“ Please only write here if you have had a direct experience of this condition „
I always thought I was going to live forever - I'm thirty-three but feel the same as I did when I was eighteen, and I've got through a relatively hard-drinking, hard-smoking lifestyle without any troubles to this point.
I was a bit suspicious of my balls, though, because I had an operation when I was five years old to bring them down into my scrotum - undescended testicles, I believe the term is.
Therefore I was straight on the case when I felt a lump on my right testicle about two months ago while taking a piss. I always take those hands-on moments as an opportunity to check things out, and found a marble-like protrusion sticking out of my right nut.
I gave it a day or two, just to see, while also working myself up into a panic about testicular cancer, and all the things that might involve.
I wasn't hanging around, though - unlike some guys, I don't have any pride when it comes to these kind of things. I got myself an appointment to get it checked out.
However, I live in the Czech Republic, and a visit to the doctors is not the easiest thing for someone who doesn't speak fluent Czech. The urologist I visited was a man who looked like he smoked in his office, and we communicated through a combination of mime and shouting.
He originally treated it as an infection, and put me on antibiotics, which did nothing at all. On my third visit, after many facial expressions which you might make watching skateboarders fall on their face during "You've Been Framed", he referred me to the hospital with the suspicion of a tumor.
Once at the hospital, things moved pretty quickly. In less than a week, they'd taken blood and decided that I should have the offending testicle removed, as it was most likely a tumor.
I did all my crying that day; I've grown up enough to know how my emotions work. When I left the UK to live abroad in 2009, once I knew for definite I would be going, I got pissed up in town and had a tearful conversation on the phone to my mum. It was a bit embarrassing in hindsight, but when it came down to the final day, I was calm while my family broke down in tears. I got my tears in early so I could deal with that final wrench more effectively.
The day they said I had a tumor, I went home, sat about for a bit, then went back to work, thinking I'd be better off there rather than sit around by myself worrying. I lasted approximately three minutes, before someone asked if I was OK, then I dissolved into bitter tears.
After that, I was fresh and ready to go, although the times waiting for action were much worse than anything that actually happened to me. I'm a huge wimp, and have a very low threshold for pain, or any physical discomfort.
Before checking into hospital, I was terrified about three things -
1. Injections/Blood Tests - the last time I had a blood test, around ten years ago when I had glandular fever, I blacked out and needed to lie down for about half an hour.
2. Hospitals - My beloved Grandmother and Great-Grandmother both passed away in hospital, so I had an inbuilt fear and distrust of hospitals in general.
3. The Operation - I'd be knocked out for the actual Op, but was terrified of any drips or tubes sticking out of me when I awoke.
When the nurse took six blood samples for the first test, I tried to counteract my blood test wimpiness by trying to be the big man and jump straight up afterwards. This led to a draining of blood from head to foot, and flaking out on the table in a big sweaty puddle of dizziness and despair.
Once it was decided I should have the testicle removed, the doctor sent me to another hospital to deposit some sperm, in case further treatment - ie. Radiotherapy or Chemotherapy - knocked out the other testicle. Before I could do that, I needed to give MORE blood, so I could be tested for HIV.
I took that one more calmly, and laid down for five minutes before attempting to get up.
The sperm deposit was the saddest wank I've ever had. For this, they sent me to another hospital, and I envisioned scenes from movies where a character will go to a gleaming clinic, and get put in a room with a little pot, a drawer full of glossy jazz mags, and a porno playing on a TV in the corner.
I've always tried avoiding porn due to my partner, who considers it a form of cheating. But I figured she would forgive me this one. The woman handed me a little tub through the window and gave me a key to a small annex across the courtyard.
Once in there, I discovered a couch and a coffee table covered in porno mags. Despite my troubled state of mind at this point, a little pervert somewhere in my mind shouted "Game on!"
It was a bit distressing, though. I knew countless blokes in similar situations had sat on that sad little couch knocking one out over these mags, so first off I felt the need to sit on my jacket. And the mags were all what I would describe as "Communist Era Porn", very dated, and from approximately the mid-Eighties, which didn't help. Even when I was into my porn, I always had trouble with bad haircuts, and here I had nightmare perms and neon colored naughty underwear to wank around.
I've never been a prolific cummer, but I managed to eke out a few drops into my pot, and it was sad to think my chances of having a family in the future might rest on this meager little offering. But, I've always liked a good story, so I consoled myself with thoughts of telling my future children that they lay in stasis in a clinic in Brno, Czech Republic, a bit like Wesley Snipes in "Demolition Man", ready to be thawed out and take the world on.
