YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!
Please leave any feedback and advice about spelling, punctuation, grammar or content you think I could improve, as most of these are pretty ropey. This is one shoddy blog. Thanks anyway!
Monday 10th October 2011
Today is my first day officially sick, although anyone looking at me would see a short, balding 47 year old Scotsman with cropped salt n pepper hair and thin rectangular glasses, looking fit(ish) and healthy, but let me bring you up to speed dear reader.
Over a week or so ago I thought I noticed a lump on my left chucky (bollock) but as I had a vasectomy at twenty eight and baws being a tad on the knobbly side they aren’t the easiest things to notice lumps on. After a few checks and comparing left nad with right, it became clear to me something wasn’t quite right in the old onion bag. I then asked the person in my life whose medical opinion I respect the most; the mother of my children, and life partner these last 25 odd years, my wife: - Marydoll (Mary Anne to give her, her Sunday name) “Ah cannae feel any’hin” said she “They just feel aw lumpy tae me” she exclaimed, while grabbing them a wee bit firmer than is comfortable for a man who thinks he may have a dodgy lump in his left testicle.
Being an insecure male, whose penis seems to be the same size it was when he was 5 years old, I am very shy about public exposure of “the wee man”. To quote character Alan Harper from the sitcom Two and a Half Men, it’s “a grower not a shower.” Don’t get me wrong, when it’s ready for action it isn’t a porn star monster but its passable (I think) and seems to hit the spot on the odd occasion. I reluctantly made an appointment for the Quacks to have the wee man and his two spherical mates looked at. Gone are the days when all GP’s were men. In the practice I attend half of the Doctors are now female, one is barely older than my daughter EM (the middle child of three). I got an appointment with Dr M whom I assumed (correctly) was a male doctor (I wouldn’t have bothered if it was a female doctor); I think he may be a locum but I am not actually sure.
Dr M was number 1 on the boabby count. This is the number of strangers/medical personnel I have had to show my small appendage to, since the discovery of the lump. The boabby count was soon to double in number, when Dr M announced he would like a second opinion and Dr F presently arrived to check the lump in my now shrunken scrotum. Due to nerves and the fact it was the start of October, the distinct chill in the air caused my willie, nads an bawsack to go as far north into my body as possible while looking as wrinkled as bath night in a home for nonagenarians. The cringe factor had hit ten and I was thinking that, really, Dr M couldn’t believe how small my cock was, so he had to get another doctor in to back up his story, allowing them to have a good laugh about it over coffee later in the day.
They had a wee discussion and advised; blood tests, ultrasound scan and a urine sample, all of which needed to be carried out ASAP. It was now 5:00pm on a Monday afternoon, they would organise the ultrasound with the hospital on Tuesday morning and I was to return at 8:30am next day with a sample of my piss and an arm ready for blood to be extracted. This is what I did and that is the beginning of my journey.
I went for my ultrasound scan on the Friday afternoon at 2:15pm (being the NHS it was really 2:45pm but the NHS is wonderful so I ain’t complaining). Marydoll (MD) and I nervously waited for two different reasons. MD was nervous because her husband of 25 years could have a potentially terminal disease. I was nervous because I was going to get my todger out in public again. The boabby count was just about to double again, this time from two to four. A large male Nurse and a female Doctor, who asked me to climb on to the bed, drop my breeks (trousers) and my pants (underwear for any American readers), gave me a bit of paper towel to cover my penis and hold it out of the way. To be honest the cover it bit was good but it certainly wasn’t going to get in the way.
Next came the bloody freezing gel which was like getting ice water splashed on my gonads, the scanning then took place, I was given some more paper towels to wipe off the gel. I could have been wiping that stuff off for hours. I eventually gave up and told the male nurse I would have a shower when I got home. Then came the bad news, “I will contact your doctor and make an appointment for an Oncologist” said the female doctor.
“So what does that mean?” Says I nervously, but really knowing what it means.
“Well it’s not good!” Says she “I would pop in and see your own doctor if you can.” Then a pause and she added “Cos you have the smallest willie I have ever seen and I think you might be a woman.” (No she didn’t really say that last bit but I know she was thinking it).
I went out told Marydoll who held it together for about 200 yards of the walk back to the car before crumbling for a wee minute. I was surprisingly OK. I just thought “Fuck it!!!”
In a semi shocked state and feeling a wee bitty hungry we decided McDonalds was the place to go (both had Quarter pounders with cheese meals and diet cokes, I had barbeque sauce to dip my chips in, for you folks who need to know that kind of information). I made a half-hearted attempt at eating but left most of the chips and half the burger, Marydoll wolfed hers down slavering and drooling all over the place burping and wiping her nose on her sleeve a she went (I am also lying about that). Marydoll had a brave attempt at hers but didn’t eat much more than me.
We went to see the Dr F, who escorted us in to his room after the head tilting sympathetic toned Receptionist (the first of many such encounters I fear) who obviously already knew my bad news asked us to take a seat before phoning through to the Dr to inform him we had arrived.
Dr F told me as much as he could. Testicular cancer, no indications at this early stage of things that it has spread, no indications in my blood results, if you’re going to get cancer then testicular cancer is the one to get (I kind of thought I would really like to give the whole cancer thing a miss at this point if there was a choice, but I have already caught that ship and it has left the port). Oncologist is the next port of call. Be positive was the message. I just thought “Fuck it!!”
