Last night I sponsored a mammogram for a woman who can't afford one. I mean, not everybody has the good health care we do. We went from ultrasound to chemo in seventeen days.
Even though pain in the orchie isn't a typical symptom, our doctor didn't mess around. Yes he prescribed antiobiotics in hopes it was an infection, but just in case, he sent my hero to ultrasound. From blogs I've read, other guys were jerked around with antiobiotics for months before ultrasound in the cheap hope it was just an infection. Which it never was. One guy even had to order and pay for his own ultrasound.
Now anybody reading this might wonder why a girl writes about testicular cancer in the plural first person. Well, it's because my hero and I definitely are a we-us-our.
I liken it to pregnancy and childbirth. He didn't physically experience the nausea, the heart burn, the bloating and weight gain...the misery of labor or the barfiness of episiotomy stitches. But he was there every second of the way in empathy, in heart. I do no less now.
In fact, he gets food cravings when his lack of appetite lets him. And then I make or go get whatever he wants.
It's the least I can do.