Back in July, I wrote about getting ready for my first major check-up since February. I decided to tell my urologist about the lump on my SuperBall, and he told me to schedule an ultrasound. The lump is attached to the vein and not the testicle itself, which is a good sign. I got the ultrasound over three weeks ago at a hospital closer to home. I got a call from the other hospital on Monday July 27th as I was drunkenly cruising the Chicago lakefront. The caller told me that the other hospital hadn't faxed the results yet.
Long story short - I got the other hospital to fax the results on July 28th, and I've called the receiving hospital about ten times since. I did get a call back from a physician's assistant who said that everything was fine and negative - yeah, she was talking about my CT scan that I've already gone over with my urologist and not the more recent ultrasound - this somehow made the whole affair more frustrating. I've also been told repeatedly that after the faxing of results, there is a scanning process that can take up to a week to make it to the urologist, so that he can glance at it. Really? I worked in office supplies for a few months right next to a copy and print section, and although I didn't undergo rigorous training, it seems that you put a piece of paper on this machine that hums for a few seconds - boom, scanned! I know that the doctor is busy, but how can it take a week (actually over a week at this point) to get those scanned results to him?
I haven't been left completely in the dark - again, it's one of those repeated instances where I'm insanely grateful that my Dad is also a doctor. He was able to look up the ultrasound results, since it was done at his hospital. The results stated that my SuperBall lump was probably a varicocele, which is basically a varicose vein in my nut. This happens to approximately 1 in 7 young guys, mostly during puberty as there is increased blood flow to the testicles. In my case, this is probably due the recent trauma and compensation that my sac has undergone. All I got from my Dad was "varicocele" (understandable, since this isn't his area of expertise), and I've researched the rest on my own.
And this is what has been driving me crazy, the fact that I've had to give myself my own consultation. I'd like to hear from someone with more expertise. How certain is it that this lump is a varicocele? What are the chances (since there are some) of this leading to infertility? Will I need to get another surgery to remove this lump that seems to keep growing? Every time I call, I ask if there's something that I can do to "help expedite this process" (i.e. do you need me to drive down there and copy the results by hand if your scanner is broken and then run it up to the doctor?).
My Mom, who also works in healthcare, has told me that this non-communication is probably a good sign, that they'd be contacting me right away if there was potential trouble. Fine, but it still doesn't feel official until I hear back from someone. This remnant of uncertainty is starting to come back to the point that I've caught myself fiddling with the lump throughout the day; I don't need this uncertainty, since it's led to destructive decisions in the past.
And it comes back down to whether or not I respect myself enough to believe that I deserve an answer in a timely fashion. I've been cautious about demanding respect in the past, since I don't want to walk around with a chip on my shoulder. I don't want to be one of those pugnacious grown men who throws a tantrum every time something doesn't go his way, and who could probably really benefit from a royal ass kicking. No for basic respect, I'm thinking more along the lines of Stuart Smalley's daily affirmation.
People will take advantage of and walk all over you if you don't think you're good enough. This has been my expanding realization these past eight months. The realization is that I have fucking had it.
I've had it with devoting substantial time and energy to bullshit that I don't even care about. I've had it with being dependent on others for my happiness. I've had it with using drinking and drugs as an excuse to feel. I've had it with being willing to politely die in a corner so as not to cause any undue convenience.
I've also had it with acquiescing to people who aren't as smart, talented, and thoughtful as me. Yeah, I said it. I'm sick of being accommodating and understanding, especially when people haven't done shit to deserve it. I don't need permission to be upset. Actually, I'm pissed - time to make another call. That's my cheerful post for the day.
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