MD and I chatted about telling the kids and family. I said I would rather wait until we had seen the Oncologist and knew more of the picture and path we were about to go down. That scheme didn’t work out as we planned.
I was still thinking “Fuck it!” but MD was having wee cracks in the armour and bursting into tears (which is perfectly understandable).
On Saturday 8th October I woke early as I have done this past while since losing 3 stone over a year ago (that’s the funny thing I am fitter and healthier than I have ever been and then I get bloody cancer, for fuck sake!!!). The day started well, England got humped at the Rugby World Cup in New Zealand by France, much to the disappointment of those smug bastards in the media (National Broadcasters my hairy arse!!!!) They are only interested in England and the rest of the UK can go and take a flying fuck to itself, but I digress.
The Mighty Sons of Caledonia ……Scotland were playing fitba (Soccer to our American readers, Football to the rest of the World) in a UEFA Championship a Qualifying match against that world beating footballing power Liechtenstein in Liechtenstein at 6:30pm GMT. I had arranged to go with my 3 children (I say children but the youngest has just turned 20) to the Pub to watch it and have a few beers along with my niece’s boyfriend W. I had said to MD that I was a bit nervous about this but didn’t elaborate as to why (because alcohol makes me too emotional), which I probably should have on hind sight. EM decided to drive as she was going to go up to her lazy bastard, waste of space, control freak boyfriend’s house after the game, let’s just call him Fatlad, as this is what he is known as in our house. Wee Pee (WP the youngest of the 3 was working until 6pm and was meeting us there as was W) A (our elder son, eldest child) EM and I went to the O. B. Bar. Scotland crushed Liechtenstein 0-1, with only goal being scored by Craig MacKail-Smith.
I had too much to drink (as I am not much of a drinker, any more than 2 pints of lager is too much, on this occasion I had more than 4 and less than 8 but the exact number is unknown). WP told me he knew that all was not right as he heard MD greetin (crying) her eyes out and me over compensating by telling her to take an anti-histamine to fix the allergy we were kidding on she had. I therefore became a little too emotional at the fact we were crap at hiding stuff from our kids and the predicament I was now in, so I told the two boys of my condition (illness that is, not drunkenness as the over imbibing was plainly apparent to them).They were fairly stunned, but seemed to take it as well as they could do in the middle of a crowded Public Bar. Two down one to go (EM) and then there was my Mum and my Sister and her family, I now knew what I was doing on Sunday.
The Sunday involved telling my mum, sister, family and my daughter in that order, all of whom tried very hard to keep the emotions in check, putting a brave face on things. The rest of the day was spent sleeping a lot on and off because I seemed to be completely knackered (who would have thought telling relatives you have a nasty disease could be so tiring).
I thought I would have trouble sleeping at night, with my mind ticking over, worries about health and finances and stuff but no, I sleep like an absolute top, totally out of it until I wake at the back of 7am bright and breezy and ready for the day with the inevitable morning glory (long may that continue. Way hey!!).
So now you’re up to speed. I heard today (Monday 10th October) I’ve to see the Oncologist on Thursday at 12:10pm. That will be at least another one added to the boabby count, and a bit more info to fill in the picture of my future treatment. I have dull pain not as painful as but similar to being kneed in the stones, which runs up the lower left side of my abdomen towards my kidney.
I went for a wee run, about three and a half miles, iPod shuffle on (and shorts, trainers and stuff just in case you think I was naked). I ran along the Esplanade and back, round the Battery Park and back to the car. I find it quite therapeutic, it empties my head allows me to put things in some kind of order. I now appreciate James Brown and various rap artists as I can hear and understand their lyrics better. Running is one of the questions I will need to ask the Oncologist as I don’t know if I will still be allowed to run. I have a list in my head of questions I need to ask. I need to write them down or I will forget them.
Tuesday 11th October 2011
Lazy day in the house. I woke up later than usual (nearly 9am) made a cup of tea and toasted two cinnamon and raisin bagels having them with butter. Then woke MD and told her I wasn’t staying in all day, but being the West of Scotland it soon began raining and the plan to go for a walk was a wash out. Made Wee Pee (WP) a cuppa and MD made herself a bacon piece (sandwich to all you people unlucky enough not to be Scottish) and WP had a piece and links (sausages to all you people unlucky enough not to be Scottish) with red sauce (tomato sauce).
I had a wee play about on my laptop and a tootle around the internet. MD tided out her wardrobe. WP posted a couple of stories on the Football website he writes for Goal.com.
I am usually at work during the day, so I have missed out on the wonderful world of daytime telly.
There isn’t half some guff on there with the dregs of society airing their sordid lives shouting, swearing and revealing things that wild dogs wouldn’t do to each other never mind their families, it’s beyond belief. Or maybe I just live in a different world with different standards. I suppose after a few weeks of watching this stuff it becomes normal and you don’t want to miss it.
Embarrassing Bodies is another program on day time telly that kind of gets me wondering. Here are people who are too embarrassed to go to their doctors but are quite happy to show their embarrassing parts and conditions on TV in front of an audience of millions. It’s like me with my lump in my left nut and wee todger deciding that I am too embarrassed to go to my Doctor but happy to go to a doctor on a TV programme and getting Captain shrimp and his two mates out for the world to see instead. No way would I be doing that, well maybe for a couple million quid. Any offers before one mate gets the heave ho?
