kicking it old skool

it’s strange, how one’s perception can change in a blink of an eye.

Imagine for a moment, every little thing you worry about, every stupid little insecurity, every person you “hate” and how much they piss you off and how you’ll never EVER buy them another birthday present, every single little thing wrong with the world, was made wholly irrelevant.

All of it.

That is the closest I can come to describe the crashing, sinking, desperate and fear-laden dread-that-shocked-me-to-the-core, when a practitioner of the medical fraternity informed me that my life might be more finite than I originally thought.

Last Friday, the 9th of July, 2005, 11:35am, I was diagnosed with Testicular Cancer.

And no amount of bravado, big talk, big walk and arrogance where adequate enough to shield me against such a very real threat.

I remember (vaguely) floating out of the hospital thinking that this can’t be happening. I’m too young, too proud; TOO GOD DAMNED YOUNG (!!) for this to be happening. It seemed like I was living someone else’s life all of a sudden. Everything was hazy and surreal. That’s the best way to describe it: Surreal.

I never broke down per se. I did get awfully emotional twice though, only due to other people getting all fucked up about it. In truth, once I recomposed myself and the arrogance meter was fully charged, I was right pissed off and very much in the mood for a fight. And I was scared. Apart from the obvious reasons (and contrary to popular belief), I actually WANT children. At least some day.

Spent the weekend with the folks (my secret base and source of all my power), played with puppies and discussed strategies for kicking this thing’s ass. I was due for a little nip / tuck session on Monday, where the offending vessel would be removed.

Being the Ultimate Cynic™, it was of course in my nature to consider certain “Plan B’s”. Let me say at this point, that the most humiliating and traumatic part of this whole fiasco was not the fact that I would lose one of my “boys”, nor the examination by said Medical Specialist, not even the hospital part. It was the intensity of Plan B. The donation of life.

The donation and freezing of sperm.

Forget EVERYTHING you’ve seen in Road Trip or any other “funny” movie. There is nothing “funny” about it. Considering, if you will, the mental anguish and stress under which such an act needs to be performed, a proverbial gun to your forehead. Then, handing over your little container, which at that very moment is worth more than anything you have ever owned, and entrusting some stranger with the supreme responsibility of its safe keeping. I don’t think I need to further illustrate this point.

The operation was performed at 15:00 Monday afternoon, spent the night for observation and was allowed to go home on Tuesday. Spent the rest of the week at home recovering. The biopsy results came back on Thursday and it turns out that I had the lesser of the two strains. In a nutshell (no pun intended) that means I would not require Chemo therapy. A few tweaks to my lifestyle are of course in order: healthier eating, more exercise, less fatty foods and of course regular check ups.

What truly amazed me is how common cancer is among people. And I’m talking young people here, between the ages of 20 and 30. Turns out everybody knows a friend or a relative that’s had a lump or a bump and has had to go through the whole shebang. Spoke to one of my girl-friends from the UK for the first time in about 7 months and she too was diagnosed with cancer in December. Little lump on her breast, had it removed and all is “well”, for now. Also eating better, going for check ups etc. But it’s really fascinating how many folks come forth all of a sudden. It’s like I’ve been unplugged from the Matrix and now see “the real world”.

I guess I could start a rant here about how it’s the environment, and food, and cell phones and electronics and the pollution and kittens etc etc. But you know all that anyway.

Instead, I’m going to end this off with a free tip, one that could no doubt safe your life: Have your junk checked out. Phone your Specialist, get the Ultra Sounds done, catch this little fucker early.

It happens to the best of us

[G], out.

it’s a beautiful day