Stronger - from Seattle Children's Hospital

Admittedly, I'm in a particular place right now, but still - don't these kids and doctors make you wanna stand and cheer?

"Like" a Virgin (or, The Book of Jubilations)

At dinner with my dear friends Alex and Matt last night, it was brought to my attention that for the first time in more years than I care to mention, I seem to have a virgin part on my person.  (Dad, if you're reading this, apologies; Don't worry -- all that money on Catholic school wasn't a total waste, I've been as chaste as possible over the years, except for times when moved by the Holy Spirit).


Anyway, my status a Newly Minted Leftee Virgin (NMLV), comes at a time when some realities about how I typically spend my free time are also coming into clearer focus.  As the percoset haze and general soreness from the surgery last Thursday begins to lift, and I settle into this in-between time while we figure out next steps on treatment, I have a fair amount of free time on my hands.

As it turns out, the bulk of my free time is usually absorbed by one or more of the following:

1. Exercising, 
2. Pursuing men (in that chaste, unless moved by the Holy Spirit, kind of way), and
3. Drinking (usually bourbon, sometimes wine, often in conjunction with pursuing men)

All three of these things are currently off the table for medical reasons for at least the next month (blast!).  

Obviously, these aren't the only things that I do..there's also reading, TV, movies and time with friends (although, as it turns out, most of the conversations I have with friends are about one of the above categories, typically with wine or bourbon in hand).  But...still.

In most of the "Scary Cancer Movies," I've seen over the years, the hero or heroine either dies (I have the most curable cancer there is, my movie won't be like that), or becomes a better, more noble or thoughtful person typically through a montage or musical interlude. 

And so it seems that at 35, whether I wanted it or not, I'm getting a bit of a fresh start.  With NMLV, there is also a new need to find interests, or somehow broaden my horizons even as the immediate ability to explore is somewhat limited in conventional ways.  

Henceforth, the Intrepid Bollocks, in addition to being a space to post updates about the unfolding medical adventure, will also be a place to share music, art, movies and anything else that tickles the fancy (not that I'm letting anyone tickle the NMLV).  

As Josh Ritter, one of my absolute favorites, says: "If there's a book of jubilations, we'll have to write it for ourselves."   And so it goes.

  

Homo In SloMo (or, A Call for Thoughtful Suggestions)

The thing about recovering from ball surgery is that even when you're going at top speed, you still look like you're moving in slow motion.  In my case, this situation is being exacerbated by a somewhat personal problem of the wardrobe-malfunction type.

Like most Guppie's -- gay yuppies for those outside the bubble --  my go-to undergarment is the 2xist brief.  It's the Little Black Dress of Little Black Briefs amongst The Gays.  If you don't believe me, take a field trip to the P Street Whole foods today after work, and keep an eye on the waistlines of well-groomed 20-40 something men as they reach for anything on the top two shelves throughout the store.  Eight out of ten times when one of those Mo's does a Reach and Stretch (patented), a small black 2xist-branded waist line gives a little "Hey Gurl!" to anyone caring to notice.


The incision from Thursday's Leftee-ectomy is a few inches long at just about the place that the aforementioned waist band hits.  Meaning that for the time being, the incision is like kryptonite for my Little Black Briefs and their Lift-and-Separate-Superpowers (Blast!). 


The objective now, is to find an option that will fit without hurting, and take the following into consideration: 

• Freeballing is not an option right now.  New Leftee is a bit heavier than his predecessor, and everything's hangin' a little differently right now.  Plus, summer is already sizzling in the city, and this is a time of year when everyone's battling chaffing - apparently, none more so than those with newly minted junk.  Then of course, there is the issue of the incision, which, in addition to being a sartorial inconvenience (Le sighhhh), is also still a bit sore and in need of a little packaging.   

• Next Obvious Question: Is Peter Dinklage working this summer?  He's the guy that plays the hot, scheming Hand of the King in HBO's Game of Thrones.  He also happens to be one of the most famous (and smokin' hot) little people in the world. If he happens to be available, and willing to play the Hand of the Queen for a bit, we might be able to work out a support system that way.  Presumably, in addition to gently cupping my delicates in his hands, he'd also be able to fill a much-needed security role by yelling at/scaring off small children, dogs and anyone else who might be inclined to bump into me while I'm walking the streets of the city (the incision has me playing defense quite a bit at present).  Also, this solution would mean endless hours of punnery about Mr. Dinklage holding my dinklage in place.  Clearly, this is the best possible solution to the situation at hand.  