Scotland just lost 3-1 to Spain in the UEFA Championships Qualifiers. No qualification for another major tournament for Scotland. We played too many long balls, giving away possession to the best team in the world which will only be punished. Mind you we had our chances.
I spent too much time on lolsnaps.com looking at funny pictures and videos. There is some funny stuff on there; I had a good chuckle anyway. Slapstick and cat stuff seems to trump all others.
Time for bed, hopefully MD wants a wee game of hide the salami. Hee hee!!! Failing that it could be dutch ovens or burglars for her as I had beans for tea.
Wednesday 12th October 2011
I had a lazy day in with MD and WP. Put on a couple of bets on the horses, 50 pence each way and stuff. I got a couple of places but that was all.
I sorted out my online Lottery account just in case my luck turns around and I get a big win, allowing my family and me to live like kings. To be honest five numbers and the bonus ball would do me. I might have to work for the rest of my days but we could pay off our mortgage and go holidays and stuff, when we wanted, not just if we can, which is how it is just now.
MD works evenings in a call centre. I really miss her when she goes to work. Since we got the news of the old Nad C, MD has been like a cat on a hot tin roof. She doesn’t want to go to work and leave me alone, I don’t want her to go as I just want to spend as much time with her as I can, we are a good fit and have fused into one person over the years, but this recent news has made us aware of our mortality and we realise that maybe we don’t have the amount of time together we thought we had. We have been bumping uglies a lot because I have been horny as fuck since my diagnosis (sorry mum/kids if you’re reading this). Probably for a couple of reasons, the “basic human need to procreate before you die” and that male fear of that I might not be able to “get it up” once they start cutting bits off and pumping me with drugs. I can get an erection at the drop of a hat these days (not that I have ever had any problems in that department) but with a house full of adults, which is rarely empty MD and I have been copulating at any opportunity. We have had a couple of close things but we literally orgasmed as EM’s key was heard in the door, the other day. We were hiding under the covers and giggling like a couple of teenagers when EM entered the bedroom wondering where we were. Isn’t it funny how kids, when they become adults, assume their parents no longer have sex? I still think EM thought we were just having an afternoon nap and a wee joke as she walked in (without knocking I hasten to add).
Thursday 13th October 2011
Didn’t sleep well for the first time, I am not sure why. I was going to see (what I was told) the Oncologist, in actual fact I attended a Urology Clinic. I don’t think it was this that kept me awake most of the night. I wasn’t conscious of anything specific but the speedy black deep sleep which I usually drop into didn’t occur until after 5:00am. MD and I walked down to the Health Centre. It was good to get out and stretch our legs after being inside the house all of the previous day.
As I said, my understanding was that I was to see an Oncologist but in fact it was a urology clinic and the bloke I saw was a surgeon, Mr H. He was pleasant enough but of the list of questions I had written down over the previous few days (ten in total, on arrival) ninety percent of them remained unanswered.
It was a rather disconcerting experience all round really, as one of our neighbours was the duty nurse, though to be fair to her she did say that she would have nothing to do with my case and would hand it over to her colleague. When I had seen that she was the clinic nurse, my first fear was that I was going to have to add her to the boabby count and if I met her when out and about, I would be thinking “ you’ve seen my boabby!!!” and she would be thinking “you have the wee-est todger I’ve ever seen! Your poor wife must be gantin!” Aaahh! Good old male insecurity and penis envy, you’ve got to love it! Or is it just me?
The Surgeon was as dry as a biscuit, he checked my scan on the computer, and informed me I was rather old to have testicular cancer. I told him I had “obviously won a watch” and that “I couldn’t believe how lucky I was” which got no reaction. He had a grope at my baws and informed me my left one would be coming off. I would get a small cut in my lower left hand side of my torso fishing it out along with associated plumbing. I would then be referred to an Oncologist for a CT scan and stuff.
I asked about going to Amsterdam with WP; he indicated that removal of the testicle would be better done sooner rather than later, but if it couldn’t be done next week he would have it done after the 26th October. I didn’t even ask the other 9 questions I had as he gave me the impression he wasn’t interested, didn’t care and inferred that I should ask the Oncologist when I eventually got to see him/her. He was howking my gonad off, which was his job and anything else wasn’t really his concern and my cancer/physical/sexual/mental concerns were just that, MINE and not his to answer.
I left the clinic no further on other than; knowing I was going to be down to a single chucky within a week. I then realised questions I should have asked like; which hospital, how long will I be in and how many more people will I need to add to the boabby count? These would have to be added to my list of nine unanswered questions.
Neither MD nor I wanted to go home so we decided to catch the train to Glasgow. We donered (slow mindless wandering) around the shops with no intension of buying anything, eventually ended up in the Counting House which is an old bank (one of many in the West of Scotland) which has been bought over by big corporate leisure companies and converted into a Bar/Restaurant. We had a couple of drinks each and something to eat, and then had another wander around the shops before catching the train back down the road. We dropped in to see my sister (EL) to tell her our news about my on-going treatment. EL and her husband PL are both nurses and are able to ground and soothe the irrational assumptions of the non-medical civilian. Our mother has an on-going medical issue, which to me, as her son seems to be dragging on and has MD and me worried but EL assured us things should be OK with our mum and with me. She also told me most surgeons are only interested in cutting people and are a bunch off tossers when it comes to communication. This helped explain my earlier unfulfilled meeting with Mr H at the clinic. It is always good when someone who has an insider view of something confirms the opinion you have begun to form of someone or something.
