Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Fire.

Monday I went into the hospital for small surgery. My left testicle was diagnosed with a 1.7 cm tumour and the Dr. said it should come out and be sent to histology just in case it turned out to be malignant. The problem had originally been spotted when we were in Truskavets. The Dr said to me, “Do you know your left testicle is three or four times as big as your right one?” I said “Heck, no. I haven’t seen them for years”. (My feet neither for that matter).

He thought I should have it looked at, so last week we finally went to the local specialist. The specialist did an ultrasound on it and you could see the tumour plain as day. So it had to come out. Funny how the prospect of someone losing a testicle brings Job’s Comforters out of the woodwork. My friend Wayne, ever the practical Saskatchewan farm boy, figured I’d only have half as much scratching to do. My daughter May-B, who is being married in the fall and has only recently learned about sex, was afraid I would only be half as intelligent.

The anesthesiologist decided a local was the best option, though he warned me it would not deaden all the pain. They rolled me into the operating room, onto the table, spread my arms straight out and tied my down. Solidly. Not a good sign. Then they proceeded to paint everything orange with an Iodine solution. (I looked like I’d had nothing to do for a month but watch porn movies and eat Cheezies…but I digress).

The local deadened the opening and closing. Everything inside was LIVE. Fortunately (best Ahnold voice) IT WAS NOT A TUMOUR. Just fluid. So the Dr. scraped and polished it up and put it back. I am dying, in agony. Tanya, who stayed with me the whole time, thank God, said “Now you have some idea of what it feels like to have a baby”. I’m thinking “This is a “military” operation, concerning my “privates”, so why can’t I have 200 grams of vodka and a stick to clench my teeth on like any good soldier?”

Of course, since he was there, the Dr. just had to haul the right one out and look at it too. Now I’m a land owner in Ukraine; I have a couple of ache-rs. Makes you feel sorry for Christopher Robin. He has a hundred ache-r wood.

When Tanya went home the first evening, I heard her tell one of the nurses, “Make sure he stays in his room and doesn’t sneak in to visit the women” The two of them cackled all the way down the hall. I get no respect. I spent four days in hospital. Tanya talked the Dr into letting me go home today because the bed was killing my back.

If the doctor, who did not have to remove my testicle and send it to histology, refunded 25% of my money, would you call it a quarterback sack?