Even after all that, I couldn't resist a little joke to myself as I left the cabin, thinking; "Maybe I'll keep the key and pop down for another one later on."
When I got back to my apartment, I got a text - "Mr Adams - you forgot to return the key to our room." And had to run back to the hospital to return it.
The hospital itself was a huge barrier for me, and in some ways I was more worried about spending a week on a ward with a bunch of other men than I was about the operation itself.
I was booked in on the Friday, and luckily a friend took the day off work to come along and help translate. Once on the ward, waiting to be admitted, my concerns gradually faded - for one thing, the place didn't smell as bad as hospital back in England. It didn't have that ground in smell of sickness you encounter in UK hospitals, and apart from lunch - overpowering cabbage stench - it was actually quite fresh, and I'd bagged a bed by the window.
The waiting, as always, was the worst, and I was actually quite jovial when things were moving ahead - getting issued with my pyjamas, having an ECG, an X-Ray, and blood pressure taken. The downer was, they couldn't fit me in that day, so would have to go home and come back Sunday.
This was an annoyance and a blessing - while I wanted to get things sorted out as quick as possible, it also gave me time to absorb what was happening. At this stage, even with my operation on the Monday, it was still less than a week between diagnosis and removal - this was going way, way too quickly for me.
Into hospital, I had a few more indignities to deal with - I was shaved down below by a cheerful middle-aged nurse with an amazing dry razor. I'd been growing a beard through the whole time from around when I discovered the lump, and shaved it off because I associated it with the problem. That took four razors.
This old girl had a razor with comb-like prongs, and my pubes came off like a dream. If only I'd had a razor like this when I shaved my beard! It was a weird experience, especially when she was blowing off tufts of shaved pubes with her mouth.
Then she gave me an enema, pumping about a liter of water up my arse to flush me out. I was expected to hang on twenty minutes before going for a shit, but there was no way I could clench that long. Twenty seconds was more like it, but I felt very refreshed afterwards.
My first night on the ward was actually OK, and I was looking forward to any drugs they might give me. I'd heard good things from my mum and other people about morphine, but unfortunately didn't get to experience that. Instead, they popped me a Diazepam, which gave me a lovely warm buzz. I knew it would help me sleep when I put my head down, but sat up for a bit, enjoying the feeling, and even walking around just for the hell of it, just to have a laugh bumbling around on it.
Things moved quickly when they took me down, and the scariest part was actually seeing the operating theater with all the equipment. The anaesthetist was talking to me as they put the drip in my arm, and that was it. I woke up in my bed on the ward.
I'd stated very clearly to my partner I did not want her to be there when I came round, as I knew what it was like coming out of general anaesthetic and being a complete incoherent, gibbering mess.
However, the first thing I did when I came round was try to text her - that was way too hard, so I called her. I called her again later on when I was more with it, and only found out then about my earlier drugged up phone call.
They let me out the following day, and the worst thing about the whole experience was removing the drainage tube from my testicle. That was a horrible sensation - not that painful, but a really horrible feeling as they dragged it out of my nether regions.
I was very sore at first, and had real trouble getting myself from a laying down position to upright, as I had problems getting my arms under me to lever myself up without putting any pressure on my stomach muscles.
My back ached dreadfully, and on my second day home, decided to walk down to my local pub for a non-alcoholic beer and get some exercise. The walk would normally take thirty seconds, but took more like ten minutes, and I regretted the decision half way. It really took it out of me and wish I'd stayed at home.
It's two weeks later and I'm still waiting on the final result of the histology report, but I wanted to share this experience. Firstly, because I know a lot of guys have certain hang ups when it comes to the "family jewels", and in some cases will hang on until it's too late to get it seen to.
And secondly, because I always considered myself an absolute coward when it came to this kind of thing, and I've inadvertently proved to myself it's not a big deal, and I can be brave when it comes to it. It's an important lesson to learn - the doctor says my remaining testicle will remain high risk because of it's origins, but now I won't feel as scared if the worst comes to the worst.
This story is not finished yet; I desperately hope it will have a (semi) happy ending, but hopefully it will be of some comfort to anyone else suffering the same problem.
When you're partner has cancer, so do you or at least that is how it feels! For every step of the way you have to be there too, every hospital appointment, every operation, every chemotherapy session, every check up. As strong as your partner has to be, you have to be stronger.