Friday 14th October 2011
I slept better last night. Breakfast consisted of the last cinnamon bagel in the packet and a coffee with cream (do I live in luxury or what?). All the kids are out of the house to go to work (WP doesn’t have University on Friday but has a part time job in a well-known Irish bookies) MD and I took the opportunity to make some sweet sweet lovin as I am still horned up (sorry again Mum/kids). MD suffered from a really bad bout of depression a couple of years or so back for which she was taking medication, up until 6 months ago. She has been good since and tries hard to kick herself on when she has “a wee down day” as she calls it. I think the events of the past few weeks are having an effect on her and I see signs today I don’t like, but to be fair she is aware of this and although she is teary today she seems to be able to keep it under control. I will keep an eye out but a hug and a kiss and a word of assurance is the limit of my control on this kind of thing. MD has to do the rest and at the moment she is handling it as well as we can hope.
The hospital called a few times to make arrangements for my pre op assessment on Tuesday and admittance probably on Wednesday (but could be Thursday) for my operation. This confirms that I definitely won’t be going to Amsterdam with WP. I am not looking forward to telling him. I think WP was hoping I was going to make it. Sometimes WP is a closed book and gives away very little but in other things he is very emotional and family is one of these things. I have arranged that our niece’s (SJ) boyfriend W will go with WP but it was really me he wanted to go with. I cannot explain how pissed off and annoyed I am that not going. I have been so looking forward to spending time and watching football with WP in Amsterdam. Sometimes life is an absolute pisser. I think this has dropped MD down further as she is even more pissed off than me about it and has had red watery eyes since we got the phone call this morning. We went out for a KFC and sat eating them down at the Esplanade watching people, dog walkers, dogs, joggers, and ships passing back and forth. Tried to cheer MD up, had an ice cream. MD dropped raspberry sauce down her white blouse which looked as if she had been shot. We went home to watch a film (Swedish film about a young female vampire who befriends the lonely and bullied wee boy who lives next door) which was quite good. MD seemed to be more upbeat about things. We told WP when he came home that I wouldn’t be going to Amsterdam. We await developments. WP is keeping it under wraps for now. No podger because my lower left side is bloody sore. It’s probably a good thing I am going into hospital next week.
Saturday 15th October 2011
Had a really long lie in. I think MD was trying to sneak out to work without waking me (she has to work all day on a Saturday) but I woke up at 10:30am, just in time to take her to work. I popped in to see my wee mum on the way back for an hour of two. Usually on a Saturday, after dropping MD off at work, I go for a run, come home have a shower, and watch the football on TV. If Morton were playing at home (Cappielow Park), I would go to the game. If not I would potter about the house and watch sport or films on TV. I like it as it gave me a wee day on my own before going to pick MD up from work at 7:30pm. I didn’t really feel like a run today and when I got home A and EM were watching some murder mystery thing on TV. Not wanting to just turn it over to watch the football, I found myself at a loose end for a while but I eventually saw the tail end of a couple of games. Then I stretched out on the couch to settled down to three or four episodes of “Party Down” on catch up TV, which makes me laugh. EM is a bit jumpy around me just now, always asking if I need anything or if I want to go anywhere. A is? Well I am not sure! He could be an emotional wreck or fine and dandy. I couldn’t say. I made a few phone calls and sent a few texts about the kids’ football league and team I help run on a Sunday.
Being on the sick has buggered up any routines I had. Getting up at a certain time for work, showering daily, not shaving (much to my wife and especially mothers annoyance I tended not to shave on work days) now I am shaving more frequently because of doctor and hospital appointments (I hate shaving), the showering has gone the other way and I now only shower if I am going out somewhere specific. Going to bed at a certain time, going to football and going for a run, these are all up in the air. Daytime TV, going to doctors and hospitals, time with MD, even writing this diary blog thing, this is now my random routine, if you can have such a thing.
Now you know I am mostly clean shaven but a bit niffy. I haven’t shaved or more importantly showered or washed since Thursday. It’s bloomin great!! It is like being a lad before you discover girls. You only washed when forced to by your mum. I had friends who could go two or three weeks without washing. I never got more than two or three days unwashed as my mum kept a close eye on that kind of unsanitary behaviour. Once you discovered girls you went to the other extreme and spent hours in the bathroom washing and showering and other things that teenage boys do in locked bathrooms. I am not sure if girls go through the same thing but I don’t thinks so. Having spoken to my sister, who has three teenage boys she has two (AD & RS) in the “discovered girls’” camp who shower constantly and one (GG) in the “pre girl” camp who announced with great pride the other day he hadn’t washed for two weeks. That is fuckin brilliant; I laughed my fuckin arse off when I heard that. Maybe not wanting to wash is genetic??
Sunday 16th October 2011
Today is my Mum’s 71st birthday. MD and I went to get a present for my sister and her husband as it is their silver wedding tomorrow and a present for my mum. We went to my sisters where my mum was staying for her tea. My mum’s sister, my aunt, (AJ) and her twin grandchildren (one boy BL and one girl AB) were present too. It was a joint celebration, low key as is the way with our family; we don’t tend to make a big fuss about these things.