• As God as my witness, I will not wear boxers with martini glasses on them.  There was a darker time in my life...back when I was a starry-eyed midwestern boy.  During this time, J Crew boxers with their bright colors and fun patterns ("Palm trees on boxers?!? = AWESOME") were the end all.  I cannot - NAY - WILL NOT - go back.  

• Where does this leave us?  The Suggestion Box is Open.  For the time being, I'm going to swaddle my bits in an old pair of high-waisted boxer briefs, which have an elastic waist band that hits somewhere near my armpits.  But this can't be the best option out there.  C'mon people - I know one of you must have the answers...thoughts? Suggestions?  Support of any kind?  Hit me.

In the meantime, I think I've earned myself another percoset.  

Tiny Dancer

"Hold me close I've got ball cancer...."

Rightee is Totally Giving New Leftee the Side Eye

The In Between Time (or, Paw Paw for Jesus!)

"Paw Paw for Jesus!" is something of a battle cry and shared joke with a core group of friends.  It's from an especially bawdy monologue in a This American Life episode about road trips a few years back.  The heroine in the monologue is a single woman, presumably of a certain age, prone to foul language who goes off the rails in a small town, in Paw Paw, Michigan (just a few years ago, my aunt Cathy informed me that my Grandma was raised in Paw Paw, yet another sign that there is order in the universe).  

Yesterday, when I was still groggy and slowly coming-to in the recovery room, the first thing I remember saying to Michael and Josh was "Paw Paw for Jesus!"  It was one of two things that I'd planned on for the recovery period.  Having had my appendix out some years back, and also having spent time in recovery rooms with others post-surgery, I knew how foggy that space can be.  It's sort of an in-between-time when you're drifting between being awake, and occasionally slipping back into the long shadows of the anesthesia.

Even in that space, I wanted to have a signal that would be a sign to both the boys and to me that I was still in there swinging, and that even with the holy-fucking-shitness of the day, we ought not get too lost in the seriousness of it all. 

The other thing that I'd planned ahead for was an agreement with Michael that after the doctor gave him the post surgery update, all he had to do was call my parents and report that I had come through the surgery ok.  Dr. Shin had said ahead of time that there is a quick test that they can do in the room to see whether or not a tumor is malignant.  If there was news coming out of surgery, it didn't seem fair to ask Michael to be the one to tell my parents that the tumor was cancerous.

Because of the aforementioned post-surgery shadows, I can't remember now if it was Michael or Dr. Shin who first told me yesterday that the tumor was malignant.  

It shouldn't have been a surprise really, the ultrasounds hadn't looked good from the start, and it's not like surgeons remove testicles without good, strong suspicion that something's gone awry.  But somehow, the past few days, I'd just sort of been assuming that it wouldn't really be cancer.  Maybe a benign tumor. Maybe a weird infection that had gone out of control.  In hindsight, this may have been a bit of denial.  Or an attempt to bargain a bit with the universe (I'll give you Leftee and will even be willing to look like a bit of a boob for having a ball removed when it wasn't actually cancerous, if you just don't actually give me cancer - any takers?).  

But now, it seems, the news is what it is.  Dr. Shin did say he thought they'd gotten it all in surgery; but he'd also said last week that post surgery treatments (chemo and/or radiation) might be necessary to make sure that there's no cellular spread.  Apparently, there was some indication yesterday that the tumor's size and growth beyond the testicle into some of the epididymis make this a little more likely now.

We won't know much more about specific next steps until the full biopsy results come in toward the end of next week.  So, once again, here we are in an in-between-time for a bit, waiting for news on next steps.

Paw Paw for Jesus! 

Great Balls of Fire

Thanks all for the well-wishes today.  I've never had so many people collectively focused on my gonads at once - it's quite touching (without actually getting touched, which would, ya know, be excruciating).

For those wondering, we learned today that Cokie Robert's ringtone is "When the Saints Go Marching In."  She got a call while we were in pre-op, and I sang a bit as they wheeled me away.  

