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| They need to be reminded which one to remove |
Welcome to Part Five-B!
Reminder:
_Men/ Young Men: seriously – learn to check your testicles regularly please – see here*
_Women: get the gentlemen in your life to check their testicles regularly
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(Re)Reading List:
Part Five A: Complicating Factors “I could hear him talking to himself. Loudly”
Part Four: Control the Narrative/ It’s a Great Feature
Part Three: Ninety-Something Percent Certain
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5b: Surgery “Scribbled an arrow on my arm”
It was a really early morning. Wednesday 30 September. Scheduled for a radical orchidectomy (look up the etymology of orchid sometime…)
It was all planned out: time to wake up, what I needed to take, the bag I’d use, the book(s) I’d read all of it.
I’d also planned not to have my phone with me. Yes I actually left it at home.
At 7am, I got to the specific hospital wing and it was really quiet. At least on the outside. Once I was inside the area, there were lots of people dressed in their uniform. It didn’t matter how much I was in the situation, the reality of why I was there was like the constant buzz of a helicopter sweeping overhead. It would fade, then come back, but never leave.
After being signed in, I sat down in the waiting area. I’ve got so familiar with waiting areas now. Especially NHS ones. In some they have a TV on (which I find really irritating now). In others there’s only quiet foreboding everywhere. I got out my folder specifically for all cancer-related information and read the instructions again:
Preparation:
_No food/ milky drinks 6hr before arrival for surgery
_Avoid fizzy drinks/ milk
_Drink clear fluids: water (not fizzy), black coffee
The last two words were my saving grace. Black coffee. Yay. The no food wasn’t an issue – I’d been fasting for 16h a day regularly by then (that’s a whole other conversation) but black coffee felt like the perfect nicety at a time like this. Why anyone would want to pollute their coffee with milk is beyond me. After putting away my piece of paper, it was now my Kindle. And reading. And the background of the television. Screens are hypnotic. I couldn’t help but look up and watch a bulletin about the presidential debate.
As I settled down to read I had a thought “It’s going to be a long day”.
After about an hour I drank some water. And went back to reading. Then went to the toilet. Then had a coffee.
Waiting is tiring.
I was flicking between two books: A Return To Love by Marianne Williamson and Just Like You by Nick Hornby. Both recommendations. Both actually perfect to move between whilst waiting for the removal of cancerous material.
Waiting to have a testicle removed is tiring.
I heard my name and was taken to a room. I put my stuff away and was given a gown, those special socks, and some underwear to put on. It all felt real now.
More waiting.
Ooooh action. I had a meeting with (one of) the anaesthetists. It wasn’t the one who was going to be working with me. I remember thinking that her dispassionate, medical manner was actually a good thing. She had that look of someone in a position of high-pressured leadership. I’ve seen it on Senior Leaders in schools and on the first CEO I met. There was no time to be messing around: focus and professionalism.
She read me the details of the procedure and that I was giving consent to it. And asked if I wanted a prosthetic. (No thanks.) I had another examination of my testicles (seriously after the first time, it gets easier) and then she got her pen and drew an arrow on my right hip. After I dressed, she then scribbled another arrow on my right forearm. Yes this was to ensure they removed the correct side.
It felt ridiculous as the pen scribbled on my skin. But I did realise what was at stake. My life. If they took out the wrong testicle…to be honest, I didn’t even think about that at the time. It’s only writing this over a year later that I’m pondering the consequences. At the time as I looked at the arrow roughly drawn on my forearm, my thought was “oh that would make a cool tattoo”.
Oh yes – I was definitely nervous, but I was very in the moment. Past and future fell away. All I had was the moment, and my drifting thoughts. As I was wheeled into the theatre and lay down on the bed, I thanked the porter. He smiled as a I said “I have no idea how you know your way around this place, but thanks for everything you do”.
The area where the operating theatre was looked like it had been a much bigger room separated up into multiple rooms. “Ah allocation of resources of course!” The room I was wheeled into was small. Like only enough room for the bed, machinery and three people. Each medical professional introduced themselves and then pleasantries were exchanged: about me being a teacher; UCAS entries; people going to Oxford…the usual (!) And again I was asked if I wanted a prosthetic. (No thanks.) And then the inevitable countdown.
I think I got to six.
And then woke up in the recovery area. Under the air conditioner. Where I promptly started shivering.
I was so disorientated that it took me about 5m of shivering before I asked for a blanket. I then started to attempt to reconnect with my breathing and body. Honestly – general anaesthetic didn’t feel like an out-of-body experience. It felt like I was gone. And came back. Not even asleep. Just as if everything had stopped. And then started again.
With zero nausea. Yay.
Back on the ward there was no leaving until I’d passed urine. Dammit. I drank a load of water because I was ready to leave that place. Another older man started talking to me. We’d had the same procedure. There’s something oddly and wonderfully comforting being in a place where everyone is dealing with the same thing. Except here it wasn’t The Great Unsaid.
I was still a bit achy and all over the place when one of the nurses gave me my phone. Davina had arrived! After peeing I was free to leave.
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| First pic after surgery |
The NHS is amazing.
Every single person I dealt with was amazing. In the circumstances of a global pandemic. In the context of me being treated for cancer. With all of that – every single person is a hero in my eyes. I like to make sure I thank everyone. I am grateful.
We got home around 8:30pm, ordered a takeaway and I called my parents. My Dad was suitably surprised I was home. All done. All ok.
As I read in bed before sleep…I finished the book I’d started that day.
Not bad for a Wednesday – completed reading a novel and had a cancerous testicle removed.
Anything else?
James D'Souza 