After helping MD get the messages (shopping to all our non-Scottish friends) before watching the Rome derby on TV. Lazio the jammy B’s get a dodgy penalty and Roma player sent off, five minutes into the second half with Roma good for their 1-0 half time lead. Then Klose scores with the last kick of the ball. Buggar it!!! I have started having really bad headaches and a sore neck. I am crapping myself in case I have missed the early signs and I am going down the John Hartson brain tumour road, but let’s hope not eh?
Monday 17th October 2011
Didn’t do much today. I have moved away from crap morning daytime social misfit TV, on to US teen dramas. One Tree Hill, 90210, Privileged, Gilmour Girls and the Greek all that stuff is now my morning fare; predictable stories, with actors in their mid-twenties, playing fifteen and sixteen year old adolescents. Anyway mid-way through watching this tripe, I got a phone call from my GP, to find out if I had any questions. I had ten questions initially written out for the Urologist (I thought I was going to the see the Oncologist if you remember correctly) and he was as handy as a foot. Two or three of the questions were now moot as I now know I will be going into hospital this week. So it was just about long term treatment and stuff but the last question was that old diamond…. SEX!!! I asked if losing my left bollock would have any effect on my testosterone levels or if the surgery could cause any erectile dysfunction, being slightly embarrassed about the questions I blurted out “not that I’m a necrophiliac………….I mean nymphomaniac!!” Oh how we laughed at my Freudian slip! Oh how my face burned like the surface of the sun. Oh how I just wanted the call to end. To be fair to Dr F he laughed heartily and all the way through the rest of the conversation and spared my blushes a bit.
Tuesday 18th October 2011
I got up early to go for pre op assessment at IRH. They did all the usual stuff, ECG, blood tests, checked my breathing, and asked about 300 questions then checked over by the Doctor, who I informed as I left, “was the first medical person I had seen in the past few weeks, who didn’t want a swaatch at my boabby.”
MD and I went McD’s for brekkie and a wee chat about me going into hospital and things. I needed to get parking and things arranged for WP and W going to Amsterdam and pack my bag for going into hospital. I had to annoy the kids to put more tunes on my iPod shuffle for hospital. Got to bed after midnight. I am still thinking “Fuck it” but this is the last night I’ll have two testicles. It is better to lose a bollock than lose my life. I am sure I will be OK, but I am nervous in case they find something more serious or they cut off the wrong one FFS!!!
Wednesday 19th October 2011
MD, EM and me all got up bloody early to get me to RAH for my op. I was number eight in a ward of eight. I was well down the list. I wouldn’t be taken until late afternoon. I had to sit and wait and wait and wait. I got more blood tests, glucose levels checked, blood pressure checked and asked the same 300 questions I was asked the previous day.
I saw the future today. Four of the old boys in my ward were in getting prostate surgery which seems to be necessary for all men over 65. So that will be more people looking at my boabby in twenty years’ time. I canny wait!!!!
There was one young lad on the ward who seemed to be in a lot of pain most of the day. He had an absolutely crackin set of jammies. It was a onesy in the style of a black and white cow. I think I might get some. He was a cheery wee lad who was comfortable with the old blokes in the room and chatted away with them.
They eventually came for me at the back of 3pm. I had changed into the dreaded surgical gown. I tied the tiers up before putting it on so that my erse wasn’t hanging out like the old boys on the ward. I had got a flash of each of their bahookies (bums for all you non Scots) as they went for their frequent toilet visits. Old boy wrinkly bahooky are not a view I would recommend, thankfully I had nothing to eat all day so lessening the desire to be vomit.
The Surgeon Mr A had visited me earlier in the day to talk me through the procedure. He drew a line on my left lower abdomen. I joked that he should write “cut here”, which he laughed about at least.
The last thing I said to the theatre nurse before they knocked me out was “remind them it’s the left one they’ve to cut off; I don’t want to be a castrato!!!!”
I have had a general anaesthetic before. I always remember the deep deep black you seem to emerge from. Pain was the first realisation, followed by voices as I emerged from the deep black. I had a severe dose of the shivers and chitters, so they gave me another blanket along with 3 doses of morphine at ten minute intervals then a couple of co-codamol. The Boabby count is now in double figures as there were at least six members of staff in the operating theatre. Thank feck I was unconscious!! Back in the ward pretty soon after recovery, then my family appeared for evening visiting. I’m still happy happy on morphine and the family were all anxious and pensive about me.
We (the boys in the ward) watched the Champions League games on TV and I got up for a pee (not bad after having surgery a few hours earlier). As I hadn’t had anything to drink all day I was drinking water, and tea by the bucket load. I didn’t have much to eat though just a tuna sandwich.
I slept on and off during the night as the massive liquid intake came back to haunt me. I was up peeing as much as the old boy across from me with the dodgy prostate. At least I made the toilet, he cursed swore and dribbled all the way there. He then spent 20 minutes both cleaning the toilet floor and himself. I felt so bad for him, as he ran out of dry jammy bottoms, eventually giving up and wandered about naked from the waist down.
Thursday 20th October
We were awoken by the nurses at 6:30am FFS!!!! Temperature, glucose, blood pressure and heart rate are all checked. My blood sugar level was quite low so they made me eat a banana. Breakfast arrived at 8am and the Surgeon appeared at 8:30am to check how I was and have a look at my wound.
He said everything was OK and could go home today. Only two of the old boys were staying, the rest of the ward was getting home.
