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I’m writing this because I need to start coping better than I am. I need to vent my spleen so to speak, and I’ll just tell my story up to this point.
I remember being in 7th grade (I’m 28 now), and being given a series of lectures on testicular cancer by our health teacher. He told us a story about two kids in gym, where one kid chucked a ball at the other kid’s nuts, which obviously hurt. Three days later, it still hurt, and so the young lad goes off to the hospital. Turns out of course that it hurt because of a tumor, and the testicle was removed. The kid who threw the ball thought he had injured his friend so bad they had to take his testicle, but his friend convinced him, “no, you saved my life.” So we learned about testicular cancer, TSEs, and to check, check, check.
It was that very night I went home, and noticed something funny with my left one, but I’m naturally anxious and I sometimes see things that aren’t there. Given the amount of concern that was drummed into me by health class, etc., I did have my physician check it. The report always came back, nothing out of the ordinary. I monitored over the years, and nothing ever seemed to change about it.
Five years ago, I met my fiancée, and I told her about my testicle as well. I’d had numerous physicals by then, and each time, don’t worry. I was worried though, and I told her then I was considering having it re-examined or removed, especially since it had descended late. But again, nothing was changing, and the doctors said no worries.
It was during this last year that I did finally notice a change. “Gee that’s slightly bigger”, I would think in the shower, and last June, I made an appointment with my college health center where I’m a graduate student. At my college, there’s a famous story of one of the hockey players being diagnosed with testicular cancer, and there is now a huge initiative on campus to increase awareness. Good, I reasoned, now maybe they’ll take me seriously. My “hard spot” was right on top of my testicle, and given that doctors weren’t concerned about it, I thought it was probably a spermatic cyst. The physician’s assistant in June said lefty felt smaller, but other than that, nothing unusual.
Then in February, I felt the texture change. I finally called bull****, and went back to my health center. I got another physician’s assistant, who again told me no big deal, but if it would make me feel better, he could have it ultrasounded. Yes, that would make me feel better.
The ultrasound was the beginning of The Great Scare. The ultrasounds technician brought in the radiologist, who informed me that there was “nothing normal” about my testicle, and that I should see a urologist with all deliberate speed. I saw the director of our health center that very day, who promptly diagnosed me with advanced testicular cancer. “You’ll be fine”, he said, “but you’re going to disappear for awhile. Stop working on your dissertation. Let people know.”
I was devastated. Totally. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t act rational at all. I got blood work and CT scans done that day as well. The very next day I was at the urologist’s office with my CT scan data. While I was waiting for the doctor to come in, my GP called me sheepishly, “Listen, good news! Your CT scan came back totally clean! But you’re still going to need wild chemotherapy.” That was the first relief I’d felt since the nightmare began, and I broke down crying right there in the office.
Then the urologist came in, and reiterated that the CT was clean. He reminded me, “you should probably have this testicle removed.” F the testicle!! Cut away!! He told me they would get back in touch with me to schedule the appointment.
After the weekend, my GP called me again. “Blood results are in, also clean. No elevated tumor markers at all. You know, this might not even be cancer. Sorry… I diagnosed you with advanced cancer.” If I hadn’t been in such a panic, and happy at the news, I would probably kill him with my bare hands.
The urologist’s office called back, and scheduled me for that Thursday, exactly one week after the ultrasound. The surgeon himself reiterated that my blood and CT were clean, and that “removal is 95% of the cure.” Sleep, cut, puke, and frozen peas, and now I’m so glad it’s out.
While I was massively sedated, the surgeon told my fiancée that the initial results showed that it was a stage I seminoma. He saw no surgical evidence that it had spread to my lymph nodes, or anywhere else. He said the tumor had eaten 2/3 of my testicle, but otherwise it was “nicely contained.” I have a follow-up in two weeks.
So in the meantime, I have been reading up, and it continues to scare the **** out of me. I keep reading the cure rate is high, but I still haven’t shifted gears that I have to manage this, it’s not just going to go away. Most importantly, my urologist seems to be leaning towards surveillance, with a small chance of minor radiation, and I’m just not used to thinking I’m going to have to cope with this. My GP scared me so bad, I still feel like I’m going to die tomorrow. I’m having trouble feeling relief.
My fiancée is eminently practical, and continues to remind me that no matter how bad things are, I have to keep living my life. Sitting around dreading the worst will actually help bring it about, as opposed to focusing on living my life and taking care of my body. I believe her, I do, but I need attitude adjustment. I’ve been reading this site for some time, but I need to take steps to incorporating this experience into the rest of my life, and posting what’s happened so far seems to be the first step.
