I do try to keep this blog on topic as much as I can. About cycling and the issues facing cyclists and shiz. But this post isn’t about cycling. It’s about cancer.
I had cancer in 1990, testicular cancer, from which I recovered very well after they removed my right one and blasted me with chemo. So when I started to feel the same nagging ache a few months ago I didn’t need too much cajoling to get myself to the GP’s surgery. To cut a long story short, it wasn’t until I awoke from the general anaesthetic that I knew I’d managed to keep goolie number two. So, actually I didn’t have cancer, only a cyst. But they don’t know for sure until they remove it – and very few hospitals have the skills to put it back in once it’s out. So I still have half a set of balls for which I am grateful. I guess I’m supposed to be happy that they didn’t find cancer but I just feel battered. Three weeks on and I’m only now considering the possibility of returning to work. And I’m not feeling much compassion for the slowly deflating mango-sized object between my legs. The source of all this pain and suffering, part of me whishes it gone. My hormone levels are erratic so my moods swing between weepy and angry – for no apparent reason. Male PMS!? It’s hard on the people around me.*
So there we are. Normal service will be resumed as soon as poss. But the reason I’m writing this is to say, please guys, pay attention to your lumps and bumps. I was lucky, I got it quick – and in the event it turned out not to be cancer. In a couple of weeks I’ll be back to normal. Lance Armstrong had testicular cancer, but I like to think that it wasn’t the cancer which emigrated from his balls to his brain which nearly killed him, but his stubborn refusal to visit the GP.
* But the worst thing of all is that I can’t ride my frickin bike!!!!!