Waiting For Godzilla

Once out of hospital, it was decided that I would stay with my girlfriend. I was delighted to know she would be there to support me throughout my trauma. There were many uncertainties to be faced. Not least whether I still had Cancer. I had an appointment at the hospital for a Lymphrangiogram, followed by a CT scan, a week later, and was to present myself at the Oncology department a further week down the road. Only then would I know whether I still had Cancer or not.
I was very sore about the abdomen. There were two four inch incisions beginning just above, and either side of my penis, across to either hip bone, through which the surgeon had "fished" out my balls. Walking was a real effort and stairs almost impossible to negotiate. I felt in limbo, not knowing whether I had Cancer, whilst knowing and fretting about the fact I no longer had the male hormones to call on. I began to become increasingly agitated about this, as my body rid itself of the last of my stored Testosterone and the side effects began.
Funny Feelings
The Lymphrangiogram is an operation carried out under local anesthetic. It involves cutting into both feet and inserting needles into lymph nodes. The needles are attached to large vials of coloured liquid which are injected through the lymphatic system. This operation is necessary in order to examine the lymph system for cancer by way of a CT scan. So just as my abdomen began to feel a little easier, so my feet became the problem. Walking continued to be difficult, but for a different reason.
The CT scan was another "first". I had to drink about half a gallon of vile tasting liquid before the scan. Then half- way through, there was an injection into my arm of a liquid, which felt very warm inside my body and caused me to retch continually. Later, I was to discover that there are two variations of the injection. The one I received causes retching, the other doesn't. The difference is cost!
At this time, I was extremely insecure. No longer a man in my own eyes, at least until I could get Hormone treatment, still frightened that I may still have Cancer and feeling unworthy of being a part of the human race. Although I knew Eunuchs were a feature in Roman times, it was little consolation to me. It was as though my persona had disappeared with my balls. I guess you could say I became close to breakdown. I felt totally worthless and helpless.
As if my own insecurities weren't enough, my body began playing tricks on me. I began to become very hot and sweaty at odd times of the day or night. This unnerved me and caused further anxiety. The only bright spot during that three week period, was that I actually managed to orgasm, thereby proving to myself that doctors don't know everything. It wasn't physically the same as it had been, but the feeling inside was.
The Day of Decision
At last I went to the Oncology department for the results of my tests. There I was told I was clear of Cancer. It was as though a great weight had been lifted from my mind. Now I became anxious to get on with the remaining treatment. Radiotherapy was advised, which I readily accepted. No mention was made of Hormone treatment until I asked. Then I was told I would have to wait until I was under the care of the Radiotherapy department. Even now, I can make no sense of that except to say, Medics' ignorance of a man's state of mind after such an operation, must be the reason.
Radio Radio
The hot sweats increased daily as I waited to get into the radiotherapy programme. First I had to be "mapped". That involved having tiny tattoos put into my skin as reference points for the Radiotherapists. Finally, a full four weeks after my operation the programme began. By this time, I could no longer trust my brain either. I am normally quite well balanced. I have a temper to be sure, but it is mostly under wraps. This period had destabilised me to the extent, that I would snap at the most trivial of problems. Such was my confusion that I cried myself to sleep every night.
Merciful relief and Total Disbelief
Dr Mark Glaser, head of the Gunnar Nillson radiotherapy department at Charing Cross hospital, interviewed me prior to my first RT treatment. He told me about the treatment I was to receive. A thirty second blast of x-rays front and back, five days a week for a month. he assured me that once done, the chances of contracting Cancer again were remote, except my lungs and warned me to stop smoking. Then, he asked me about the treatment I had already received. I recounted the story and got to the part about the options available to me, when he said, " I shouldn't tell you this, but that was wrong. I have successfully treated seminoma Cancers by Radiotherapy." Strangely, I felt no anger, more resignation and disbelief. There was no way the operation could be reversed, so what did it matter now ? I just felt I had to warn others. It has taken until now for me to do it, something I regret.
I guess had my focus not been on my betraying body, I may have felt vindictive towards the surgeon. Instead, the need to get some Testosterone inside me was the priority. Mr Glaser, who I was to christen Godzilla, made an appointment for later that day with an Endocrinologist. I received my first shot of Testosterone then. Another "trial and error" phase had begun.