Cancer was already dark cloud over our family when my husband found a lump 'down there.' My uncle had just died after a long struggle with bowel cancer; my aunt was undergoing the latest of a number of lumpectomies and was set to start another cycle of chemotherapy. Having seen the extremes of cancer and it's treatments, he put his macho attitude aside and didn't hesitate to get a doctor's appointment booked.
He was seen the same day by his GP who advised that she couldn't tell him anything for definite: it could be a cyst, a simple blocked tube or 'something else.' He was referred to the hospital for an ultra sound. It was a two day wait until his hospital appointment and it fell on the day of my uncle's funeral. After the ultrasound, the doctors called and asked him to attend an appointment at 5pm that day. When he called to ask me if I would go with him to the hospital later that day I knew then it was bad news, for them to call him back that quickly, something had to be wrong.
Up at the hospital he went into the room himself, his show of strength. A nurse called me to join him some ten minutes later. On the screen were the results of the ultra sound and I will never forget that doctor's face as he told me to sit down. I couldn't sit down; I stood behind S and held his shoulders tight. I knew that I would have to be his eyes and ears in these appointments, take in everything that would have to happen, the changes that would have to be made. The cancer cells had spread and the doctors wanted to move fast, scheduling his operation for the week after. What shook me most was being able to see the obvious tumour on the ultra sound, being able to see the tumour and how it had infested his cells.
Some hidden inner strength kicked in during that appointment, I wanted to know everything and my business side took over as I began to understand the medical jargon that they had thrown at us. I knew that S had to fight and couldn't lie down to this disease, he couldn't let it win. From that point, even whilst in the presence of the deadly serious doctors, we started to have a giggle, winding each other up as we had done since the moment we met (much to the bemusement of the doctor). Keeping that hold on what was our 'normality' was important to me.
I'd like to mention that at the point of his diagnosis, S and I had been together just under 8 months, we were no where near the point in our relationship of discussing such things as children. The doctors were unsure of how the chemotherapy would affect the remaining healthy testicle and with them removing more than they had hoped of the other testicle and tubes, etc, they offered S the chance to freeze his sperm. We decided that the best way to proceed would be to leave every 'door' open. Everything was done so that if S was infertile he would have that back up regardless of what happened between him and I.
I read everything I could get my hands on with regards to the disease, the operations, the treatments, the survival rates and most of all side effects of the drugs being used in the chemotherapy cycles. I was going to be prepared for everything and anything, he would have to go through hell and back but I'd be there with him. We told those who needed to know and they instantly picked up on the positive, fighting attitude that I was trying to establish.
I spent every moment I could by his side. We made the trips to Edinburgh for the chemotherapy more like short holiday breaks, packing any form of activity that could be done at his bedside such as puzzles and games, deciding on the plans for the wedding (S proposed two weeks before starting his chemotherapy) and trying to have as much fun as is possible in a cancer ward. I cannot thank the nurses on that ward enough for their happy, positive attitudes and being so flexible as to allow me to stay every minute with him.
The chemotherapy did have its side effects, S was tired, his immune system was destroyed, the anti sickness pills played havoc with his insides and his appetite was non-existent. His bedside cabinet became a pharmacy, the pills the doctors had given him as well as a large supply of recommended medicines that they suggest we buy. The food cupboards were full of weak-scented meals and I spent a day each week cooking to make sure that there were fast and healthy meals in the freezer ready for him. He had to eat as soon as he felt hungry but strong smells would put him off very quickly. I think we kept Jaffa Cakes in business as these seemed to cover the metallic taste that the drugs had caused.
The routine of entering the house was the same as entering a hospital ward, no visitors if they had been exposed to bugs or viruses, use the anti-bacterial gel on your hands before going near him and leave your shoes at the door. S did contract Septicaemia, but that's another completely different topic. Thankfully he fought hard and the doctors were keen to keep his chemotherapy on track to prevent delays. The end was in sight.
I have no doubt that the cancer caused more emotional damage than physical, the months during and following the chemotherapy he was very insecure about his body and other people's perception of him. The doctors had warned that depression is easily to slip into after the chemotherapy ends as although the 'all clear' is five years away, there seems nothing to fight anymore it is just a long case of waiting to see what happens next. He did slip but we did everything we could to pull him out of his slump and keep him going, and thankfully after changing his job and refocusing he was as close to his normal self as he was going to be.
