Monday, May 17, 2010

It all started with a hot shower...

...that led to series of events in which the family jewels got stroked by strangers and my hatred for Lance. All I will say is Men check your balls when they are warm. Summer has almost fully arrived so you will have ample opportunity or otherwise a hot shower works. You should know what feels right and what doesn't. Moving on. After, what I felt as an abnormality, I went to see the doctor. She, yes she, asked me to drop trou' so she could have a look see and feelsy. Exact words "Yeah you're right there is something off about that one." A week later I was set up for an ultrasound of my scrotum. To date it was the most uncomforatable moment of my life and I have had a few. I tend to embarrass myself. First off lets talk about Bob. Bob is Radiology technician who looked like Jerry Garcia if Jerry Garcia shaved his beard but kept the mustache and added curly cues to the ends. So Bob says "Alrighty pull your pants down and lay on the table I need you to relax and keep your head down" Well Bob I am balls out lying on a table and your putting warming gel on my balls, relax? Not gonna happen, but I will meet you half way at mild discomfort. So after what seemed like hours (ten minutes really) of the ultrasound wand gently massaging my gonads I looked over to the screen where Bob was busy pointing and clicking his way what i am sure could be masterpieces of the inner workings of my coin purse. It actually was sort of fascinating. Bob shouldn't have told me what they were looking for, outside mass on the testical, good, inside mass bad. It was inside. Then Bob says "Okay I am going to go get the Radiologist to make sure he doesn't need any more scans, stay put and I will be right back." Alrighty Bob. I was left to sit in a darkened room with my thoughts about my self diagnosis balls out with the door open and only a curtain to separate me from giving the rest of the radiology wing a floor show. I knew it was bad. Then Prateek, the radiologist, and Bob return; they are an odd couple not unlike Apu and Homer. They do some more scanning of the kids and then a further scan of my abdomen. Then in his Indian accent "Okay patrick with scans like this I am going to tell you that you have a form of testicular cancer and it will need to be removed." I started to well up. "Most likely we have caught this early but we will not know more until you have more blood work and you will need to discuss surgical options with a Eurologist" Tears. "Are you okay" Well Prateek you said cancer so no, no I am not allright. Then Bob taps me on the shoulder and says "Well you know that guy Lance Armstong he had same thing and they caught his late, and we're catching this early." Prateek: "And also this is the most treatable form of cancer." And there it was folks, the silver lining. The most treatable form of cancer. A mild case of cancer. Still doesn't help. You say cancer, I say give minute. I may be a man but I am fucking allowed to cry. Also this is also the first of many Lance Armstrong references to live strong and all that. All I can think about is, Do I have to start wearing Yellow and plastic wristbands? Yellow is not really my color, it makes me look sickly. I don't need to look sickly even if I do have cancer. Why couldn't livestrong colors be blue, you know blue for balls? I only ride my bike in the hipster earth friendly sort of way, and I wouldn't be caught dead in lycra bike shorts unless I was mocking someone. I am not going to win tour de France and I certainly won't be wearing a lot of yellow. I hate Lance Armstong now.


  1. You can mock me if you need to wear Lycra someday... and lance is an ass Juan pelota or otherwise.

    Heading into a hot shower now.

  2. My favorite thing about reading your blog is all the terms for balls you use. Keep it up.


  3. No one looks good in yellow - NO ONE. So proud of you for maintaining your spot-on fashion sense at all times.

    Thinking of you -