Un-descended
After seeing an ad in my local chemists, referring to the risks of un-descended testis, I decided it was time I visited the doctor. My left testicle had never fully dropped and I had lived, rather self-consciously, with this lopsidedness since puberty, I was now 32. Although girlfriends were always kind and supportive once I had raised the courage to admit my abnormality, I had never really come to terms with being different. I avoided ‘hands on’ sex and preferred the lights out when naked. I never talked about it with male friends or even family. How do you bring up this sort of thing in conversation anyway? However, in 1994 I was in a long term, strong relationship, we had had two kids; at least I wasn’t firing blanks, and were in love. If I was to exorcise my left testicle from it’s dark corner entombed at the back of my mind, now was the time to sort this out once and for all?
Cancer arrives
My doctor, thankfully male, examined me and recommended I went into hospital to have my testicle removed. Figuring I would not really miss what I’d never fully had, I agreed. The operation went well and I bid farewell to what turned out to be a shriveled and rather lame looking organ. My testicle was sent away for analysis. Two months later I was called back to the hospital for a post op check up. After checking the scar and generally poking around the doctor adopted a somber tone and told me that my absent testicle had been cancerous. He explained that the cancer was most probably contained within the testicle, however, he would make an appointment for me to have further tests.
Hope
Just hearing the ‘C’ word and my name in the same sentence sent waves of anxiety through my body and soul. Cancer, further tests. These words echoed around my head. How would I tell my partner, and should we tell the kids? At home, I waited for my partner to return from work. Nervously, ridiculously laughing, I explained my news. She took it surprisingly well, she had lived with a relative’s cancer in the past, and we agreed that we would not say anything to the kids. They were five and one and would not understand anyway. The doctor had said that the risk of further infection was low and we desperately held on to this hope.
Secret
Within weeks, my right, my sole, innocent and pure testicle, the one that had worked so well to father my children, began to feel hard. In denial, I said nothing. Each morning I would examine myself and found that the hardness was spreading and it had soon encapsulated the whole testicle. It felt like a rock hard walnut, who ever said lightning doesn’t strike twice. Still I spoke to no one, and only admitted my secret to my partner just days before my next follow up appointment.
A ball job
Within two days of seeing the doctor, I was again in theatre. My right testicle was going. The one I had so desperately held on to as the bastion of my manhood, the centrepiece of my erogenic zone, the second of only two remaining organs that defined my masculinity was to be extricated. Decisions had to be made. Should I freeze some still healthy sperm while I had the chance in case of ever wanting more children? Secondly, and to my utter astonishment, I was asked if I would require a prosthesis? What? It turned out I was being offered falsies. A ball job.
Decisions
The first decision took some discussion. This affected our future together and that of our children. Would we ever separate? What then? Given that I was happy and content with our two, beautiful children, and could not ever foresee loving anyone else in the same way I loved my partner then, we finally agreed that freezing my sperm was an unnecessary precaution. My partner was young and could always have more children with whom ever she pleased, should we ever part. The decision was made.
Choosing
The latter was easy. Of course, I wanted falsies, and the bigger the better. I was actually offered up a tray showing the various ‘balls’ as options. I was encouraged to touch, squeeze, and play with them to familiarize my self with this weird technology. I began to look forward to my new arrivals. Of course, vanity and my blustering ego were at play here. Would these silicon spheres disentangle those engrained feelings of male inadequacy for good? Naturally, I asked for a large pair. I was told, post operatively of course, that my scrotum would only accept the medium sized model.
Hungover
