The Green Mile

So what preceded receiving my letter for the appointment was two weeks of agonising and tiring acting. Everything is fine, if I work and live as normal, it will all be fine. I’m certainly not naive to think that a specialist visit is good news, but part of me clung onto a very slim chance that maybe the specialist would check and say ‘nope you’re all clear, it’s this..’. Trying to be normal made all the more hard by the constant aches and sensitivity I was experiencing, I don’t think one moment passed in each day where it wasn’t in my thoughts.

Fast forward to Thursday 28th January 2021; I am up early to get some work done to try and help distract me (didn’t work), I shower and do my urine sample. I make sure its my third wee of the morning, as for some reason in my head a clear wee sample is a consolation prize to what’s going on ‘Yes, it’s crystal clear, I’m hydrated and surely that means I'm

healthy!’ oh so positive and innocent.

Its a 10 minute drive to the hospital, and Ellen drives me, but I sit there clutching my urine sample and paperwork, cool, calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside its just swans legs, flapping everywhere.

We pull up to the hospital and I just want to stay with Ellen; ‘i love you, see you soon’ I did not want to let go of her hand but deep down I wanted to jump right out and get told what was wrong with me. Mask on and off I went, my green mile.

I check my watch and I have time for one quick nervy pee before I follow the signs and do my best to not get lost! I get checked in and within minutes I’m sat in a waiting room, cold and clammy, clutching my urine sample. Surrounded by cancer posters and a nurse down the hall discussing results with a patient, all culminating in a very unnerving experience.

After a little wait the doctor finally approaches me, stone faced and ready for business ‘Mr Bratcher, follow me’. No introductions, no small talk..just ‘strip down and get on the bed’

I went to grab my penis but he was very disapproving of that ‘don't hold it’ and so I was left baring all with no control. I was expecting a long fumble and inspection but within seconds and the slightest of touches he angrily asks ‘why didn’t you go to your GP sooner!?’, all I could say was ‘I did right away’ and in a flash I’m sat next to doctors desk as he’s making all sorts of different calls, talking about me as if I’m not there but making it pretty clear what was wrong. A nurse tiptoes in and sits down, not saying anything and just staring whilst the calls continue. I just want the doctor to tell me and say those words. Another 5 minutes sat in awkward silence and eventually he puts the phone down, turns to me and says ‘obviously you know something is wrong by the way I was urgently calling, look no easy way to say this but you have a tumour, it is testicular cancer and you will need this removing.’

Within minutes the doctor chucks everything at me, and I think to be fair to myself I’ve taken it all in and dissected it quickly. I feel almost reassured now I know it’s cancer and what’s happening.

So it’s all snowballing rapidly, a surgery has been booked in for the following Friday on 5th February and they’ve said the surgery will be to remove the testicle and the tumour. So much information, so little time to take it all in, but little did I know, leaving that room would be the start of an exhausting day, let alone journey.