Friday, November 03, 2017

I have two things in this world: my balls and my word and I don't break them for no-one, you understand?*

I have a guest post today written by Elder Son linking in with Movember. The Movember Foundation's mission is to change the face of men’s health, specifically prostate cancer, testicular cancer and mental health issues. As Husband was diagnosed with testicular cancer when he was in his forties it's of particular interest and relevance to us as a family.


“Penis!”
This was the greeting that welcomed me on one visit to my local GP. I'd been called to the doctor’s room, and having let myself in and closed the door I began to explain the purpose of my visit (the doctor not having looked up from his computer at this point).

“I wanted you to check if I had a lump on my..”

“Penis!” blurted the doctor, interrupting, now finally standing and looking at me grinning.
Somewhat surprised by his outburst, I responded “Umm, you're in the right ball park**. But not quite. I wanted you to check my testicles”. Seemingly unaware of the oddity of shouting the word “penis” at a patient while trying to guess the body part I am going to complain about, he simply nodded and directed me to the other side of the room.

And so set the tone for what was not, for me, an unusual occurrence: going to see a doctor to get my balls checked out. The doctor was a smallish man, probably in his 60s. He asked me to pop up on to the bed, slide down my pants and lie on some paper tissue. He then put on some rubber gloves and came and had a rummage.

It didn't take long, it never does. Within a minute he was turning away and taking off his gloves. At this point, I am struggling to remember if he has said anything to me other than “penis”. Smiling and shaking his head he walks over to the sink to quickly wash his hands and says “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about”. Relieved, I sit up on the bed and start to put my trousers back on. Casually, the doctor strolls back, drying his hands “By the time you are 60, they will be a bag of worms”. 
Whoahhh. 
“By the time you are 60, they will be a bag of worms”
To me, this is not a sentence that should follow the words “it's fine”.
Especially when talking about my balls. 

Thankfully, after more confused mumbling and umm-ing and ahh-ing, and attempting to tactfully ask how said worms are going to get into my balls, he calmly re-assured me that as you get older, it's just what happens to the body sometimes. Like varicose veins. And to be clear, there are no worms involved.

OK. Phew. I left. 
Well, more or less. He actually went on to explain that this was perfectly normal, and that he would have no problem letting me leave, and that he would sleep easy with that decision, but suggested that just to be super cautious we arrange an appointment at the ultra-sound unit for a scan.
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The appointment only took a few weeks to come through, and was at a local hospital that my paramedic friend told me they referred to as “death-mid”. Great. 

Anyway, I rock up to the hospital, say hello at reception and sit down in the waiting room to wait for my call. 

Now this hadn’t crossed my mind at the time, but as this was a run-of-the-mill ultrasound ward, most of the patients were expectant mothers. As a result, the other two patients waiting with me were both young women, sitting with (I assume) their mothers — smiling at each other and fondly stroking their stomachs like only expectant parents can. 

And to be honest, it felt a little wrong. Sitting on my own, in my work clothes in a waiting room that is predominantly populated with soon-to-be mums. Knowing that at least one of the excited patients were going to be having their little bundle of joys seen for the first time in the very place I was about to be sitting, pants down having my balls scanned. But hey, it’s a hospital, its probably best not to think about what might have happened there before you.

Anyhow, soon enough I was being called to the room at the end of the corridor. 
The nurse, a male, probably only a few years older than me, was sitting in almost complete darkness. He ushered me on to the bed and with a few terse instructions of “hold this” and “move that way” he quickly explained that this would likely be cold as he applied a clear blue gel to the scanning device and started scanning. Noting that the technician seemed fairly grumpy, possibly understandably given the task he was undertaking, I thought I should make some small talk to brighten the mood. So, having recently been in an ultrasound room for my wife’s pregnancy scan, I jovially asked whether I would be getting a photo of the scan in a presentation card to share with my family and friends. Unfortunately, even my witty banter wasn’t enough to lighten the mood, as seemingly taking my request seriously he grumbled about the NHS and how they wouldn’t pay for that, and with that, I was on my way out.
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That encounter was not my first (nor last) getting checked out by a GP, but was the first ultrasound for the little fellas.

The first time I asked a GP to check my balls was whilst I was in there for another reason (I know, I know, it’s not cool to go to the GP and ask lots of things at once, but it just kinda happened), having had history of testicular cancer in the family, I had always been aware of the importance of checking myself, but also had this nagging doubt of “how do I know this is what they are supposed to feel like?”, so thought whilst I was there I would get the doc to check, just to get a baseline of what is normal.

He seemed quite surprised when I requested it, to be honest, which is not entirely surprising given I was there for an unrelated reason and then just casually dropped in “whilst I’m here, can you check my testicles”. Unfortunately, this surprise also meant un-prepared, because whilst he was very happy to check (and encouraging that it was a smart thing to do), he was clearly blindsided by the request, as whilst I stood there with my pants down being checked, I looked around to realise for the first time that we were in fact on the ground floor of the surgery, with the window overlooking the visitor car park. 
Fortunately, no one seemed to look in, and again it was over in a flash.

On the last occasion that I was in having a GP check my balls, the GP asked if I wanted to request a chaperone to be present in the room during the check, and whilst I lay there, part of me thought maybe she had seen my records of how often I had been checked and was asking more for herself.

Anyways, the point of these anecdotes is that it's good to check these things, and if you have access to available/free healthcare (the NHS, for example) then just go and ask a doctor to check for you if you have any concerns. There’s loads of information on the internet and in real life on how to check, so in the ever relevant words of rapper Ice Cube “check yo self before you wreck yo self”


* From Scarface
** I didn’t actually use that phrase. I wish I had been that quick. Even “close but no cigar” would have been halfway witty. But I think in the end I just umm’ed and ahh’ed and finally mumbled something about my balls.

@MovemberUK
www.movember.com

4 comments:

Sharon said...

Excellent post! Thanks, I'm going to share with DH.

Jimmy said...

Better safe than sorry, wise words mixed into your story there, I like that.

Liz Hinds said...

thanks, both.

SmitoniusAndSonata said...

All these checks are vital and we're lucky . Doesn't make one feel any more grateful at the time , though !