A Mother's Role in Dealing with Testicular Cancer, Part I

I slept about thirteen hours last night, from 4-ish in the afternoon, to 5-ish this morning. Partly because I'm still horrifically jet-lagged, and partly because I just didn't have the energy to deal with any more of life.

My older son, the sick one, wants to be at school this week as much as possible, both before the surgery and after. It's best for him to be there, attending classes and studying. Also odd, from my perspective, because he's only told a couple of people -- his girlfriend and his best female friend. I think maybe being at school means being able to continue to think that this isn't life-changing. And who am I to judge that? He needs to do whatever it takes for him to get through this.

And who knows, he may be right. Many of these cases end with surgery. No chemo, no radiation, just in and out, then up and about in a few days. I am hoping. Even as I worry.

But in the meantime, what do I do? What is my role? Where should I put my time, since worrying is hugely unproductive? I can't even pace around the house, my normal response to stress, since my feet are still so blistered from hiking all over Rome in new sandals that I pretty much can't do anything but hobble from room to room.

So instead I'm thinking about cancer. And specifically about testicular cancer.

Do you know that I don't even know which side of the body is involved? I mean, it's not as if it's come up in conversation. ("Honey, is it your right testicle, or your left testicle? Wait, where are you going? Come back! We're having a conversation!!")

I was thinking about this last night, when I was reflecting on the surgery and the fact that they say it's not a bad idea, if you're having something like a leg amputation, to write, "Not this leg!" on the unaffected side. Just in case. I mean, surgeons are human, right?

So I'm thinking, "Hmmm. Wonder how I'd bring up that topic with my quiet and undemonstrative son? Here, honey. Here's a sharpie marker. You know what to do."

I was also thinking, last night, (given the fact that when you sleep for thirteen hours, you don't actually sleep for thirteen hours) that I would give anything to spare him this. Anything. And wishing there was a place where you could go, as a mom, to offer up your own pain to spare your child. Or, if it were to come down to it, to trade in your own life to save his.

(Anybody remember those old S&H Greenstamps redemption centers? In my mind, it's something like that. Or maybe more like an auction house. What am I bid to save this testicle? One breast! One breast! Do I hear two? Two breasts! Two breasts for one testicle!)

Although now that I think of it, I could just offer up one of my husband's, because, y'know, we've got all our kids. So what does he need it for?

(I really shouldn't write before seven in the morning, jetlagged, after too much sleep, should I?)

Basically, I guess what I wish, (aside from wishing this wasn't happening) is that there were no stigma attached, and he felt comfortable telling people and accepting their support. (The only reason I'm writing this here is because not a lot of people from my real life read this blog. Otherwise I'd be keeping quiet, for his sake.)

Lance Armstrong, pr*ck that he is, took the disease a way towards mainstream acceptance, and for that I am grateful. I think eventually it will be like breast cancer, which used to be considered shameful. Back in the seventies, my grandmother went through her surgery entirely alone, with just my mom for support.

Now though, hell, they do walks with squads called "Teams in Training." (Oh! What does that abbreviate to!)

(For those of you who haven't had your caffeine yet, it's TIT, okay? T.I.T. How's that for taking the disease mainstream?)

I'm pretty sure that's what testicular cancer needs. LIVESTRONG, sure, but give us an acronym.

What catchphrase starts with the letters B.A.L.L.?

(Sorry, people. Humor is the only way to survive this.)