from the beginning of all of this.
We walk out of the doctor's office still in shock that this is all real, I do have cancer. I have this poison growing inside of me and I just want it gone. You know that feeling when you hear a story about a tapeworm or some other just as nasty parasite deep inside the body, and you get that chill down your back and you go "lllllleeeewwwwwwww". Yeah, that's kinda what you feel like. You can't wait to have it out of you, and for a brief moment I contemplate the pros and cons of going home and laying the family jewels on a band saw, and how difficult it would be to just remove one jewel. Those are the thoughts that are going through my head when the sperm bank tells me to drop by in a couple of hours to...um...open my account.
There's a reason you don't hear the word cancer in too many love songs, or any songs for that matter except that one Nirvana song, at least I think he said something about cancer. Who the hell knows? But anyway, the cloud of cancer floating around in your mind is definitely a mood killer, especially testicular cancer. Not only is your mind racing from being told you just have cancer, but when you are trying to make a deposit, THERE IT IS, your cancer right there in the palm of your hand (or near it). More than a little bit overwhelming. A very nice nurse gives you a cup and tells you to go to your little room and "there are magazines and videos in the cabinet". HOLY CRAP! I thought that was just in bad movies and sitcoms, it really is that way! I am in no mood to do this. My wife is waiting in the other room, plus there is also the thought that everyone knows what you are doing in there, and they are waiting for you to finish because they have other things to do, other customers that need to open accounts.
Still nowhere close to being in any kinda mood and now with a stupid Nirvana song going through my head and thinking "does he really say 'I wanna eat your cancer...'?" I decide to open that cabinet and look at the titles of the "documentaries". That's what a good friend of mine calls them so that they don't feel quite as bad about watching them. I have never really been into that type of documentary anyway, so nothing is really catching my fancy. I just decide to watch whatever is already in there, something about "First Timers" maybe it was because the video seemed to be stopped somewhere in the middle, but I was just lost. For one thing the movie was obviously filmed before the invention of the razor. And, if these are "first timers" they are awfully fast learners!
I decide to move to the magazines, mostly Playboys with a few Penthouse sprinkled in. I start reading the covers and find girls from TV and movies that I have always wondered about. I set those aside and I am too busy flipping through to focus on the task at hand. Especially since some fantasies are better off just as fantasies. Some of my favorite actresses were a lot hotter in my head naked that they were in a magazine. I finally just put them down and try to concentrate.
Now I won't go into anymore detail except to say there is a little problem with the mechanics and physiology here. First they give you a cup the size of a small drink at the movie theater, so you already feel the pressure to fill it up. I mean, hey at least ONE guy had to overflow the next size down to have to move everyone up to this size. The other is...well...you don't want to spill the cup...um...but you aren't typically aiming down. Let's see how can I explain this delicately. It's about as easy as trying to fill up a test tube, from a Rainbird sprinkler, with out spilling any of the water coming out of the sprinkler. That was one of the many rules in there, "Any missing samples should be reported immediately". And I agree, they should, but how many guys, already in an extremely embarrassing situation, are going to walk up to the nice old lady at the front desk and tell her "clean up in aisle 2".
A few days later, I had to go in and give my second and final sample. I am asked for my ID just as I was the first time, but I'm not opening a new account, why would she need my ID again? Do people come in here pretending to be someone else? This cost $125 a pop, if you are looking for your jollies, go downtown and save a lot of money. The curiosity is killing me, I have to ask why. She tells me in the past, people get divorced and people lie saying they never opened an account there, hoping to get out of child support. Hmmm, never thought of that. Never under estimate the males ability to be a slimeball.
Anyway, I am ready to be assigned my room. I hope this time I get a different room with better videos. But then again, I did want to look at the one magazine again. As I wait, I see a guy walk out of a room, obviously after successfully making a deposit. God, please don't let me have that room. I know that's what people do in these rooms, but I don't want to actually see the guy that just left. I get a different room. THANK YOU! I feel like I am an expert at this now. The cancer thoughts have subsided some, and I know what to expect in these rooms. Plus, I was told to not make any other deposits on my own for four days, so I know I am filling up that cup this time. Oops, not even close to full. Oh well, another $125 down.
I walk out, alone this time. And that's where it hits me. I just left a spankatorium because I have testicular cancer. And I am having surgery. Where else is it? Will I need chemo? Will I need radiation? Can I go back and take a magazine with me, I could really use some company right now. The drive home, my thoughts swirl in my head. I haven't been sleeping well since the diagnosis, and being full of "deposit" wasn't helping my sleep pattern either. I don't know what the future holds. I don't know what to hope for. I just don't know. I find myself wandering through stores and restaurants on the verge of tears for the second time this week. I wind up at the state park overlooking the lake that I was supposed to be on by now. I see a few other boats enjoying the end of summer. Now I won't be able to work on the boat for weeks... I really should have taken that magazine. But then again I know where that magazine has been. Full of self pity, I drag my butt back home, as I prepare for my surgery. I never thought there would be a day I would want part of my genitals taken out as soon as possible, but I swear I can feel the cancer growing inside me and Thursday can't come soon enough.
Tomorrow, I will write about surgery day, as we close in on where I am at now, one week away from surgery and not even three weeks from the beginning of all of this.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
"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.
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.
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