The advice I'd pass on to anyone else that has a partner who has been diagnosed with testicular cancer:
- Become their eyes and ears from the start. They will not be able to take in everything that the doctor advises at the appointments, it will be over the next few days that the questions they would have wanted to ask will come to them. It makes it easier if you have pre-empted this and have their answers.
- Research anything you don't understand. A lot of terms that the doctors use are terrifying but a little understanding can make them much easier to deal with. It is also easier to keep your partner calm and positive if you can push the doctors to use 'lament terms' or explain the jargon they have used.
- Buy a digital thermometer! It saved S's life. During chemotherapy if your temperature rises above 37.5 then you have to get to a hospital ASAP. Should this happen, tell A&E IMMEDIATELY that the person is undergoing chemotherapy as they should be moved to a private room away from possible infectious patients. Make sure that doctors/nurses use the hand gels once they are in the room as door handles are disgusting. You'd be surprised at the number of people that don't realise this even doctors.
- Keep all of the paperwork and letters from the hospital together in a pack, take it to every appointment and to the hospital if required. You'll be surprised at how much time this saves the doctors, as they do not have to rely on information from other wards/hospitals filtering in.
- Accept help! You're going to need someone to talk to as well as your man. CancerBacup is a great service if you need information or just a nurse to talk to about what is going on. You will have negative down days and whilst it's ok to let your partner know you are scared or a little stressed, it's best to have someone close that you can blow off all your emotions to without worrying about their reaction.
- Be prepared and aware of the chemotherapy side effects. Soups are a great food to have in the house as they can be prepared quickly, he will have to eat when he is hungry and before he loses the notion to. Keep lots of snacks and encourage him to let you know what is affected by the metallic taste so that you know what to have available e.g. maybe chocolate is fine, but crisps are not. Mouthwashes, constipation relief tablets and antiseptic gels are a must on the shopping list.
- Talk about everything with your partner! They will be offered prosthetics, different treatments, counselling and they will probably want to know your opinion on it all.
I wouldn't wish anyone to have to go through cancer or indeed for anyone to have to watch someone they love go through it. But if there is someone out there that is in the position I was, I hope the above helps a little. It's daunting to be thrown out there in the midst of it and although there is help out there it's not the same as hearing it from those that have been through from the same perspective.
To every guy that reads this - I cannot stress how important it is to check yourself for lumps. Rather you go to the doctors, suffer a little embarrassment and find out it is nothing than let a cancer spread. You don't want to hear those "if you had come to us sooner..."
This is going to so hard for me to write about, but I hope that it will help someone out there, who just may read this. My husband, Ian, had testicular cancer. He told me that he had a lump just after xmas in 1991. He had been a little quiet throughout December, but he was working hard and money was a bit tight, so I put it down to that. We had been to a party next door and he said he wanted to go home fairly early. We were laying in bed when he suddenly just blurted it out. "Lou, I have got a lump - you know!" It was the middle of the night and I froze immediately. I don't think he ever knew what went through my mind in the longest minute of my life, at that point. I remember saying to him that it was probably just a cyst, but for his peace of mind I would ring our GP sometime (sometime!) later that day, and would make an appointment for him. I saw him off to work and was on the phone before he got round the corner!! I held out until midday before I phoned him at work, to say that he could call in on his way home for a check up - I didnt want us both to panic! I think he must have thought I was very casual and didnt care much, but I just wanted us both to stay calm. To cut a long story short he was diagnosed quickly and, after a scan and a visit to see a consultant oncologist, he went into hospital to have the necessary operation to remove one of his balls. I won't deny that it was a painful period, in more ways than one, for us both. Removing the testical is an operation that involves a lot of work on the lower stomach and it takes a long time to recover and for the pain to go. Painful for me? Well, I was banished from the bedroom we had shared for 20 years, partly because he was in pain, and partly because he felt so bad about himself and how he felt he had been mutilated. Only once did I share a bed with him again, and within half an hour he asked me to leave again. It isn't only women that suffer w
