Fear is a mindkiller. I always loved Fear Factory (band) but never really gave much thought to these words. While I know this quote originally from Frank Herbert well, it still does little to turn off the mind and overthinking it.

Between diagnosis and operation, I would have brief moments of severe depression. I would hit the gym ten times harder, I would sometimes for no reason at all be shitty to my subordinates at work whom I managed, when I was banging a FWB they commented that I appeared more powerful and/or intense than previous which ironically they liked.

It's fair to say I was going through a bit of a depression. When my LTR split up two years ago, it cost me every friend I ever had. Guys I had known for near 20 years decided to believe some bullshit she said and took her "side" in the relationship breakdown seeing me as the villain. Even when some of her bullshit was exposed as being bullshit a lot of my friends still preferred to take the pussy pass option. One such incident she told my friends had happened was a wrote-by-wrote scene from some B-movie I watched with her earlier in our relationship. She just didn't figure that I had lent that movie to some of my friends and that's when they figured out she was talking shit.

Hence, since then, I can honestly say I don't have friends. I have mates, I have people I acquaint with, I have girls I fuck, I have different sets of male friends that I work out with at the gym, meet at gigs, play music with, etc. None of these circles really know each other and I have felt for years that if shit had really just hit the fan, there isn't a single person I could count on other than myself.

While this belief has sat with me perfectly fine all this time, it's not when shit does actually hit the fan that this truth is a bitter pill to swallow. Tougher than the red pill. I knew if I told all and sundry about my cancer, they would be out in droves to pretend they give a shit only to be able to post about it on facebook. Furthermore, the last thing i wanted from people was the initial false sympathies and a lifetime of being viewed as weak. My Nurse FWB had already noped out at the first sign of any questionmark as to my health. Despite being good enough to check in with me and offer support through I can only guess some sense of loyalty, our sexual relationship is very much over.

Imagine my horror then that my favorite FWB now knew of my predicament. Furthermore she wanted to come down to "look after me" during my recovery. I was severely disappointed. Like I said previously, this girl is 21. She is attending university about a 3 hour drive away. As I don't want to do a LDR, this is the only reason she's not an LTR. When she spends weekends with me, she is probably the only girl I've run into in years who has an insane lust for black metal, music, horror films, museums and random adventuring that I do. While sex is very much our main attraction, the fact we get on so well outside the bedroom makes things much sweeter.

OK, back to the matter at hand.

Prior to my operation, my Doctor had me undergo another blood test primarily as I was concerned about testosterone levels. He noted that as I worked out very regularly, my T-levels were actually in the above normal range. This was good; he predicted that as the testicle being removed was actually the smaller of my two, together with my already very healthy diet, he hypothesized that while some t-level drop off was inevitable, it shouldn't hit me all that hard and would certainly be treatable with HRT if required.

He also predicted approximately a two night stay in hospital followed up by a week off of work. He also stipulated a month away from the gym.

The day of my operation, I was tense as fuck. I have to admit, I almost didn't show up. I mean, nobody would have missed me if I hadn't had shown up. But show up I did. It was probably the most anti-climactic day of my life. I went through the various forms and procedures with the nurse, got my first look at my new prosthetic testicle which was pretty unassuming. It was clear, egg shaped and just looked like one of those containers you may find a toy in a kids' fast food happy meal.

I got changed, had a monitor put on my thumb, a few pricks of a needle to give me the anesthetic and that was it. Nothing at all.

To me it was seconds later when I woke up. I couldn't sit upright too well, but I really wanted to. I was still groggy, but two burly dudes moved me to another bed where I could be propped up. The second I propped up, I threw up from the anesthetic all over myself. Luckily I kinda fell back asleep the second it happened and when I woke up I was clean. I felt really bad for the poor sod who cleaned me up. Come evening, my nuts were still numb. Given my dressings, I wasn't in a position to look and survey the damage.

I spent two days in hospital, I was only really able to start walking end of the second day but then not very far. It seems I had a bit of a bad reaction to the anesthetic used so I spent an extra night in.

My student FWB showed up both evenings to check in on me. Though we only had an hour's visiting time, it was really good fun. She drove me home in my car, apparently the first time she had driven since her test two years prior. That was fucking scary.

Over the next week, I would call into work in the morning to complain of a non-existent chest infection. But my FWB did a cracking job keeping me entertained. I half-jokingly said to keep a particular weekend at the end of the month free as I'd fuck her brains out. I was testing the water here. Thankfully she replied, "just let me know when cuz I'm going shopping for something sexy!" or words to that effect.

Well, it's been about three weeks since my operation. What I can say is, given last night with above FWB, everything feels absolutely normal. Other than the stitches which I could really feel at the bottom of my balls which now seem to have completely disappeared (I call it magic), the prosthetic ball feels no different at all. In fact, my FWB even had to ask which one it was.

My nurse (ex)FWB does still check in on me and that's useful. She knows what she's talking about and she's been able to answer near enough every stupid question I've had. While sexually we're done, it still amazes me that both people who know about my cancer were women and I was actually able to relate to them properly.

I still maintain, tell nobody. I really wish nobody knew and I think I'm just dead lucky with my student FWB that she's had experience of losing someone to cancer and the fact we get on so well. I think it that was almost any one of my other FWBs, they would have bailed instantly. Shit gets too real and given they're FWBs, they really have no investment. Which really, as a man, I like.

My next stage is to go for chemotherapy. This is to ensure the removal of the testicle has worked and that the cancer isn't still hanging around. I will make something clear, my doctor offered me the option of either going for this single course of chemo or for just opting for surveillance.

At one point I was opting for surveillance. The thought of losing all my hair and having my body decay as I've seen in so many movies just scared me. My nurse FWB called me a day later after my telling my specialist my decision to talk me round. So, here is the good news.

A single course of chemo is unlikely to cause the effects you seen in movies, such as Breaking Bad. Hair loss, while it's possible, is not a dead cert given teh drug they are going to use which is.... er... Carbosomething? (Google) Carboplatin.

I've been told what to expect; After discovering that researching this subject on Google was utter horse shit for the most part, what I'm expecting Tuesday (my chemo) is the following.

The chemo drug is delivered by a drip usually via a vain in the chest. It apparently only lasts an hour and given the treatment I have already had, it will be a single dose. I've arranged holiday time from work next week just in case I get any feelings of nausea, but the terribleness you read about and see in movies is so far removed from the truth these days, it's more a scare story rather than fact.

I also asked my doctor do another blood test last week as I was concerned still about T-Levels. Despite it being too early to tell if my T-levels have taken any sort of nose dive and it being more down to my hypochondria, he said it would be useful to find out how my kidneys are doing anyway. I had no idea why at first, but apparently this is good to know as my body will try to dispose of the chemo drug so it's good to know how effective they are prior to treatment.

As for t-levels, they have dropped but are still sitting around the normal levels. I've been back to the gym over the last week to do some light lifts. My nut sack has healed enough and the swelling has gone down. I'm nowhere near lifting my max, but I'm determined not to deteriorate as much as possible.

So far, only select people know. I only wanted to write about this here because men's health is a so far overlooked subject in our society. I know far more about breast and ovarian cancer merely through adverts; testicular cancer is a new one to me and every stage has been a complete mystery.

So far, so good...

I'll post an update after my chemo session has had a chance to do whatever it's going to do. So really these parts going forward are for you guys who discover you have it, what you can expect and any lessons I learn both mentally and physically.

Oddly enough, before my nut was removed, I had some really manic depressive episodes. Now it's gone, it's like a complete weigh off my mind. I don't feel bad, more confident and less paranoid.

Onwards and upwards.