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It was my yearly bollock MOT today - I was in for another ball scan, with my oncologist keen to keep his eye on the tiny bollock that my bollock is growing. He insists it’s a harmless cyst, but I know what it is. My lonely bollock wants a bollock of his very own.
I am an old hand at bollock scanning now. The first time I went in I was sure there was nothing wrong, but there was. The second time I was sure there was something wrong, but there wasn’t (apart from the tiny bollock bollock). This time I was sure there was nothing wrong. Now I am no mathematician (hold on, I am, I’ve got two A levels in the subject) but the numbers confirm that something would be wrong.
The ladies doing my scan were in skittish mood and casually chatted and joked with me. We discussed my history and confirmed I was one ball down and she wanted to confirm it was the left one that remained. I said that it had shifted to the middle, but she insisted that it is still forever my left ball. I light-heartedly told them about how the first time I’d come in I hadn’t been worried because my doctor had said it was epidymitis and both ladies had a good laugh about this and his comment about “if I was a betting man”.
They comically went to hide behind a curtain as I pulled down my trousers and covered my penis with the paper towel, leaving my balls on display and I told them I was doing a stand up routine about how futile this seemed and they told me that they called the paper towel the silk sheet or sometimes cashmere to signify how basic it actually was. They playfully chatted about their daily lives and asked me if I was going back to work after this and it was extremely light-hearted. The woman scanning said she always felt like she wasn’t doing her full job when there was only one ball in there. I wondered if she only got half pay. It was really funny and relaxing and silly and took any stress out of the situation, though I did wonder what would happen if they found something wrong. It would take quite a One Show about turn to suddenly have to tell me that there was something in my remainer.
And there was a period where she went a bit quiet and things were taking a bit longer than seemed necessary where I thought - here it comes. But she said there was nothing sinister in there and that she just needed to compare my cyst to the last scan to see if it had got any bigger.
Basically it’s two years since I had my chemo and the cancer has not returned. So that’s good news.
I decided to do my bloods at the same time and there was a very long queue for that, with a wait of 60-90 minutes predicted. It turned out to be only 45! The NHS staff remained very cheery and patient throughout this. One woman asked if it was better to come in the morning and the receptionist laughed and said the wait was 2 hours then (this is just to get some blood taken remember), another woman was angry about the wait (I suppose we all were, but the rest of us shut up about it and didn’t blame the staff) and the receptionist calmly thanked her for her comments. The nurse taking my blood was again very cheery and delighted to see I had a nice juicy vein for her. I do not understand how these people remain so positive in the face of such pressure and overwork and underpay, but thank God they do. I don’t understand why anyone is putting up with this. Even if you are of a more right wing bent then surely you’d feel that you’d paid your taxes (if you had) and that that should mean you get the service you’ve paid for. But some people so hate the danger that their money might go to be used by someone else that they happily take poor service or are prepared to pay out more for their own treatment, just to make sure they aren’t accidentally being taken for a ride. Fuckers.
Good to know that my ball is fine. I meet my oncologist in a couple of weeks to discuss my general health, which has not been great this year, but not because of cancer. At least not because of ball cancer!
