After the CT scan I felt pretty bad, not very nauseous or so, but definitely unstable, frankly a bit like I was drunk. But, it passed after a good night's sleep, and I was ready to face the world again on Friday morning. Which was, incidentally, also the morning of my scheduled visit to the urologist. Yeah, I didn't really know what was. A urologist is some doctor, or something - uro, οὖρον, urine - probably some doctor who checks piss. Apparently I was slightly off in my assumption.
According to Wikipedia (where else would I check?):
Urology is the branch of medicine that focuses on the surgical and medical diseases of the male and female urinary tract system and the male reproductive organs. The organs under the domain of urology include the kidneys, adrenal glands, ureters, urinary bladder, urethra, and the male reproductive organs (testes, epididymis, vas deferens, seminal vesicles, prostate and penis).
And, thus, a Urologist is a Doctor of Medicine or Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine who specializes in this field.
When I was called into the office I was ready to hear the results of my earlier ultrasound, the blood- and urine tests and the Computed Tomography scan. After the usual introductory interview, where I relayed for the umpteenth time my just shy of rehearsed monologue that includes catchphrases like "Some time ago", "Double in size", and - my personal favorite - "Hard as a golf ball", while simultaneously tapping on the table for dramatic effect.
I fully expected to hear something like "You've got a very persistent fart up your colon that needs to released". Picturing the scene with Forest Whitaker as Idi Amin and James McAvoy as Dr. Nicholas Garrigan -the young Scottish doctor who became the dictator's personal physician- where he uses a baseball bat to help the suffering dictator release his imaginary stomach cramps. There was no baseball bat in the office.
Instead she (yes, another female penis doctor) explained that the ultrasound and the elevated levels of AFP, β-hCG and LDH indicate nonseminoma Testicular Cancer, but that the CT scan did not indicate spreading thereof. Say what?
She continued to explain that the prognosis for recovery is high, about 98%. OK, that's good, right? Continuing with her explanation she informed me that the first step is going to be Radical inguinal orchiectomy, where the cancerous testicle will be removed via an incision just above my pubic area. Wait, "remove" a testicle? Oh, OK, well, what needs to be done, needs to be done. After that a biopsy will have to determine what kind of follow-up treatment I can get away with: either Radiology or Chemotherapy. But, either way, infertility after that is a real possibility. She had the sperm-banking papers ready for me, and all I need to do is make an appointment for a deposit. My twisted mind read all that as "You'll get a free vasectomy on the side".
Many men may indeed opt for this and deposit sperm at a sperm bank. I, however, am not like many men. I have the papers ready, but I will not place a deposit. But maybe you and your wife will want more children, you ask? My wife is even older than I am, so that ain't gonna happen. We have a daughter, and the thought of having another one like her? Hell no! But what if later in life you'll meet someone else and decide on a new family? I may be conservative, I may be a male chauvinist pig, I am sure that I am many things, but I am also convinced that siblings should share the same mother and father. Period.