Bulletin Number 5 ~ Walking Like John Wayne (Epididymo-Orchitis, another Curve Ball)

Saying how much he liked it, a friend sent me a quote from Pierre-Auguste Renoir who was responding to Matisse on why, in spite of his painful arthritis, he still painted….  Renoir said, "The pain passes but the beauty remains". I thought about this and replied:- "Thanks" I said, "I like it too…. but it’s not always beauty that remains after pain.... sometimes there's just more pain!"

I recently finished a two-week course of antibiotics for epididymitis or epididymo-orchitis to be precise (that's posh medical-speak for balls ache). It’s the condition where you have to wear your dancing trousers all the time ~ plenty of ballroom. Well actually no that wouldn't be advisable, because you really need close fitting tight underwear to offer proper support so I'm told. Either way this is another unexpected 'curve ball' (so to speak) and I'm feeling pretty sore and most uncomfortable. It was probably caused ~ we think ~ by having to catheterise myself all the time. Doesn't matter how careful, obsessive and hygienic you are (and I am), sticking a tube into your body four times a day to take a leak is bound to be hazardous and have consequences.

In actual fact, the antibiotics I've been taking have been more debilitating and stress-inducing than the bacterial infection they’re supposed to tackle ~ and believe me it is all very wearing on the tackle. Kill or cure. Tired, dizzy, sore eyes, diarrhoea, hyper-sensitivity to the sun, muscle ache, irritability, loss of memory…. Ioss of memory?…. The trouble is, I study the contra-indications and side-effects on the leaflet that comes with the tablets and I end up ticking all the boxes. But no, really, it is true that I did suffer most of these things and it was very hard to survive the cure. I have only recently stopped walking like John Wayne.

Just to be on the safe side, the GP recommends that I have another ultra sound scan at the hospital, this time not to admire my impressively large coconut-sized prostate, but to make sure my balls are intact, the swelling and infection has abated and to investigate why my testicles (there's nothing ticklish about them) were attempting to 'go large' like my prostate.

A nurse ushers me in to the ultra sound scanning room and introduces me to the white-coated pale faced operator, who says, "We're here today to scan your testes ~ is that right?". 

She said 'We', so I'm thinking ~ "What, both of you?!" I don’t suppose I actually said that out loud (not sure) but anyway I'm invited to lower my trousers and pants and I slide on to the paper-lined examination couch. While I'm still sitting up, I confide in her all about the epididymitis infection and the two week course of antibiotics I’ve just finished and the fact that I'm still catheterising myself four times a day and the various discomforts I’m experiencing.... you see, I don't know what she knows and I should really stop prattling on and just ask her.

I scan her face for clues, but she's very blank and then I remember, Oh yeah, I'm the one that's being scanned here, not her.  I'm stalling for time, but eventually I have to recline on my back and I'm told casually in passing.... to, "Hold your penis up to your abdomen". What does that mean?! My mind creates all sorts of visually impossible variations, but before I can drift further into these musings or ask questions, a napkin is placed decorously over the upper part of my privates and we get on with the procedure ~ one ball at a ponderous time.

Very cold gel is applied, together with an even colder probing instrument. It is/she is delicately touching me ~ you know ~ there, but it's not exactly arousing. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her staring at the screen and at short intervals she clicks a device which beeps like the ones they use at the Optician. I've no idea what she can see on the screen ~ for all I know, she could be watching 'Casualty' on TV. Gradually I become aware that maybe I should have positioned myself a little bit further up the couch, because now, the circulation to my calves is definitely cut off and I can't feel my feet.  

"That's the right one done, moving on to the left....", Is that my feet or my balls she's talking about? I've lost track now, and in a daydream I suddenly notice a small red and blue dot stuck on the ceiling directly above my head on either side of a vent. "Let's take a look at the Kidneys”. Yes let's! Very thorough this lady and I’m most grateful.

After a few days, the results are in and I appear to have been lucky yet again ~ everything is given the all clear, 'nothing sinister', just residual stuff as I recover from the infection. 'Resolving' I think they said. I would give it a loud Yayyy!! if I felt properly well myself right now, but I suppose a whimpish 'mehh' has got to be better than nothing. Soon I will start to assist my recovery again by returning to the gym and I will get back in the saddle..... I'm determined.

But a couple of days after finishing the antibiotics, I'm no better in the nethers, so “ding#ding…. round two!” Just to finish me off, the doctor prescribes further antibiotics to try to improve things and because of the silly side-effects of the last lot, he prescribes another type. Reading the leaflet that came with the tablets, it looks like more of the same, but hopefully it will be worth it... (fingers, eyes and legs crossed). I trust him ~ his speciality or sideline is the health and well-being of air crew. If he gets it right with me, this time next week I could be jetting off into the sunset. Let's hope so.

PS Then I had the news that the operation I was due to have around April/May to help me pee properly again, has now been put back to June/July. Apparently, although in the beginning I was told to expect a wait of around 8 weeks for the operation, they are within their standards in the NHS for completion of treatment, even if it drags on until 50 or 52 weeks. I'm only at week 27 so there's some way to go yet.... Deep joy!