Flashlights & Hand Grenades

I'm alright.  I'm going to be alright.  This is not that big a deal.

Positive reinforcement consumed my thoughts, from the moment my urologist plainly stated "you have stage III testicular cancer" to when I got to the nearest computer at home.  I spent the rest of the night (and morning) doing research, and finally came to the conclusion that I would, in fact, be just fine.

The truth of the matter is that testicular cancer isn't all that common, nor is it often fatal.  About 1 in every 250 men will have testicular cancer in their lifetimes, and when detected early enough the survival rate sits at a high and mighty 99%.  However, at a later stage that percentage can drop to 80% and further (according to testicularcancersociety.org/tc_101.htm).

Being at stage III, I immediately feared the worst, but my doctors and urologists calmed my nerves and said at my age and health it would be very unlikely I would face death.  That is, until after chemotherapy and surgery, when my young (and unbelievably naive) doctor told me that "things aren't looking so good" before shipping me to the experts in Boston.  I would later find out that he mistook pneumonia, which is common for patients undergoing chemotherapy to get, for the spread of cancer through the lungs.

I digress.  That rant is for another day and another post.

What completely blew me away was how little people seemed to know about testicular cancer.  I always assumed it would be so obvious, mainly by a degree of pain and/or swelling.  Here's something I bet nobody knew.  Testicular cancer, during most early stages, is not painful.

Truth time: when I first noticed how massive my right nut was getting, I laughed.  A lot.  It was a big joke to me, and I told all my friends about it.  Only one told me that it could be serious, and that I needed to get it checked out.  There were two really interesting things I learned over the next few weeks.  First, it's a bad sign when one of your nuts is suddenly huge and it doesn't hurt.  If it hurts, it's likely that you have what's known as "torsion", where the spermatic cord gets twisted and cuts off blood supply to one testicle.  This results in swelling and severe pain, and prompt surgery is often necessary to repair the cord and (hopefully) save the testicle.  

The second?  Oh, that was actually kind of cool.  During one test my female doctor switched the lights off and shined a flashlight on my right testicle.  Apparently it is a preemptive measure.  If the light passes through the testicle you're in the clear.  If you can only see a mass or darkness, that's not so good and further tests are needed.  I mention she was female because she was absolutely gorgeous.  That made things pretty awkward, yet hilarious.  Okay maybe just awkward.  Anyways...

Gentlemen!  If you learn nothing else from my blog, learn how to test yourself for testicular cancer!  Seriously, this was never taught to me in school and I'm actually pretty pissed about it.  Take a warm bath or shower, because that allows the testicles to drop and relax.  Then, with a forefinger and thumb, roll each testicle and feel for any weird bumps.  Keep in mind they should feel smooth and a little firm.

And yes, it is normal for one to sit lower than the other.  However, it's not alright for one to feel like a soft hand grenade and be about the same size.

Growing Up & The Daily Drain

Huh.

Reflecting on my victory over testicular cancer dredges up so many crazy emotions and intense stories that I really haven't though about in a long time.  Let's see.

There's me snapping ridiculous photos of my massive right testicle and showing it to my friends, thinking it was probably torsion or something.  I mean this thing was huge.  It fit in my hand like a goddamn baseball.  But there's no way it could be cancer, right?  I'm so naive sometimes...

There's me bicking my hair because I didn't want to deal with it falling out in terrible clumps, but, cool, it grew back in and did it anyways.

There's me asking the doctor so politely if he could remove the obnoxious skin tag on my chest while he's putting in the port-o-cath anyways (no big deal, just minor cosmetic surgery during a serious procedure...but he was nice enough to do it anyways).

There's me nervously whistling the "Rescue Aid Society" theme song from The Rescuers, lying in a bed right before my 11-hour retroperitoneal lymph node dissection (RPLND) surgery...and then me apparently belting it out for my sister while I was doped up on some seriously good shit afterwards.

There's me trapped in a double room at the hospital, recovering for a full week next to the world's most talkative, cry-baby of a man I've ever met.  "Poor me, I fell of the top rung of a tall ladder because I'm an idiot and forgot I'm not supposed to stand on that one, and now I have some fractured bones in my leg and I'm stuck out of work for a few weeks".  Yeah, your life sucks dude.  At 40 you've got some broken bones, at 21 I'm getting carved like a turkey to remove some tumors and cells that have decided to go haywire on me.  Speaking of which, I should probably be getting some rest.  Oh, unless you want to talk some more?  No, no, please go on.  I insist!  It's only 2am.

There's me getting my 57 staples removed from the scar running from the middle of my chest down to my groin, wrapping tastefully around my belly-button.  Picture Chance from Homeward Bound getting all those porcupine needles taken out of his face.  Yeah, that bad.  Probably the most painful thing I went through.  I tossed some nice curse words at the nurse.  I feel bad, she was a saint.

There's me laughing at my friends, who are all stunned that I haven't used the "cancer card" to get laid.  Honestly, am I really that shallow?  (To be fair, if it's a last ditch option, I'm not saying I won't show my scars.  They are pretty killer...)

I'm reflecting on these things while sitting in the comfort of my huge room, in my 4-bedroom apartment in downtown Portland, listening to Alkaline Trio and the quiet rain outside.  Since my cancer-free diagnosis in June of 2011, I've barely had the time to sit down and really think about it all.  I've been too busy catching up in school (thanks again, Cancer, for setting me back a semester), or working my ass off to cover my bills, or worrying about my internship at WCSH6 this summer, or socializing with the few actual friends I feel I have left in this oh-so-great state.

I've driven myself right back into the daily drain.  I promised I'd look at the world differently and appreciate everything more.  I swore to make myself the best person I possibly could be, physically, mentally, intellectually.  I'm just now starting to graze the surface physically, and I'm finally feeling like I'm getting the hang of my major and really starting to enjoy myself.  Mentally I've been effing myself for a long time now.

I think I only cried twice during those 6 months.  Once, on the way back from my dad's house after breaking the news, alone in the car on a cold night, as scared as I've ever felt.  The second, just before the right radical orchiectomy, where the doctor took away half of my manhood, the first time going under the knife.

It's time for me to break the mold.  I'm going to use this blog to share everything I am learning, or have learned, about being healthy and being prepared for the war on cancer.  Nobody should have to blindly go through what I went through at such a young age.

Hopefully by reading this blog, you'll never have to.