I sent the following to many of the people close to me on Monday, 26 July:
Hoo boy.
Some of you guys already know this, but on Thursday I went to get a physical, even though Morgan, my other half, was the one who really needed it to see why he felt tired all the time (thyroid is suspected, but we’ll see). The doc went through the checklist of diseases and complaints, and the only thing I really had for him to check on was a small mass on the bottom of my right testicle. It’s been there for about 4 years and hasn’t changed noticeably in that time. I got prodded by a nurse and doctor at the college when I was in San Diego in 2001, and they said I could get an ultrasound to check it more thoroughly, but that it was probably what it seemed: an epididymal cyst, which are common and non-threatening.
The new doctor is much more proactive than that. He made an appointment with the ultrasound lab the same day, and I was on a table being scanned an hour after we finished up with the physical. He called me about 10 minutes after we got home to say he’d just spoken with the technician who did the scans and that something had shown up. Something “not good.”
He went on to say that it was a solid mass, and inside the testis as well as that toric shape on the lower pole I’d been keeping an eye (well, an occasional finger) on. The good news was that because of my timeline, it was obviously slow-growing and “mellow.” The bad news was that these types of positive indicators on the ultrasound usually mean the masses are cancerous. There’s only one way to be sure, and that’s to take it out. Biopsy can’t be done with it intact, since if there is cancer present, it can easily spread if the testicle wall is ruptured. There’s a chance it is benign, but it still has to come out for the lab to check it.
The doc took the liberty of booking an appointment with a urologist earlier today, and I’ve been waiting to talk with him and get his opinions before I shared this with you. As expected, radical orchiectomy is the next step, and I’ll be undergoing that procedure some time in the next couple of weeks, I expect. It’s a very simple operation, I should be able to go home the same day, and then we wait for the results of the dissection.
I count on your support, family & friends, and I love you more than you know. I’m a little stressed over this, but it’s a strange condition to have. I can’t really make any kind of lifestyle change that would alter it, and it’s happening so fast I won’t have much time to dwell on “what ifs.” This is a good thing, in my opinion. As someone who lives inside his head a lot, I’ve had to become better at policing my own negative fantasies the last few days. The outlook at this time is very good–both the internist and the urologist think so–and the latter has done this operation hundreds of times.
So, we scheduled the surgery for the 16th of August, and spent a couple of angst-ridden weeks until then trying to keep busy and remain philosophical about the whole thing. I bet I learned more about testicular cancer in those weeks than most doctors know about it.
I sent this message the day after the surgery in response to a message my mom wrote:
> After Marc was in recovery, they told him he could leave and when
> he stood up to go, he nearly passed out and his blood pressure
> dropped quite a bit. Then after they told him he could go as soon
> as he urinated (can’t go til the plumbing functions) so when he
> went in the bathroom he passed out.
Well, what happened was I felt a little nauseous and flushed (no pun intended), but didn’t have much trouble getting off the gurney. I did have trouble peeing, sort of an on-and-off process, but had to sit down on the toilet to do it. Upon getting up from that, I pulled the little chain they have in there to call the nurse back and she asked how I felt. I said, “I’m a little flushed,” and she said I’d better sit down in the chair they have in the bathroom just for that purpose. I sat down, took a couple of breaths, and then I was flat on my back on the floor, disoriented and groggy, looking up at five or six concerned faces. Dunno how long I was out, but it was probably a minute or so.
“It’s a reaction to the anesthesia,” said Jim, one of the nurses (or orderlies). “Happens all the time.” I’d had a vasovagal syncope (you can look that up), and was white as the sheets on my bed for several minutes. We stayed there for another couple hours until I was able to get up and into the wheelchair to go home.
The incision is a lot bigger than I thought, a little over four inches long. Perhaps my surgeon needed more room to get the implant in place than he would have if he just removed the testicle. I’m still numb on the surface of the incision itself. Most of the pain is deeper, and feels as if I’ve been kicked in my non-existent nut. I’m taking vicodin for that, which takes the edge off, and the pain is gradually lessening. They want me to walk around a bit, not stay sedentary, which is aggravating, but necessary for quicker healing. I’m not allowed to do anything strenuous for two weeks.
We were supposed to find out about the pathology of the tumor within 48 hours, but by Wednesday, the urologist’s office had heard nothing from the lab. Thursday. Friday. Still nothing from them. Finally on Monday, the 23rd of August, I got a call…
Best of all possible results, people.
Last Monday I underwent radical inguinal orchiectomy. That is to say, they ripped my belly open and cut off half my manhood, with my full consent and approval. I’m walking almost normally now, and am the proud owner of a throbbing 4.5 inch incision. The vicodin was fun at first, but then it just became annoying, and is now even more so since I stopped taking it yesterday. But I digress.
Earlier today I spoke with my urologist, who had just spoken with the oncologist doing the biopsy on my excised orb. He said the reason it took so long to get the verdict was that it was a very unusual tumor (for being intratesticular), an adenomatoid. They had to get second opinions and run additional tests to suss it out. Adenomatoid tumors don’t metastasize, but they can take over the entire testicular mass, and so I would, in all probability, have had to undergo the orchiectomy at some point anyway.
They may want to keep an eye on me for a bit, or not. Otherwise, we’re done, since it’s benign. Five points for sheer, dumb luck.
Thanks to all who offered information and words of encouragement.
This would have all been much more exciting in real-time, but my readership isn’t exactly bloated. Still, for archival purposes and the random passerby who searches “testicular cancer,” there it is.
