Last time, we told people about nuts...
A week ago, if you had asked me how I would have spent my Wednesday, I wouldn't have said "Getting up at 4:30 AM to check-in at a surgery center promptly at 5:30 AM to have a radical orchiectomy" but that's what was going to happen. It was written in the scrolls. Righty had become too ambitious and begun taking territory beyond its given purview, Lefty was terrified of being lumped in, and the insurrection had to be stopped to save the Sacred Kingdom of Scrotanium.
After check-in, I was shown into a personal waiting room with my father (who had the... balls to accompany me WHAM! PUNS!) and asked to put on a hospital gown. After gowning up, they took my vitals and a steady rotation of staff began to come through the small room.
First was the on-call nurse who went through a checklist of items to confirm why I was there, any prior surgeries, any medication I was taking, the pain I was feeling, etc.
Next was a relatively goofy surgical nurse who would set up my IV and explained that next in would be the anesthesiologist to explained the process of being put under.
The anesthesiologist was a lanky, goofy looking guy who had a quirky sense of humor, which I appreciated.
Paraphrasing him: "Ever been put under before? Great. So, here's what's going to happen. We're gonna wheel you into the operating room and get you up on the special table for special guys. Then I'm gonna ask you if you're ready to be put under. I'm not going to wait for a response and then you're gonna wake up back in this room with one less testicle. Sound good?"
Hard to argue with calculating logic of that process. It was nice hearing a joke or two in such a sterile environment. Shortly after the sleep-doctor left, my Urologist showed up for his final consult.
After a little banter, he got down to the surgery (which again, I appreciated his forthrightness on).
"So, Michael, here's the deal. The surgery should be a breeze, but your blood work and your CT Scan came back. The blood work is... Okay, not great, but okay. The concern is that the radiologist saw a nodule in your lung which we are assuming is evidence of metastatic spread from the tumor."
It's hard to describe how you can feel "lower" than knowing you're about to lose a testicle, but I found it. My heart dropped out and I felt a little faint at that notion. Not knowing much, all I heard was "Lung Cancer".
"So, here's what that means. In my experience, you're looking at 3 rounds of what's called BEP Chemotherapy. Each round is 3 weeks long. Basically, we're going to knock you down for a week, you'll feel better and then we're going to knock you down again. The good news is that at the end, the objective is that you'll be cured. I called a friend of mine to see if he could fit you in for your Oncology Consult, he's one of the best I know. So I don't want you to worry. We're going to make this go away. Any questions?"
I wasn't quite sure what questions I could have, so I tried to reassure myself the way I always do.. Making a joke, "You know it's the right one that's defective right?"
You can Google your own results to see what a Radical Orchiectomy is or what it looks like. In the meantime, here's something else that needs radical removal and is radical.
BUT DID YOU TRY THE RADICAL HOT SAUCE!?!
Fast forward an hour and a dull pain in my groin for August 30th to count as the second time I've woken up wearing a jock strap I didn't fall asleep with. As a note, they use that as a "support" for surgery recovery. So that's a fun fact for you.
There wasn't much pain, but I was also still coming out of anesthesia and an IV painkiller. As soon as I had my wits about me, I checked. I bet everyone checks, to be honest. Who wouldn't? Upon checking myself, three things occurred to me: 1) Huh, that's a jock strap; 2) My whole groin seemed like it had lost a bet and was half shaven; 3) Lefty was still there, the Kingdom would survive!
After an hour and 30 minutes of recovery or so (some still sedated, some conscious), I was released. After a 5:30 Check-in I was out of the surgery center and on my way home by 10 AM. Let that sink in. That is how easy it is to radically remove something.
I spent the balance of the day doped up on pain killers, sleeping and making liberal use of an ice pack. There wasn't a lot of pain to be honest and movement, while stiff, came relatively easy.
During one of my more lucid moments of recovery I phoned my sister who, as I have suggested earlier, is a Doctor in Ireland. She was understanding and likely knew more about the condition than I did. She was helpful in suggesting that she could operate as "Doctor Advice" or "Sister Advice" and I just needed to tell her which one. We made a few jokes about it to help with recovery and she reiterated she would be back in town for Thanksgiving.
I would later find out out after my consultation with the Oncologist that, by Thanksgiving, I should be almost back to par and, if all goes well, Cancer free.