Hello, and thank you.
I remember being in 7th grade (I’m 28 now), and being given a series of lectures on testicular cancer by our health teacher. He told us a story about two kids in gym, where one kid chucked a ball at the other kid’s nuts, which obviously hurt. Three days later, it still hurt, and so the young lad goes off to the hospital. Turns out of course that it hurt because of a tumor, and the testicle was removed. The kid who threw the ball thought he had injured his friend so bad they had to take his testicle, but his friend convinced him, “no, you saved my life.” So we learned about testicular cancer, TSEs, and to check, check, check.
It was that very night I went home, and noticed something funny with my left one, but I’m naturally anxious and I sometimes see things that aren’t there. Given the amount of concern that was drummed into me by health class, etc., I did have my physician check it. The report always came back, nothing out of the ordinary. I monitored over the years, and nothing ever seemed to change about it.
Five years ago, I met my fiancée, and I told her about my testicle as well. I’d had numerous physicals by then, and each time, don’t worry. I was worried though, and I told her then I was considering having it re-examined or removed, especially since it had descended late. But again, nothing was changing, and the doctors said no worries.
It was during this last year that I did finally notice a change. “Gee that’s slightly bigger”, I would think in the shower, and last June, I made an appointment with my college health center where I’m a graduate student. At my college, there’s a famous story of one of the hockey players being diagnosed with testicular cancer, and there is now a huge initiative on campus to increase awareness. Good, I reasoned, now maybe they’ll take me seriously. My “hard spot” was right on top of my testicle, and given that doctors weren’t concerned about it, I thought it was probably a spermatic cyst. The physician’s assistant in June said lefty felt smaller, but other than that, nothing unusual.
Then in February, I felt the texture change. I finally called bull****, and went back to my health center. I got another physician’s assistant, who again told me no big deal, but if it would make me feel better, he could have it ultrasounded. Yes, that would make me feel better.
The ultrasound was the beginning of The Great Scare. The ultrasounds technician brought in the radiologist, who informed me that there was “nothing normal” about my testicle, and that I should see a urologist with all deliberate speed. I saw the director of our health center that very day, who promptly diagnosed me with advanced testicular cancer. “You’ll be fine”, he said, “but you’re going to disappear for awhile. Stop working on your dissertation. Let people know.”
I was devastated. Totally. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t act rational at all. I got blood work and CT scans done that day as well. The very next day I was at the urologist’s office with my CT scan data. While I was waiting for the doctor to come in, my GP called me sheepishly, “Listen, good news! Your CT scan came back totally clean! But you’re still going to need wild chemotherapy.” That was the first relief I’d felt since the nightmare began, and I broke down crying right there in the office.
Then the urologist came in, and reiterated that the CT was clean. He reminded me, “you should probably have this testicle removed.” F the testicle!! Cut away!! He told me they would get back in touch with me to schedule the appointment.
After the weekend, my GP called me again. “Blood results are in, also clean. No elevated tumor markers at all. You know, this might not even be cancer. Sorry… I diagnosed you with advanced cancer.” If I hadn’t been in such a panic, and happy at the news, I would probably kill him with my bare hands.
The urologist’s office called back, and scheduled me for that Thursday, exactly one week after the ultrasound. The surgeon himself reiterated that my blood and CT were clean, and that “removal is 95% of the cure.” Sleep, cut, puke, and frozen peas, and now I’m so glad it’s out.
While I was massively sedated, the surgeon told my fiancée that the initial results showed that it was a stage I seminoma. He saw no surgical evidence that it had spread to my lymph nodes, or anywhere else. He said the tumor had eaten 2/3 of my testicle, but otherwise it was “nicely contained.” I have a follow-up in two weeks.
So in the meantime, I have been reading up, and it continues to scare the **** out of me. I keep reading the cure rate is high, but I still haven’t shifted gears that I have to manage this, it’s not just going to go away. Most importantly, my urologist seems to be leaning towards surveillance, with a small chance of minor radiation, and I’m just not used to thinking I’m going to have to cope with this. My GP scared me so bad, I still feel like I’m going to die tomorrow. I’m having trouble feeling relief.
My fiancée is eminently practical, and continues to remind me that no matter how bad things are, I have to keep living my life. Sitting around dreading the worst will actually help bring it about, as opposed to focusing on living my life and taking care of my body. I believe her, I do, but I need attitude adjustment. I’ve been reading this site for some time, but I need to take steps to incorporating this experience into the rest of my life, and posting what’s happened so far seems to be the first step.
Hello, and thank you.
). Stay strong; we're here for you.
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