DISCOVERY Mid December 1987. I was thirty five and in the bathtub of my humble two up, two down, terraced home, located in the prosperous town of Twickenham, perched on the edge of London's bustling inner parts. Life was hectic. I ran a construction business with my two partners and lived the high single life, with visions of retirement at forty.
Just lately, I'd decided it might be nice to marry again and be a proper father. My first marriage crumbled after eight years of relative unhappiness. My ex-wife and I were kids without a clue, despite our combined intelligence.We were far too immature to be settled and we'd fought each other all the way.
It was tough trying to get ahead in the seventies in England and we split just after Maggie Thatcher's government released the reins on the British economy.

It had been five years since the split, which seemed as though it was beneficial for both of us. Our daughter Georgina was no longer hearing the constant bickering of two unhappy parents, which was very important to me. I'd been brought up with bickering parents and had resolved this wouldn't happen to Georgina. She lived with her Mum and I visited every month, spending a few precious hours with her. The frequency wasn't enough for me, but I knew it was because her mother didn't trust me. It was as simple as that. It would take a long time before I understood the reasons. In the meantime,the thought of making waves was dismissed, for fear that it would upset the calm of our daughter.

Back to eighty seven, and a lifestyle which was certainly excessive. Business had been good and money plentiful, although in March of that year, we had locked swords with a client who was proving to be a real pain. Litigation was under way with this tricky individual. I think, in retrospect, I was ripe for what followed. Stress had been increasing all year, as my time became absorbed with winning the litigation.
Anyhow, as was my habit in the bath, I was feeling my testicles. It wasn't a conscious act at all, I was relaxing after another day in the office. A tiny zit like lump, right on the surface of my right ball, suddenly awoke my curiosity. There was something unusual about this. A tiny nodule, was standing slightly proud of the normal outline. It was irregularly shaped, like a tiny pimple with three heads. I sort of dismissed it, but in the back of my mind it nagged away like an itch between the toes. After a few days of this worry, I thought I'd better do something about it, like tell my new girlfriend of a month.

DIAGNOSIS I can't say much about my girlfriend of that time, because she has asked me not to involve her in the story. She is well connected in the British hierarchy and very secretive. She always worried about her ankles, which, she declared honestly, had no shape. We'd met through my work, but that is all I can say really, save for making public my undying gratitude to her.
We were in bed when I brought up the subject of my lump. Her reaction was immediate and strong. "Go and see your doctor if you are concerned". As I was off to the French Alps for Christmas, with my sparring partner Stewart. I decided that whatever it was, it would still be there when I returned. With the benfit of perfect rear vision, I was being just a little too casual.
Skiing was a passion for me, as were the good times that went with it. I loved to ski all day in the spectacular European Alps and carouse in the discos and bars until they served no more. Murphy's Law would dictate that there was absolutely no snow in the French Alps that Christmas. Despite that, we had a great time, gaining some notoriety for our pranks. Apparently this story went round the Alps. It happened during the trip to La Cluzas.

A party of Australians and New Zealanders were sharing the sister chalet to ours. The friendly rivalry which exists between our nations was brought into play immediately by Stewart. At a "meet your fellow guests party", hosted by the Aussies, Stewart introduced a particularly obnoxious guest from our chalet to Tom, by saying, "Tom , meet Malcolm, he thinks all Australians are wankers". Tom, who thankfully was on the same page, took the joke for what it was and allowed the embarrassed Malcolm to protest his innocence of the charge. Thus the fun began. Silly party games were played between the "countries" until early morning. It was a brilliant party and set the scene for the rest of our holiday. The remainder of the snowless week was spent largely sitting in bars and playing dice tennis and cricket for the Davis Cup and the Ashes respectively. As the week drew to a close, Stewart and I decided to reciprocate the hospitality of our new friends. Our fellow chalet guests went along with the idea of having a party for them in our chalet. Stewart and I took charge. On the menu was Curry, Curry and Curry. We had plenty of beer and wine of course. The night went without a hitch. The carefully prepared Curry came in three varieties. Mild, medium and Australian. Needless to say the Australian was a gut buster full, of chili peppers. The poor trusting souls were directed to their specially prepared dish, which they ate. The reaction would follow in the morning we figured. Meantime ribaldry and good humoured banter filled our chalet until very late.
The next morning was our last in La Cluzas. Two by two the Australians trooped by to say goodbye, on their way to the slopes for another vain attempt to find decent snow. The first to arrive, Tom and Jenny, were asked if they wanted to buy the booze left over from the party. They were staying a few more days so gave Stewart the money, saying they would collect it later in the day. We repeated this excercise three times, allowing the last couple to take the booze.
When Stewart and I arrived at Geneva airport to get the plane home, we phoned the Australians' chalet to gently let them know they had been duped into buying the same load of booze four times. Yes, we did leave everyone's money with our chalet maid to be collected by them. Our journey home was filled with glee, although the sudden sharp pain I'd felt in my testicle on tour first day there was driving me to see my doctor as soon as I could.

