<$BlogRSDURL$>

Thursday, April 21, 2011

testicless 

My long Easter weekend began, in a terrible accidental way, a day earlier than most folks. Tomorrow may be Good Friday, but now an Okay Thursday will suit us just fine, thank you very much.

This morning, this Maundy Thursday, the Thursday of Mysteries, whatever you wish to call it, began for me in a hospital room. Yep, as the clock crossed midnight into Thursday morning I was in a room at the children's hospital. My folks were there, my dad was nodding and sleeping in a rocking chair on the far side of the room. My mother, The Wife, and I sat huddled around the rolling hospital bed table on the other side of the room. We ate cold turkey sandwiches recently purchased from the sparce late-night fare in the hospital cafeteria.

We tried to speak in hushed tones, but the emotions of the moment were still running quite high.

As for The Boy. . .

Remember dear reader, now and forever, All for The Love of The Boy. . .

He was, as is typical in such situations, the reason for our predicament.

On Tuesday afternoon, a strange lump appeared on the left side of The Boy's groin. We presumed it was one of his testicles, as they are retractile they frequently hide out there. It's just another one of The Boy's endearing biological quirks. He is nearing the end of precocious puberty. It's not uncommon in kids with serious neurological disabilities. It began a couple of summers back when we noticed things were growing and getting hairier than is typical of a seven year old. Monitoring downstairs had become just another thing on The Boy's checklist.

Clearly something's not right, but what? There were no other symptoms. No indication of sensitivity or pain, no inflammation or redness, no fever nor any other sign of possible infection. And as there were no other symptoms, there was no reason to rush of to the after-hours clinic. So we watched and waited.

Wednesday morning, while the lump had grown significantly, it was still more curious than frightening. It looked like someone somehow shoved an avocado up there.

The Wife got on the phone. Lucky break! An available appointment with the pediatrician that afternoon.

The pediatrician did what he typically does with The Boy in novel situations. He punted. While I have no doubt that the good doctor sincerely and genuinely cares for The Boy, I think that The Boy scares him. Consistently rated as one of the best pediatricians our fair city has to offer, the unique medical challenges posed by The Boy I think push him well past the boundaries of his knowledge, experience, and comfort zone. Little Blake fell of his skateboard, Sara has an ear infection, Dylan has a rash, Kaycee ate what? That is the bulk of his practice. When it comes to a kid like The Boy, well that pushes things to a whole different level. As he is a thoughtful and cautious man, he refers and defers to the specialists.

A phone call later and we are off. Another lucky break! The urologist has agreed to see The Boy last minute. So it was that we found ourselves in a urologist's office looking at ultrasound images of my son's testicles. What did you do Wednesday afternoon?

Somehow the left one had become twisted, "torsion" I believe was the word written down on reports. Apparently, with all of this this testicular dancing it was virtually inevitable that this would happen. Veins had become kinked, blood flow cut off. The words "appears mottled" and "necrotic" were used. It had to come out. Now. Now? Now!

Fuck.

Surgery.

Really?

Fuck.

I didn't cry then, although please give me a moment if I do now.

We make the short walk across the parking lot from the doctor's office to the children's hospital. Grandparents are called. I put on a brave face and try my best not to break down on the phone. Surgery is the scariest thing in the world.

Two nervous hours. . .

Two hours can be a very long time. . .

To have to wait. . .

And feel helpless. . .

And wait. . .

Did I mention the desperate feeling of complete utter helplessness?

Still waiting. . .

"Prayer, the last refuge of a scoundrel." - Lisa Simpson

The waiting room door opens, a nurse appears, she calls my boy's name. . .

Finally, in the recovery room. Sigh. All went well. Things are good, better than anticipated.

A few hours later and we are back where this story began, Thursday morning, after midnight in a scene I have witnessed too many times. The Boy is in a hospital bed, connected with tubes and wires to machines that beep, whir, and go ping. He peacefully sleeps in the comforting embrace of the waning anesthesia.

6:30 am. The Boy is discharged from the hospital. The Wife is amazing in these situations. Really, she is. She speaks the lingo, and she's charming as all Hell. She had worked a deal to get us out of there before the morning shift change. We are home before 7:00.

Now a few hours later, the morning clouds are beginning to burn off in the mid-morning sun. The Wife is snug asleep in bed. She pulled an all-nighter up with The Boy. Yes I know, it is further evidence of her awesomeness. The Boy also sleeps comfortably in his own bed. Cripes, what a day that kid had.

He has three incisions: on the left and right side of his upper groin and scrotum. Ouch, hurts just to type it. They removed his left testicle, and ended the right's nomadic ways by severing the muscle that caused the wandering and permanently attaching it to his scrotum. Ouch, hurts just to type it.

As for me, well I swear to you I am feeling sympathetic pain, and I feel giddy, almost delirious with exhaustion from the emotional wringer of the last 24 hours.

Soon The Nurse will be here to care for The Boy and I will join my family in slumber.

Until then, I feel no shame in stating that it is five o'clock somewhere and I am enjoying a tasty adult libation. I will most likely have two, both well earned and much deserved.

So good morning to you, my dear reader, good morning indeed.


a postscript. . .

In all seriousness, I must confess that with comic and karmic irony, this is the first song Pandora played when I fired up my MacBook to begin this rant:

"Big Balls" - AC/DC

|
Comments: Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com