If your an avid reader of all the things an Awkward Father gets himself into, you’ll know that back in January of 2015 I chose to have a vasectomy. If you have no clue what I’m talking about I strongly suggest you read the article. While it’s not necessary to have the knowledge of my balls, you can find it HERE. You should know right now that I’m about to talk (er….write) about my balls again.
Today, I found myself waiting in the urologist’s office again. Myself and Alaina were waiting to check in behind Dracula. Obviously it wasn’t Dracula, it was during the day. Whoever he was, mythical beast or not, he was taking far too long at be counter. Normally I’m a patient person, today I was just a patient…ha.
The thing I hate most about the doctor’s office is waiting. Plenty of comedians have extrapolated on this so I don’t have to.
The urologist has an odd office. It’s a normal doctor’s office except for 2 things. The table has stirrups (cool…) and the literature hanging on the wall looks like it was colored in by a middle school art class. My toddler can do better with colored pencils than the printer did to those pamphlets. The brochures range from simple things like bowel problems to more intense problems like cancer. That’s the one I needed.
Before I could grab the eerie papers, the doctor had arrived. A whirling sound started in my ears and all I seemed to be able to do was answer his questions in a monotone voice.
Yes, I found a lump.
Yes I had an ultrasound.
Sure, you can feel it.
I felt bad having come right from work but I dropped drawer anyway. Like Alaina said “it’s not like he hasn’t seen his fair share of gravy.” (She didn’t say this while he was in the room). As I mooned my wife, he felt my pectoral muscles, my lymph nodes and then made his way unceremoniously down to my testicles, dangling in the midday breeze. He noted that he was the one who performed my vasectomy and that he had done a prescreening before the operation. At that time there were no lumps.
Then, he showed us the scans from the ultrasound. I wish I had those scans. I wish you could see what I saw. One testicle, perfectly normal. The other…and for now I’m not telling you which one, let’s keep the mystery in our relationship shall we? The other looked like Sigourney Weaver should be running from it. There is a small (large) demonic mass in my ball sack. It is one of the most fucked up images I have ever seen. I feel bad that the doctor had to see it.
According to the doctor, there is almost no viable testicle left. And while he can’t say 100% that’s it cancerous, he can say 99% that it is. And he can say 120% that it’s coming out asap.
So, by this time next week, I will be down to one testicle. I will be awaiting the biopsy of the missing testicle. And I will more than likely be bored out of my goddamn mind.
Trust me, this is still a parenting blog, but this is also a story of “what the fuck?”
Life and parenthood is already so fucked up enough. We’re dealing with work and raising kids in unknown times, not to mention the fact that everytime I type “testicles” it autocorrects to “dictate”. Now, we get to enjoy testicular (dictation) cancer.
The good news: testicular cancer is 97% curable. So for now, we have to wait. We have to wait for my ball to be tossed and we have to wait for my biopsy results.
Here we go world, let’s do it.