I finally saw my doctor, a personal friend on the 28th December. It was two days after my return. He inspected my balls and decided there wasn't any cause for alarm, but that as I had medical insurance, he had better send me to see a surgeon. I saw that surgeon one week later. He inspected my balls in the same fashion, just a manual check. He then turned and washed his hands whilst asking, "Tell me, do you have any children"? Words that echoed round my head as I replied, "That sounds bloody ominous, why do you ask?" Still facing away from me he said, "I think you have Cancer". As bold as that. Like a lightning bolt!
I sat there stunned, because I didn't know Cancer of the Testicles was even a possibility. We made arrangements for me to enter hospital the following week.
As I left the hospital with my girlfriend, I told her what was going on. Bravado was non-existent. I'd been punctured completely. I collapsed in tears in her car, taking a full five minutes to recover sufficiently to drive back to her place. That night I made some decisions. I decided to stop work and concentrate on getting better. It didn't matter that the diagnosis was unofficial. There had been enough certainty in the surgeon's tone, for me to act as though I had Cancer of the testicle. The dominant thought in my mind was death and how close it was to striking me. To say I was scared would understate the true feeling, totally.

Hospital Hospitals and I are not friends. Having been inside them a few times and never enjoyed the experience, this visit was hardly going to change my opinion. I presented myself at the appointed hour at the Royal Masonic hospital in the West of London. There, I was introduced to the notion that if I was a Freemason, I would receive a 15% discount on my account. I wasn't a Mason, so couldn't take advantage of the offer, but the thought of discounted health services amused me.
Off I trotted to my room and my first ever appointment with ultra sound. At this stage, I was resigned to losing one of my highly valued orbs, recovering, and getting on with my libidinous life. Until that point, I had enjoyed my relative wealth and the "benefits" which went with it. I was divorced, drove a fast car and gave the outward appearance of being cool. The ultra sound went as ultra sounds do I guess. A great slab of cold jelly was plopped across my precious parts. I winced with the coolness of it. I asked the guy doing the test if he would tell me what he saw as he manipulated his "camera" across the glutinous mass.
He said nothing, whilst I, eyes glued to the tv screen, saw the shape of a testicle with a black circle in its midst. He swept over a few times, before measuring the circle. I could see the scale and reckoned it was about one centimetre diameter Then he did his final sweep. I thought I saw another ball with two black spots in it, but decided I must have been mistaken. Surely he would have said something? Back in my room, I waited for the next step. Bombs Away! After twenty minutes in came the surgeon. As blunt as ever. He broke the news that I had problems in both balls. Of course, he couldn't say it was certainly Cancer, because the necessary "frozen section" test could only be done whilst under anaesthetic. It was a weird feeling hearing this, I felt as though I had floated up from my body and was now looking down on it. My brain, I think, then took over, so there was no emotion when this news came. I asked him straight out, what my options were. He disappeared to find out, coming back after a further twenty minutes, to tell me it was either both out, or one left in for treatment by Chemotherapy for six months. I'd heard about Chemo and its side effects, so I asked him the odds on me remaining fertile if I opted for Chemo. The quoted three to one against made my decision easy. The risk of dying was simply not worth retaining one Cancerous ball with a 33% chance of remaining fertile. Had I not already been a father, perhaps my decision would have been different, but I doubt it.