MTCJ — Surgery
As I mentioned before, this blog is first and foremost an (admittedly quite public) way for me to process what’s happening. Thus, the pieces I write aren’t necessarily in chronological, or indeed any logical order. I hope you still find them interesting to read. As always, please provide me with your feedback.
The time between 1st of April, the day of my (probable) diagnosis, and 7th of April, the day of my surgery, are a bit of a blurr. Speaking to my wife, my kids, my employer about what’s happening. Lots of fear and uncertainty, mixed with determination, hope and courage. A prep appointment in the hospital on Tue 5 April, where they talked me though in some more detail what was going to happen, took blood, did exams… — I have snippets of it floating around in my head, but to be honest, I would struggle to put it all together into a meaningful story.
I will thus fast forward to the day of surgery, Thu 7th April. I was very nervous! I was confident, but extremely nervous. My last surgeries were a vasectomy about 12 years ago, and a surgery to remove my tonsils and straighten the inside of my nose, over 25 years ago. Neither of them had the same level of significance as what I was going to go through this time. I arrived, was told to go to a ward where I was to undress and put on my gown (the usual open in the back type of thing that is ideally suited for flaunting your derriere in front of everyone that gets to see your rear aspect) and hospital underwear (a kind of mesh pair of underpants — not as uncomfortable as I expected them to be), label my luggage etc. My room wasn’t ready yet, thus I had to do this in a prep room, where one other person was going through the same prep (although his surgery was a completely different one). We chatted a bit about what we were getting done — a bit of small talk, both of us being clearly nervous and anxious. Then I was given a shaver and told to shave the area. No clear instructions were given, so I went with what I had understood was going to be the area of the incision (they do not go in via the scrotum, but via the groin), and shaved that area generously. As it turned out later, I shaved way too little, but the rest was done for me as I was asleep. First, my roommate was picked up. We wished each other luck as he was wheeled out of the room in his bed. A new guy came, much younger than me, obviously also very nervous, but trying to hide it under a cool macho surface. I politely reminded him to please always wear his mask, which he complied with. No other words were exchanged.
Then it was my turn. I was picked up in my bed and wheeled down corridors, into the lift, and down to the basement. On through corridors full of trolleys, shelves, beds — it looked a bit like a forgotten underground storage area for the hospital, not the most encouraging view when you are already in a slightly fragile state of mind! I kept telling myself that this was completely normal, that I wasn’t James Bond and thus they would not bring me into some secret underground sound-proof torture chamber, and I could thus put my escape plan on hold for a bit longer, and see how the situation developed. We passed through the bed disinfection station, and finally arrived in the operating room. Again, in the basement with no windows, lots of machines and devices, the location made for an intimidating atmosphere. 2 or 3 people around me in scrubs, I forgot who they were, preparing me for anaesthesia. Fortunately I got to speak to the surgeon on the phone before they sent me off to the land of dreams. That way I could get a first impression of her, as well as ask my questions. Not long, though, and I was sent off to the beautiful garden of dreams.
I came to in the wake up room, feeling good. I struggled to move at first, but eventually managed to progress from wiggling toes and fingers to moving my arms and trying to sit up a bit to get an impression of where I was. A room full of beds with patients in various states of alertness. I remember looking around, feeling that I was one of the most alert and well looking ones (well, I couldn’t see myself, but I imagined I looked reasonably well, based on how I felt). Over time, I was told I had to wait a bit longer as they were still getting a room ready for me. I started getting nervous, as I had given my wife a rough timeline of how long surgery would last, and that I would contact her when I was in my room. If I had to wait much longer, she would start worrying that something may have gone wrong with my surgery. So I asked one of the nurses if I could borrow a phone to call my wife and tell her everything was fine. She was glad to hear me and asked me how I was, and I remember telling her I was Grrreat! like Tony the Tiger from the Frosties commercials! Clearly, I was still on drugs!
Eventually I was taken to my room, a triple room sharing with 2 other guys. I had asked (and hoped) for a single room, but it wasn’t to be. Oh well, the other guys looked decent and it was only going to be 3–5 days.
The next paragraph is a bit personal with regards to basic needs, so if you are easily grossed, or simply don’t want to read about a man’s struggle to relief the pressure in his bladder, please skip over the italic part.
There was a problem. I was in pain! And it wasn’t, I was sure, pain from the surgery, but the urgent need to pee! They brought me a bottle to pee into… Imagine the situation: you’re in a hospital room with 2 other men you’ve only just met, one of them lying right opposite — you have to try hard NOT to look straight at each other, it was so awkward! You’re lying on your back, you feel like you’ve been holding your pee for hours and it is very painful. So now, while holding the duvet up with your knees, try and pull down these mesh underpants, aim into the bottle (it did have a wide funnel!) and just let it run. So, how is it going? Running freely? Well, for me, it wasn’t. Not at all! Not a drop! I kept trying, but to no avail. All the while the pain was increasing, tension was building, which of course ensured that I wouldn’t be able to extract a single drop! I explained the situation to the nurse and asked if I could get up, just to go to the toilet, but the answer was a categorical “no”. And by the way, it couldn’t be that urgent, since they had emptied my bladder before starting surgery. So I started wondering if I didn’t have to pee after all, and it was just the pain from the surgery. So I asked for some pain relief, which I was given, but it only brought light relief. However not for long. Eventually I figured it probably was the need to pee after all, and I would just have to keep trying. In the end I managed to let go a little, by simply waiting and distracting myself. The pain was quite intense, and accompanied me through the next 24 hours. I was hot and thirsty, but at the same time afraid to drink, as drinking meant immediate increase in the level of pain in my bladder, and the struggle to let it flow.
You can imagine the relief I felt when I was told the next day that I was allowed to get up and visit the bathroom! Actually sitting on the toilet — oh what a heavenly feeling! The bottle was returned, and I became a frequent visitor to this magnificent facility called a bathroom!
On day 3, I was allowed to go home! Surgery had gone well, the tumour was indeed malignant and thus the testicle had been removed completely, and the wound was healing nicely, so I was allowed to leave. Further results and next steps would be communicated to me, but for now, that nasty blob had been removed from my body! Thank you to modern medicine!