I was still peeing for Scotland. Had a shower and got dressed. I am still not sure how I feel about having lost a testicle. I am just happy I am getting home.
Texted MD and my sister to come and get me. They arrived at noon. We dropped a letter off at my doctors then home and slept all afternoon. I had a few calls from friends and family asking how I was. Watched fitba on telly, drank a lot of tea, it’s good to be home. Sore a hell though; the wound is tightening up so I’m trying to keep on the move to stop stiffening up ( the wound you dirt dirt people, get yer heid oot the gutter). Talking about stiffening up, I don’t know if the wee man will stand to attention yet but there is time enough for that, let’s hope so anyway. Watched some disturbing pictures of the recently killed Colonel Gaddafi on TV, you can’t oppress people for forty years and expect them just to shake your hand or wave you off with a smile. He reaped what he sowed. Not good to watch though.
Friday 21st October 2011
Had a day in with MD. It rained all day. Dr F called to ask how I was doing, which was really nice of him. MD went down to the Health Centre to pick up my sick line (another four weeks off) and go to Tescos for some bits n bobs and some loose breeks for me as the elasticated waist bands are annoying me and are uncomfortable.
Had homemade tomato and basil soup (made by A last night). MD got a text from my Gaffer (PG) asking if he could pop up to see how I was keeping. He arrived at 3:30 pm and had a wee chat about me, work and stuff, keeping it light and jolly, which was good.
MB our next door neighbour also paid us a wee visit to leave a get well card and see how I was.
It was a busy day for visitors as W arrived after 5pm to check the arrangements for going to Amsterdam with WP tomorrow.
Watched German footy with WP and checked he was already for his holiday. Which wasn’t confidently answered by WP, I thought I would be able to check everything before he goes. I went to bed for a wee nap at 10pm expecting to get up to see WP off. Next thing I knew was that I awoke with a start and realised it was 4:45am. I got up as quickly as a man who has just had surgery can and went to the living room, to find MD sitting watching TV. I asked if WP was away. MD told me he had left at 4am. I was disappointed no one had woken me up but I understood why (kind of). Went back to bed and slept until 7am.
Saturday 22nd October2011
Not a good day mentally. I think I was on a bit of a downer about not getting to go to Amsterdam with WP. Then I made the mistake of reading the treatment stories of TC sufferers on the internet. They all seemed to have a positive outcome; but the journey seemed to be long and very fuckin hard. I think the reason is the uncertainty of my own treatment as I haven’t got the full picture yet or been assessed. The picture can never be truly complete due to the unknown factors but I need to know if I have it somewhere else in me. It’s the head ache that could be a brain tumour plus the flashing light in your eyes you remember from three weeks ago that just confirms it. Then there is the more frequent use of my inhaler, could it be in my lungs? I am OK 99.9% of the time and don’t think of any of this stuff at all. In truth I have been laissez faire about the whole thing or more than I expected to be anyway. MD knew I was down but I didn’t want to confirm this to her as I thought she doesn’t need more of my crap on her plate especially as I will probably shake it off and be OK tomorrow of even later today. On hind sight I should be honest about this stuff as she can read me like a book and only worries more than if I actually admitted what was wrong with me.
My buddy GJO gave me a call to see how I was doing. I asked his advice about learning a musical instrument. I always resented the fact I never got the chance when I was at school. I tinkered with the guitar a bit but never seemed to get anywhere with it and lost interest. That and the kids were in bed at night and practice after 8pm was not possible, by the time the kids were older I had put it away and forgotten about it. I quite fancy a mandolin due to the size and although it has 8 strings they are played as four. GJO recommended a penny whistle, which was something I had thought about a few years ago but didn’t follow up. My thinking is that I have lost something (my left bollock) and I am going to have a lot of time on my hands, so I need to come out of this with a new skill or talent or language so that it hasn’t all been for nothing , if you know what I mean? So the penny whistle it is then! Maybe the mandolin as well as I still fancy learning that too.
Sunday 23rd October 2011
Up at 7am, left MD in bed and had breakfast in the living room (tea and two bits of brown bread toast). Watched TV and got the lap top all set up to watch the Ajax V Feyenoord game as it isn’t on TV.
I sent a few texts to WP and W, who were at the game (lucky bastards).
Faffed about all day doing heehaw to be honest watched footy and films and wrote this. I think I am getting a cold FFS!!! My nose is running like a burn, I have a strange feeling in my throat and I’ve begun coughing and sneezing. F’kin great!!! I am laughing really just cos I can and a cold is buggar all to me now (now I’ve said that it will probably kill me). Cheery bastard I am Hee hee!!!
Monday 24th October 2011
My cold has come to fruition with coughing, sneezing and snotters tripping me along with cold sweats. A (Eldest) fixed one of his two broken Xbox360s yesterday, he has put it in our (Mine and MD’s) bedroom so we can watch films and TV series like Mentalist and maybe play games on it as I am not up to the usual bedroom games (usual apology to mother and kids for that one).
The cold has floored me and I and have stayed in bed all day feeling sorry for myself crapping myself every time I sneeze due to the terrible stabbing pain I get in my wound.
We watched the Green Lantern on the Xbox A gave us and started watching series 5 of The Mentalist which I like, although like all crime dramas is completely unbelievable and most cases would probably be thrown out of court on a technicality in reality.