After the surgery, the anesthesiologist reported that they had to use more gas than usual to get me to finally conk out.  Given that I've always been a little light in my loafers, it didn't come as much of a surprise.

I haven't been ready to talk on the phone or reply to many text messages, but appeciate and am humbled by all the well wishes.  The plan is still for me to head away with the boys for the weekend to recover a bit at a cabin in West Virginia.  Will be in touch and update the blog/Facebook as possible.

MWAH   

Surgery went well!

From Michael Mark's out of surgery. The procedure went well. No problems. He's in recovery now and we should be on our way home in a couple of hours.  Hooray!!!!

Musings from the waiting room, live blog

Guest post from Michael Clearly waiting is the worst part... Well except perhaps answering the same question 8 times. But this is easy for me to say since I'm [likely] leaving here with both of my testicles. Anyway, some celebrity sightings already - at least by Washington standards. It appears Mitch McConnell is here for something. In my head everyone is here for their bollocks too, so unfortunately I've now thought about the Senate Minority Leader's junk. Also Cokie Roberts just walked by so clearly people can be here for other reasons. More to come... So mark is in surgery. A few hilarious moments preceded including Cokie Roberts (who is here in a friend support role like us) is in the pre-op area across from us and her phone starts ringing and the ringtone is when the saints go marching in. Mark was slightly convinced he'd already been drugged. Another funny convo... Josh: "I have this horrible pimple on my nose." me: "well mark has a tumor on his ball so let's focus on that." Shouldn't be long before mark's out and enjoying his pain meds!!!

GO TIME

The DJ

One more quick pre-surgical shout out. Patrick Metz was in town last week for a little vacation after finishing his first year at Berkley Law.  His arrival in town coincided almost to the minute with the news from the radiologist. 

By way of background for those who may not know him, Patrick is the kind of guy who shows emotion by yelling at soccer games.  He was a calm and steady hand at the urologist appointment last Wednesday that started with the doctor walking in and saying "Your ultrasound looks really bad!" It's probably worth noting here too, that Patrick is the kind of inner circle friend who I was perfectly comfortable having in the room with me at the urologist (he probably deserves some kind of medal for that) - with my apologies for the view.  

This morning, a mix CD arrived in the mail, with music for us to listen to in the car to and from the hospital tomorrow.  Patrick sent the CD since he can't be here in person - he flew back to the West Coast on Sunday morning.

If I weren't having surgery tomorrow, I probably wouldn't risk the retaliation that this next bit of information sharing would normally reap...but since we are where we are, here goes.  

On the plane ride back to California, Patrick was apparently feeling the weight of last week's drama, and without a soccer game to use as an emotional safety valve, he accidentally had some feelings while watching the in-flight movie.  The movie happened to be "The Vow" - the Rachel McAdams & Channing Tatum chic-flick that came out a little earlier this year (and is destined to be airing on Lifetime almost any day now).  

For a little extra context on how awesome this story is, the first line of the trailer below is Rachel McAdams saying (in a pink wedding dress): "I vow to live within the warmth of your heart."  

Awesome.  

Chief of Staff

Michael has been a touch stone since the moment I arrived in DC ten years ago this summer.  He has been ubiquitous and fantastic this week in too many ways for me to recount here.  Aaron Sorkin says that the best writers are all thieves, so I'm going to invoke Mr. Sorkin now for the illustrious Mr. Cole-Schwartz:

Bartlett:  You got a best friend?

Roger:   Yessir

Bartlett:  Is he smarter than you?  

Roger:   Yessir

Bartlett:  Would you trust him with your life?

Roger:   Yessir.

Bartlett:  That's your Chief of Staff.

The Driver

There are a LOT of friends who have showed up to help offer support and good wishes this past week.  I'll be thanking them personally, and occasionally on the blog in the days to come, but there are two who will be on Team Testicle for the big day tomorrow.

First up, my friend Josh will be providing a lift to and from the hospital, as well as giving a little moral support along the way.  Josh fought and won a fight with a brain tumor eight years ago.  He named the tumor Earl, and made the Dixie Chicks' "Good Bye Earl" his anthem.  Today, Josh and I took in an afternoon matinee and traded tumor stories.  

