A Lump, But Not in my Throat (Part 2)

Since my last post on this subject a fair bit has changed. I decided a couple of days after my appointment with the urologist, that I would prefer this lump removed. One, for piece of mind and, two, because it had increased in size to that of a bean.

I went back to my GP and sheepishly asked to be referred again, feeling stupid for not doing it the first time around. My GP wrote a letter to the urologist telling him of my change of heart and once again I was on the list.

It wasn’t too long before I was referred for another pre operative assessment with another urologist, who examined me again and came to the same conclusion that it was more than likely a cyst. From here he popped me on the operation waiting list and I just had to wait.

On the 15th of April I had my pre op. I filled out a questionnaire on my health and the nurses did my blood pressure, some MRSA swabs and talked about preparing for an operation etc. I was to expect contact with 12 weeks, as this is how long a pre op lasts for.

Fast forward to the 4th of June and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see a letter from the hospital. Behold, when I got home, there it was, sat on my doormat. An appointment for Tuesday 9th of June. That was soon. Sooner than I had expected. I thought I would have had a little more time to prepare from receiving the letter.

All that weekend the facts of that soon-to-be day started to filter into my head. The general anaesthetic, the lump being removed, the pain that would follow, worry about having time off work and most importantly what the lump would be.

On the morning of the 9th, my mind was somewhere else, lost in a fog of worry and fear. The little things bothered me, having to remove the bracelet that I had worn since starting IVF and only removed once before, a part of me that reminds me of what is important. What I should wear, what I should take with me and what to expect, worried me greatly.

Sat in the waiting room with Claire and Isaac, trying to maintain a level of order in my head, I awaited my fate. I saw my urologist once again who explained the procedure and I signed my consent form. It felt like I was signing my life away.

After what seemed a lifetime, I was called in and changed into the attractive hospital clothing they had prepared for me. I walked the long walk along the corridor towards the theatre and there I saw it, my bed, all ready for the deep sleep.

Idle chit chat was made with the nurses and anesthetist and then, I was out….

Two hours later, I awoke with water on my table, pain in my pants and a thankful heart. Thankful to have woken up to see everyone I loved again.

The urologist came by to inform me of how the procedure had gone. I was a little out of it from the anesthetic, but some key words rang loud and clear; ‘It was a strange one’ and ‘it wasn’t a cyst as we expected, it was a hard lump.’

Wasn’t a cyst
How loud can one phrase be?

If it wasn’t a cyst, then what was it? I would soon find out. The lump would be sent to the histology lab, where it would be analysed and I’d have a follow up appointment in three weeks to hear the findings.

Judgement day.

Until then, I went on my merry way home and enjoyed time with my wife and son. That was, until the day after, when the true after effects of the anesthetic hit. I spent most of that day with the three Bs; in Bed, by a Bucket or on the Bog. Attractive, I know.

So here we are. Day three and feeling fairly fine. Now, I’m just waiting to heal and feel better. Then I can try to prepare myself for the next hurdle, the histology results.

To be continued…

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