This is my story of radical orchiectomy and chemotherapy for Choriocarcinoma. Or, to put it more bluntly, how having one of my bollocks cut off and filling my veins with poison seems like a good idea.
My girlfriend, Moniek, and I run Hearts & Tears Motorcycle Club in Pokhara, Nepal. We teach tourists to ride vintage bikes in the Himalayas. Check out our website, or drop by at the the Busy Bee Cafe if you're ever in town. Sorry we can't be there now ...
Ten years ago, as a high-flying management consultant in London, I had some nice Italian suits. They’ve been gathering dust in my sister Elaine’s loft ever since. I thought the blue one would be perfect for her wedding to Mat in early 2012.
I still do some consulting work in the off-season. I finished work in Kathmandu on Wednesday 19th October 2011 and headed back to my room. I was soon huffing, puffing and guffing through some sit-ups in a pathetically vain (and money-saving) attempt to trim my beer belly and fit into the old threads.
Something felt wrong with my ‘twig & berries’. I had a twinge in the abdomen like someone had kicked me in the balls. As every man knows, it's is a very specific pain quite unlike anything else. I didn't think much of it - until I found a painful lump on the underside of one of my plums; the right one, to be precise.
I looked up my symptoms on a medical website. The checklist included various things I had been feeling recently, including tiredness and lower back pain, which I had put down to the stresses of work and my passion for riding classic bikes. Of much greater concern was the terrifying title - testicular cancer - and a big, flashing message saying 'get to a doctor NOW'.
I went to the Norvic Hospital, met Dr Regmi, and dropped my trousers for a once-over. With complete indifference, and while browsing his Facebook page, he told me 'you've got cancer ... it might be tuberculosis, but it’s probably cancer'.
Wow, thanks.
My girlfriend, Moniek, and I run Hearts & Tears Motorcycle Club in Pokhara, Nepal. We teach tourists to ride vintage bikes in the Himalayas. Check out our website, or drop by at the the Busy Bee Cafe if you're ever in town. Sorry we can't be there now ...
Ten years ago, as a high-flying management consultant in London, I had some nice Italian suits. They’ve been gathering dust in my sister Elaine’s loft ever since. I thought the blue one would be perfect for her wedding to Mat in early 2012.
I still do some consulting work in the off-season. I finished work in Kathmandu on Wednesday 19th October 2011 and headed back to my room. I was soon huffing, puffing and guffing through some sit-ups in a pathetically vain (and money-saving) attempt to trim my beer belly and fit into the old threads.
Something felt wrong with my ‘twig & berries’. I had a twinge in the abdomen like someone had kicked me in the balls. As every man knows, it's is a very specific pain quite unlike anything else. I didn't think much of it - until I found a painful lump on the underside of one of my plums; the right one, to be precise.
I looked up my symptoms on a medical website. The checklist included various things I had been feeling recently, including tiredness and lower back pain, which I had put down to the stresses of work and my passion for riding classic bikes. Of much greater concern was the terrifying title - testicular cancer - and a big, flashing message saying 'get to a doctor NOW'.
I went to the Norvic Hospital, met Dr Regmi, and dropped my trousers for a once-over. With complete indifference, and while browsing his Facebook page, he told me 'you've got cancer ... it might be tuberculosis, but it’s probably cancer'.
Wow, thanks.
The ultimate measure of a person is not where they stand in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands in times of challenge and controversy!
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