Tuesday 25th October 2011
The worst of my cold has passed and although I’m still not 100% over it (runny nose with the odd cough and sneeze) but I feel a lot better. I made MD and I porridge for breakfast. I like porridge, but I don’t put salt in it anymore due to the associated health issues with blood pressure. MD used to put sugar in hers until she married me, then changed to salt and now takes nothing, like me.
I had a shower and removed my dressing altogether. MD tidied up the house and I got dressed and walked around the outside of the building a dozen times, to get some exercise.
I made dinner (as it was called when I was a boy but seems to be called Lunch now for some reason) for the two of us, consisting of ham pieces (bacon sandwiches as they now seem to be called).
MD had a shower and dressed before going out to brush up the fallen autumn leaves which accumulate outside our front door.
A hamper arrived from my work and a wee get well card which was very nice. My Mum and Sister arrived at 2pm for a wee visit to check on my progress. We had a laugh and a joke usually at my poor wee mum’s expense, which she takes in good heart.
MD, my Mum and my Sister all walked down the road together leaving me on my own for the first time since my surgery. I decided to watch the rest of the five episodes of series 5 of The Mentalist and had a sleep until EM arrived in from work and made us our Tea (dinner if your middle class).
Italian footy is now on ESPN Juve are 1-0 up on Fiorentina, for some strange reason Juve, who are the home team are wearing a pink top which I haven’t seen them play in for many a long year. The commentator (the always great Derek Rae) keeps informing the audience that Juve are wearing the pink tops, so it isn’t only me who finds this unusual.
WP and W get home from Amsterdam tonight; it will be good to hear his stories although he will probably just say it was good and go to bed, if I know WP.
Wednesday 26th October 2011
MD and I went a wee walk down to Tescos which is at the bottom of the hill. After yesterday I thought I would try to extend my range a bit but may have miss judged things a wee bit. We went into the café for coffee and a muffin (Ooow er Missus!!!!) before going for a few messages (shopping for all you non Scots), but my op felt really tight and my legs got that rubbery feeling you get when you have run too far. Needless to say, there was no chance of me walking back up the hill, so we got a taxi. I may have to pace myself a bit better and take it at a slower speed.
As usual the big loose pants were quickly on for an easy afternoon in front of the TV to recover from the morning’s activity after a dinner of lentil soup.
MD has caught my cold and is pulling my leg about intentionally infecting her to make her miserable.
Another night, another Italian football game on the TV, yaaaassss!!! Napoli V Udenese this time 2-0 Napoli. Udenese (without the prolific Di Natali) suffer their first defeat of the season.
I was wrong about WP when I said he would arrive home and say his holiday was good then go to bed. He sat up for a couple of hours and told MD and me lots of stories about his four days away. Some of which were very funny. “Idiot abroad” just like his parents springs to mind as he had various self-inflicted comedic incidents causing W to suffer severe rib pain from laughing to hard.
Thursday 27th October 2011
So much for my cold being over, it had just moved into my chest. I had a terrible night. Constantly waking every half hour and having to take my inhaler, I’m really having trouble breathing and my chest is tight. Called the Health Centre and got appointment with Dr P for 11pm. EM took me down to the docs, MD stayed in bed as she is loaded with the cold. Dr P had a student in her office, who checked me over and sent me over to the treatment room for a shot of the nebulizer. This seemed to help a lot, then returned to see Dr P who gave me a course of steroids and some antibiotics.
We (EM and me) went to the chemist for my prescription before going to Gourock for lunch (my treat). Em drove me to buy a penny whistle and beginner’s book from the music shop. When we got home, I had a go at the penny whistle, which, like all musical instruments is going to take a lot of practice but I could kind of get a bit of Baa Baa Black Sheep by the end of the day. The penny whistle might eventually drive the family mad as it is a bit louder than I thought it would be.
For a wee change I watched some Italian footy, Palermo V Lecce with Palermo wining 2-0 then went to bed.
I am beginning to move about a bit more freely. Standing up and getting out of bed is not so painful although I still need the big loose pants for sitting about as anything tighter is uncomfortable. The chest infection is a bit of a pisser and I could have done without it but I think that is one of the hazards of being having been in hospital or having an operation, you tend to acquire colds and flus but it could be worse, MRSA or death. So a cold and a chest infection is hee haw. Still no word about my CT scan and next step in my treatment, but I think the week of recovery has been good for me. Mentally I am still strong, positive and as I said earlier 99.99% of the time it isn’t in my head and I’m just looking forward to the future. I’ve noticed that this blog/diary thing was light hearted a humorous at the start but had become just a list of my daily activities or non-activities as the case seems to be most days. I think that daytime TV and cabin fever has stunted the humour a bit and there are only so many times you can joke about having a small penis. Well maybe not as small penises are funny. As I am writing this there is an Elizabeth Taylor film on TCM, my god was she a hot looking woman when she was young, no wonder men just fell at her feet. Talking about penises and hot women, still not sure if mine still fires the bullets (blank bullets but bullets all the same). I know the lift still goes all the way to the penthouse, I have lead in my pencil, get a stauner (Scottish expression), get a woody but I haven’t fired the gun. MD doesn’t want to yet and is very nervous about it, I haven’t had the urge since the op and am too sore but I think in the next week or so it’s going to have to get a test firing if you get my drift. I’ll keep you informed. You lucky lucky people!!!
