Prognosis

There’s a slight rumbling in my stomach, but beyond that, I feel empty, restless, unforgiving. My testicle is gone. My girlfriend is gone. What else will leave me? Not able to write complete sentences no longer… fuck!

Feel like a 350 pound man each time I try to rise from sitting. Ugh, stabbed me in the gut – phantom right testicle twitches no fun. Best friend from high school and family still here. Thank You.

Mmmk, but have prescriptions. Pain meds and antibiotics. Wish there were more pain meds. Getting better all the time. Mhmmm.

Bandage itches – must take showers wearing trash bag skirt. Ex-girlfriend not returning emails. Please. She does - disappointing. Want to sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep. New Year. Happy happy.

Oncologist appointment on Monday. There’s more. Goddamnit, get a hold of yourself. Complete sentences are there for a reason.

The Oncologist lets me know that the lump that kamikaze-ed my right testicle is called a mixed germ cell tumor; it’s 95% embryonal and 5% seminoma. Those are testicular cancer strains. If it were 100% seminoma, then I’d be set. No chemotherapy or surgery is required for seminoma for the most part; minor radiation therapy would’ve done the trick. However, the embryonal is a less favored strain; it’s known for metastasizing faster. That’s the downside of testicular cancer; it’s very treatable, but it spreads rather quickly.

The Oncologist is also father to a rather smart kid who went to my high school and graduated three years earlier than me. His son was a chess whiz and won a huge trophy for the school, larger even than some of the foot ball trophies. My Mom mentions that fact and my Dad adds supporting statements. We talk about that for several minutes. Please, just tell me my fucking prognosis.

At this point, I should describe the Oncologist, but I don’t give a fuck. He describes the future treatment options associated with my prognosis in a straightforward manner. I thank him for that.

The Doctor also assures me that the chances of getting a second, testicular tumor are akin to winning the lottery twice. I don’t feel like I’ve won anything, but that’s still good news.

Another piece of good news is that the Urologist later informed me that my larger, left nut should be able to compensate for the lack of its partner in terms of testosterone levels and sperm count. This means that my remaining testicle will become larger, a super ball if you will.

I don’t want to talk too much more about this – here’s a message that I sent to a friend.

“hey man, thanks for your support. I think I've been drinking a little too much - not at the moment, but just in average day-to-day terms. I left my girlfriend in the same week that I lost my testicle. It was a long time in the making, since she deserves and wants better, and I didn't want to keep her prisoner by playing the cancer card.

Fuck. I'm just looking for new reasons to wake up early each morning. There’s a 1 in 3 chance that the cancer has spread to my stomach and will be moving on to my lungs. Don't get me wrong; this is still a very curable condition. There's a 90+% chance that it'll be cured, no matter what treatment option I choose.”

My treatment options are a major surgery versus less involved but less certain follow-ups with more long term risks –more about these options later.