Outskirts Press, INC.

At the age of 20, a young man tells his story of his diagnosis of testicular cancer, and shares the pains and struggles he endured while undergoing intense chemotherapy and radiation treatments due to his late-stage diagnosis. A true testimony of the importance of talking about the disease in our society, and what happens if testicular cancer gets overlooked for too long. Ian’s story stresses that catching the disease when it is in early stages is essential to avoid intense treatment and increase the chance of survival. It is a warning to all young men to be proactive in their own testicular health and learn about testicular cancer, the most common—and curable— cancer in young men, in order to avoid the fate that Ian suffered. The final chapter includes a medical image explaining testicular cancer metastasis, facts about the disease, its symptoms, and how to perform a testicular self-examination.

Mom woke me gently from a sound morning sleep at about 8:30. “Ian... wake up, honey. It’s 8:30.” I opened my eyes and looked at her. “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked. “Okay...” I muffled in a cracked voice. She waited for my face to show signs of comprehension, then she spoke with a kind, soft but nervous voice, “Ian, I just talked to your doctor. He wants us to meet him at the hospital.” “What?”... I rubbed my eyes, “Why?” “He wants to talk to us about the CT scan...” My stomach wasn’t hurting too bad at the moment, so I wondered about the urgency. “Now? We have to go now?” “Yes, we have to go now. Just get up and dressed, and we’ll go as soon as you’re ready. He wants us to go this morning. How’s your stomach? Do you want something to eat?” “No... thanks... maybe, could you get me a little milk?” I rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom while Mom went for the milk. I threw on a t-shirt and jeans, and grabbed a baseball cap. Mom came in with a small glass of milk, and I took a few swallows as I slid my feet into my white leather sneakers. I sat on my bed finishing the milk, and thought to myself.... why the hospital? As we were driving, I asked Mom what else the doctor said. She said that he told her I needed to have more tests done. “But why at the hospital?” I asked. “I don’t understand why we have to go to the hospital.” I could tell Mom was nervous and scared, though she tried to look calm. “Honey, let’s just get there, okay? We’ll find out everything when we get there.” When we arrived in the hospital lobby, I claimed a chair nearest the door, and Mom went to the admissions desk to find out what we were supposed to do. I sat there still wondering why we had to meet the doctor at the hospital. Something must be wrong, I thought. I gazed around at the lobby, as if looking for clues, and Mom came back to tell me I needed to be with her at the desk, to answer some questions. When we sat down, I asked Mom why we were there, at the admitting desk. “The doctor wants you to be admitted, Ian,” she said with apprehension. “Admitted? ... into the hospital? I’m not that sick! I feel fine! Why do I have to be admitted? What’s going on ?” She looked at me, and her eyes were sad and afraid. Her mouth opened slightly as if she was going to say something, but then she pressed her lips together as if something stopped her. “Please, Ian...we’ll see the doctor soon, and he’ll tell you,” she pleaded. “This is bad, Mom, I can feel it, and I want to know what’s going on.” I could still see fear in her eyes, and I could tell that she had words in her that she was afraid to speak, and that scared me even more. “Let’s just do what the doctor says, Ian, and we’ll see, okay?” I didn’t know it at the time, but she was praying the doctor was wrong, that it was all a mistake. “But I want to know why he wants me to be admitted into the hospital, Mom, when I’m not even sick! I’m not going to be admitted into the hospital unless I know why, Mom...” In my mind, a hospital was a place only for people so sick they needed surgery, or those with a terrible disease, or dying. I wasn’t any of those things. I just had a bad stomach ache and some nausea, maybe the flu. She looked straight at me and in a barely audible voice said, “He thinks you have cancer, Ian.” “What ? That’s bullshit...” I shook my head and raised my hands in the air, showing my disbelief. “I’m going to call him.” I grabbed my cell phone out of my front pocket and opened it up, my thumb at the keypad, ready to dial. I looked at her, “What’s his number?” Mom looked nervously at the admitting representative, and asked her to give me the doctor’s number. The clerk dialed the number for me on her desk phone, and told him that I was sitting in front of her at the admissions desk and wanted to talk to him, then she handed the receiver to me. “This is Ian. I want to know why I have to be admitted into the hospital, why did you tell my Mom I have cancer? Why did you tell her to bring me here?” I then listened as the doctor started to speak, and I felt my breathing stop. I felt my whole body change from a tense concern, to an almost numb, vulnerable feeling of alarm and dread. I felt my eyes redden and fill with tears as I looked over at my Mom, who was biting her lower lip, and already had tears streaming down her cheeks. I felt a sense of hopelessness coming over both of us, as Mom leaned in closer to me. I had to look down, to keep from crying, and when I looked back at Mom, I could tell she knew what I was being told. She had heard the same words only minutes before she woke me up. The doctor was telling me there was a large cancerous tumor in my stomach. He said there were numerous lesions in my liver, and many in my lungs, which are also cancer, and that my spleen was enlarged. He continued that it was suspected and most likely that my right testicle was enlarged with cancerous tumors also, and that I must be admitted into the hospital for more testing and immediate treatment. He spoke with a kind of stern, impatient voice. He stated the hard evidence in no uncertain terms, that my situation was one of emergency treatment or death. He said he would be at the hospital to see me once I was admitted, and that he had already contacted other doctors, a urologist and an oncologist, to meet me there. I didn’t even know what those words meant, but the idea that I had three doctors coming to see me brought a cold, weakening chill all over my body. I had never felt so much fear and instant dread in my whole life. I didn’t even know what to think. I suddenly couldn’t feel my legs or my hands. My mouth got dry, and I couldn’t swallow. I felt dizzy, and sick to my stomach, as I laid the receiver down on the desk. I looked to my Mom for that strength she often gave me, and when I saw her tears, it all just spilled out of me. Mom reached to hold me, and I wrapped my arms around her as we cried about the news we now shared. “I’m so sorry, Ian,” she cried, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you those things, Ian, I couldn’t say it...I just couldn’t look into your eyes and say those things to you! I keep praying it isn’t true! ” I loosened my hug and sat back to wipe the tears off my face. “It’s okay, Mom...” I sat looking at her, hoping she could tell me it’s not as bad as it sounds. She dried her tears, and suddenly had that assured expression that I was looking for. “We’ll do what we have to do, Ian,” she said, looking at me with the promise of strength I needed at that moment. “We’ll do what we have to do, and we’ll get through it. We will get through it, together.” ....