Friday 28th October 2011
This was the day I was going to walk down the hill and back up again, so I did, but more of that later. I have begun to wake up at about 2.30am and find myself bright eyed and bushy tailed but unable to get back to sleep. The last couple of nights I have dropped off to sleep again at 6:30am (ish) before waking again at 8am (ish), but this morning I didn’t wake up until 9:30am. Gilmour Girls were on TV. This is one of these programmes I don’t know why I watch (other than the obvious attraction of Lauren Graham) it is a strange programme about a single mother, her genius daughter and their associated relatives and friends, that meanders along at a fairly slow pace getting nowhere fast. To be honest a 47 year old heterosexual Scotsman should really be changing channel as soon as he realises what he is viewing, but I can’t. I have to watch the simple tale and be frustrated about the huge amount of stuff the characters say to each other without sorting out the basic shite that annoys them about the other person/people they have a problem with, only to dance around the subject for about four or five episodes or never bringing it up at all. If I miss the first showing I will watch it on the +1 channel an hour later which is really worrying. All the rest of the pap on morning TV I can miss but the Gilmour Girls is a necessity. It must bring out my feminine side or something, either way it has got me worried. I’ll just put it down to Lauren Graham just to save my male ego and move on.
Back to my walk; I live at the top of a fairly high steep hill with a very windy road. I already walked down the hill a few days ago but was completely knackered when I got to the bottom. Since then I’ve acquired a chest infection, which has resulted (If you have read previous scribbles on here) in me having to take steroids and antibiotics, but I was feeling good and confident. MD is still flat out with the cold I gave her (am I generous or what?), as usual when she gets a cold she gets a nasty cough and loses her voice. That being the case, I insisted I would be OK to walk down and up on my own. I had a lazy wee donner (slow walk) down the hill without seeing another soul until I got to the main road at the very bottom, not even a passing car or some such. MD had asked me to get her a wee bottle of Diet Pepsi (500ml) and I bought a Herald (newspaper) and a bottle of fruit flavoured water for me from Tescos, before beginning my ascent back up the hill. I was OK for the first bit but about a third of the way up I began coughing and wheezing which wasn’t good, then a woman driving a white transit type van suddenly tried to reverse into me (with the back doors of the van open) while her male counterpart was delivering stationery to the old folks home. Luckily for me he came running up the drive and banged the side of the van to get her to stop, as I was beginning to think I wouldn’t get out the way in time. The rest if the journey up was uneventful. On arriving home I was puffing and panting like a dog locked in a car on a hot day and sweating profusely, but I made it. Rewarding myself with a wee cuppa tea and had a chocolate and fudge cookie. Lovely!
The rest of the day was spent fiddling about moving this daily diary stuff I had written on my laptop, to this blog. Blogs seem to be a rite of passage for cancer patients, I have noticed. I think it is a way for people to put stuff down on record for others (whether that’s relatives, friends, strangers or fellow sufferers) to read and possibly allow me/them (the writer) to get things into some kind of order in my/their head(s) as I/we move through this unsettling (to say the least) process. Talking about rites of passage, men suffering from testicular cancer seem to take up cycling for some strange reason. Could it have something to do with Lance Armstrong or could it be that with only having one testicle it is easier to sit on the razor blade of a seat that bicycles have these days. I don’t have the largest genitalia as anyone on the boabby count will testify but even I struggle to place them comfortably on a bike seat, so maybe one testicle means it all sits properly and comfortably making cycling a more enjoyable hobby for men. I don’t intend to take up cycling, I like to run but, I will “never say never” as my old granny used to say. That is one of the things TC has taught me; you never know what is around the corner, so cycling may at some time be a route back to health and fitness.
Saturday 28th October 2011
I had the same sleep pattern as the previous night waking at around 2:30am and joining the wide awake club until well, the rest of the day. I eventually got up and went into the living room at 8:30am. Arrested Development was on TV, which was recently voted on a TV listings website I was on recently “the best sitcom ever”, which is up for debate but is none the less very funny. It has some very good characters and isn’t scared to upset people with visual as well as spoken humour. Best sitcom ever? I am not sure, but I chuckle and giggle all the way through it anyway. I watched some 30 Rock On Demand, then settled down for an afternoon and evening of football. Heaven!!!! Well for me, I just love football. I have done since I was a child. I was never much of a player but I have always loved it.
Aberdeen V Rangers, Chelsea V Arsenal, Roda V Ajax and Inter V Juve, Real Sociedad V Real Madrid. Now that is what I call a crackin day. Chelsea V Arsenal and Inter V Juve were absolutely mesmerising sport, end to end, edge of the seat stuff in both games. Great games, great players, happy me!
Practiced my penny whistle before bed, much to MD’s amusement (that is not a euphemism). All I could see were her shoulders going up and down as she tried (in vain) to stifle her laughter as I murdered Baa baa black sheep for the umpteenth time (the amount of double entendre I have thought of from the last couple of sentences is making my head spin). MD says she “isn’t laughing at my playing, it is just because I’m funny and that’s why she loves me”. I think it is because I am terrible but it’s probably a combination of the two. I am really bad, but as I said when I got my penny whistle, it will take a lot of practice. There will probably be a murder in my house (me) as my family can only put up with the racket I am making for so long, before snapping my neck in frustration. I feel sorry for them, but I will succeed or be killed, whichever comes first. Fate will decide.