Since I don't have a specific anthem designated for this little chapter, I'm going to borrow Josh's tonight:

Notable Reactions from Mouthy Gays Part II

"Colleen mentioned the situation going on in your scrotum..." Johnny Begale, my sister's boyfriend's younger gay brother (did you follow that?)

The Last Day of School (or My Two Left Balls)

Today was my last day in the office for a little while, which included a senior staff meeting where we handed off each of my clients.  It's weird having the last-day-of-school feeling when everyone else is in go-mode.  They're all gearing up to take on more work to help cover for me, as I shift gears to slip out for a little while.  

We have a pretty strictly enforced "there's no crying in baseball policy," in my office, so when I felt like having feelings - which was every five minutes or so, I'd watch the Kristen Wiig farewell from this weekend's SNL and have a little tear (it's kind of perfect - her dress is actually scrotum colored).  

In other news, I called the Silicon Carving Block - THE top of the line prosthetic testicle authority, to confirm that my new Leftee is on the way.  They report that the ball is in the air, and will be here on Wednesday (in plenty of time for Thursday's procedure).  This means that for a few days, I am technically the owner of two left balls, and should probably be out winning bar bets somewhere instead of home blogging about it.

Cheers.

Notable Responses to Leftee's Lump from Mouthy Gays:

"I'm going to go see The Avengers now.  You will be the Hulk, and the bad guys will be ball cancer." -- Steven Cole-Schwartz.


"Can we start calling you Oddball?" -- Owen Ryan


"I hope my response when you first told me wasn't too flat, I'd just taken a xanax, and wasn't sure if I was emoting enough." -- Michael Cole-Schwartz.


"Holy sh*t." -- Matthew Costello (who apparently doesn't swear over G-Chat, even if you do have ball cancer)


"Margot has shared some troubling news about your testicle." -- The ever-earnest Kalina Duncan


"When is the ball drop?" -- Honorary-gay Michael Khoo, asking about surgical plans


"You're the Lance Armstrong of hair.  This will be fine." -- Patrick Metz


"So, I said to Heather, with Mark, it would have been possible that he just talked about testes all week for another, significantly less serious, reason." -- Britt Cocanour

Overheard in the Waiting Room 

"I hate waiting.  The urologist is no place for dicking around."  


(Said in disgust to Patrick Metz, who got a little boozey and mouthy along with Michael Cole-Schwartz, Crystal Hall-Brett and me the night of the scary urologist appointment).

Balls to the Wall

Last Wednesday night, when I showered after coming home from the gym, I discovered a lump behind my left testicle (henceforth, to be known as Leftee).  


After seeing my GP, a radiologist, and a urologist, everyone seems to agree that it's time to say "So long Leftee."  Rightee is sorry to see his old pal go, but excited about getting a new roommate (more on this later).  Surgery is scheduled for this Thursday, May 24th.  

Testicular cancer is the most curable type of cancer.  My urologist, who is also the surgeon, says that in a year this will just be a crazy story to talk with my friends about over wine (it's unclear how he already knows that my friends are the kind of people who discuss man parts while getting boozy, but that's another question for another time).


On that subject, my friends have been amazing this week - they've held me close, kept me from feeling the full impact of this on my own, and have been everywhere I've needed them to be through a series of doctor appointments and follow-up debriefings in bars.  In short, they have been like an emotional jock strap, and I can't imagine having to do this without them.


My office has also been unblinking in its support, and has pointedly encouraged me to not worry about work while I focus on dealing with this.  For a woman-owned business, we have talked about testicles an awful lot the last few days, and those dames have been total pros about it.  


My family, too, has been wonderful - while my parents and siblings each offered to jump on a plane, for the time being, I think this is covered by the DC Tribe.  


We won't know much about the type of cancer this is until after Leftee has been removed and biopsied.  Apparently, you can't do a biopsy on a ball that's still in you without potentially spilling cancer cells all over your sack (and we are wholly against that plan).  The radiologist says that it's still possible that this tumor is not malignant, though statistically most of them are. 


There will be more information about what (if any) post surgical treatment is needed after the biopsy results come back.  For right now, the strong bit of good news is that my cat scan showed no signs of other tumors elsewhere in my body.  For perspective on this, just a couple of days ago, I was freaked out that I had a tumor.  After having had the scan, and seeing all the other places that I could have tumors projected on my doctor's computer screen, I'm thrilled to only have one.