hen they lose a breast, but men are not offered counselling as standard - or they weren't then. After the operation is was deemed that he should have chemotherapy at Guys Hospital. His consultant was brilliant, but the registrar in charge of his case was dreadful. I hasten to say at this point that testicular cancer is regarded as being very curable, but there was some concern that the cancer had spread prior to the operation. Ian found it very difficult to cope with this. He was worried and found the chemo- induced sickness debilitating and humiliating. He could not adjust to what he saw as his disfigurement - no matter how I tried to reasssure him. He didn't want many people to know he had the big C, unless they had to, which put us both under additional strain. Eventually he allowed me to confide in two people, one a nursing friend, and the other my dearest friend, who had been treated for breast cancer a couple of years previously, and who offered us both very very good advice. He tried to hide his hair loss under a cap and as he was unable to work for a long time he stayed indoors a good deal. In June, on Fathers Day, just six months later, we lost him. After two courses of chemotherapy he collapsed, and after suffering lots of fits he had a massive stroke, went into a coma, and died three days later. It took many months before I could get the results of the PM, thanks to the registrar. It seems that Ian had a rare condition affecting the blood vessels of his brain, and the chemotherapy weakened them more than his body could stand. The consultant said that he would probably have suffered a stroke in a couple of years in any case - supreme irony. I want to make this helpful and positive so here are some of the things that we did to get through that first six months and subsequently. 1) Testicular Cancer is invariably curable. Given early diagnosis and treatment normal life is possible. Don't pani
c if you f ind a lump - it is invariably harmless and can be dealt with. Granted, the examination is a bit embarrassing - but as us girlies always say, seen one, you've seen them all!! 2) I had lengthy discussions with the consultant at Guys, who had not realised that men can suffer with poor self-esteem after such radical surgery, and he told me that a programme of counselling would be offered to all new patients that he treated. Guys, if you or your loved ones are EVER in that situation, take advantage of any counselling being offered...It is nothing to be ashamed of and could make a critical difference. 3) We had two young children who we decided should be as fully informed as possible, with as much information as they could understand. It was an immensly difficult time for them, but as they knew as much as they could handle, it made it easier for them overall. As it was, it was hard enough for them to cope with the lose of their beloved father, without feeling that we had lied or been dishonest with them/ 4) We kept his immediate family informed and discussed each stage of treatment and so on with them. After Ian died I kept consulting them on all arrangements. I had lost my husband, but they had lost their child and sibling. The mutual support we were able to give each other helped us all no end - well, I know it did me. Agree a way of dealing with things and informing relatives as necessary - and stick to it. 5) Don't panic! Try to stay calm and keep talking to each other. Be honest with each other and be patient with the patient. The emotional effects on the sufferer can be hard to deal with. Have a confidante that you can trust, to have somewhere to take your fears. Try not to bring your fears into your relationship with the person who is ill. 6) Expect the person who is suffering to become moody, and unable to eat. Make sure that you keep lots of soups and cold liquids around for the
m to drink . Chemothe rapy affects the taste buds and causes a rather odd metallic smell on the skin. Keep plenty of nice smellies for him to indulge in! 7) Be encouraging and supportive, as much as you can. It is very difficult sometimes, but sometimes it is necessary to walk away and let your partner rest, rather than trying to talk them round from cross words. 8) Fellas, it ain't necessary for you to feel bad about yourselves. We loved you before and we love you still. Don't be to proud to take ANY help that is offered, from whatever source. Your partner needs support too, to cope with the extra work they will have to do while you recover. Remember that we are in there, suffering in our own way, with you. I hope that you will not have found the above too depressing. In my case we found that Ians' illness bought us closer together and that we spent many hours, mostly overnight when the boys were asleep, when he would sit on the end of my bed for a natter. From my other reviews you may know that this was not only the end of a period in my life, but also a beginning of something else. I know that if Ian had been lucky enough not to have other health problems, we would have both been irrevocably changed by our experience and we would have gone about things in a different way than previously. As the words of the poem say: "Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away in to the next room. I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other That we still are." Thank you for reading
This is the 2nd update on this op. The first was after my visit to the doctors, and the 2nd is the day after my Ultra-sound scan. It's just to give an idea of what you should expect. I can't quite begin to start this opinion. I know exactly what I want to say, but how to say it is quite something else. Four weeks ago I went into hospital to have two lumps removed. One from my arm and one from my groin. Both were slightly different, and although the doctors assured me that the one on my arm was nothing more than a build of tissue, they had no idea what he other was. I should also point out that these are not the only two. In total there were 13 of various sizes on my arms and legs. None of which are visible. Today, I have just returned from the hospital having received the results and to also have a check up. You will be pleased to know that both are benign, as are the other 11 remaining. However, whilst there I wanted to check up on something that had been worrying me recently. A few weeks ago I discovered a new lump. It was not painful, but was quite large and I don't remember when I last checked that area of my body. I thought nothing of it, just my imagination playing me up with all the other stuff going on. But over the past three days there has been some pain. It started with a sharp, shooting pain, and has reduced to a dull ache. So today, whilst getting my tests I told the doctor what I had found and the feelings associated with it. I thought I knew my body quite well. I have always been very conscientious about checking my body. I have these other lumps for a number of years without any trouble. It is so easy to sit back and tell yourself that it's nothing to worry about. It may be that this nothing to worry about, I shan't know for a while. What I was told is that a cancerous growth will be a small hard lump, like a pea. What I have
does not fit this description, so it may well be an infection or something. But I cannot tell you how much runs through your brain when you have no idea exactly what it is you are looking for. <br><br> I have been referred to my own GP to make sure, which is a case of waiting a few more days. Had I done this when I first found the lump, I could have been to see the doctor and hopefully have saved myself the sleepless nights. I am talking about checking yourself for testicular cancer, if you hadn't already guessed. For some reason this is not something that we, men that is, like to talk about or discuss. But it is serious, and believe me it is incredibly distressing, even at this stage. I was in two minds today to talk to the hospital doctor about this, hoping that the pain would just go away and all would be fine. But it's not going away, it's been like it for 4 days, and there is a definite lump which should not be there. I don?t really know why I'm sharing this with Dooyoo. I guess I want to share my own stupidity and fear with other men and urge you to check yourself and do something about it if you have any concerns at all. Don't sit there, like I have done. It only makes it harder when you finally do something about it. Talking to the doctor I felt like a complete idiot, I felt vulnerable, I felt like I was wasting his time. He disagreed. If you have no idea what you're looking for, or how to perform a self examination it well worth visiting this site for extra information. http://my.webmd.com/content/asset/adam_test_testicular_self-examination There are many other useful links here too about Testicular Cancer. It mainly hits men between 15 and 40 years of age, and it can be treated. For God's sake men (and I include myself in that) do something about it now. Check yourself once a month and get yours
elf checked immediately by your GP if you find something out of the usual. You may feel like you're wasting their time, or you may feel like it's fuss over nothing ? but wouldn't you rather be safe than sorry? I will update this once I have seen my doctor with any advise he has. If what I have isn't cancerous, it is something, and any one of us could get it and not know what it is. So, come on. Don't just think about it, think that you will be fine. Do it! **UPDATE** Okay -so the day of reckoning came. This morning I went to my GPs and got myself examined. What can I say? Was it embarrassing? Yes. No point in denying it. Was I scared? That would be an understatement. Was I relieved to be told that I had nothing to worry about? To the point of tears. Nothing more than a small cyst causing me all this worry, sleepless nights and discomfort. I still have to have an ultrasound scan, but atleast now I can go to sleep at night. I also asked my GP exactly what it is I should worry about if I find something. A cancerous growth will be small and hard and attached directly to the surface of the testical. If you check yourself regularly (once a month), you will soon be able to tell if there are any abnormalities. While I can honestly say that it has been a terrifying week in my life, it has stopped me from being scared of going to the doctor again if I need to. **UPDATE NO. 2** I thought I knew fear. I had no idea! For the past two weeks whilst waiting for this day to arrive it never even crossed my mind that something was wrong after my doctors appointment. I walked through hospital doors took my seat in the waiting area and I shook like a leaf. My mother was taken into hospital just under two weeks ago with a cyst the doctor had found and he
wanted it checked out straight away because it was causing her alot of pain. By the end of the day she had a full hysterectomy and the results came through five days later confirming Ovarian cancer. And now here I was. A cyst in with my testicals and constant pain. I was terrified. After a short wait I was taken into a small dark room by a very friendly nurse and asked to make my self comfortable on the bed. There is only a certain amount of comfort one can feel with your pants round your knees infront of a complete stranger. I was left alone for two minutes. In came the doctor. I had to support my bits with my left hand while he put on the very cold gel and began the scan. It's very strange seeing your testicles up on a screen, but also very intresting. He explained what we were looking at then checked my kidneys with the scanner. The pressure he put on was probably minimum but I was in agony afterwards and went straight home took a couple of painkillers and fell asleep. My "cyst" has turned out to be nothing more than an inflamed vein. Like a varicose, but not. I walked out of the hospital, phoned my girlfriend, gave her the news that all was clear, and then I cried. The relief that I felt was so great that it reduced me to crying wreck. I was obviously more worried about it than I thought. I will not repeat anything I have already said other than this - If you find anything out of the ordinary go and get yourself checked. What's a bit of embarrassment compared to the worry, stress and possible worst outcome being caught early? Hmm?