Time flies… almost Christmas, over a year since I had a cancerous testicle removed. Movember has just passed.So it’s time to check the baubles.Fortunately, so I hope, it’s all routine. I get a check up every 4 months as part of a 5 year outpatient review. Next week a chest x-ray. Which fits in nicely with a haematology appointment – no sign yet of my home testing kit coming through, so I’m still hoping Santa’s got that in his stocking.
This time, it’s not a long wait. I’m a little disappointed as the Jessica Stevenson lookie-likie isn’t on reception. Her replacement has a look of Susie Blake, the Victoria Wood continuity announcer (‘we apologise to those of you in the North … it must be awful for you’). There’s a tiny Christmas tree on reception ‘That’ll be the recession’, Mum says knowingly.When I was at the hoispital last week (haematology again, a pricking of my thumbs…) there was a beautiful rainbow over the carpark. I’d rather a rainbow than a suicide attempt, which there was on a previous visit.
I’m called in and get weighed. The nurse apologises for the state of the blue vinyl chair. It is, I admit, 70’s vulgar but I call it a throne and park my arse anyway. ‘I’m wearing my invisible crown,’ I tell her.
This week I’m seeing the Macmillan Specialist Nurse, who’s seen me through most of my treatment. My consultant is retiring, so I’m also in the proces of being ‘handed over’ to a new consultant who I haven’t yet met. Someone new to fondle my testicle. There are hreee tiny mince pies to one side of her desk, and I don’t get offered one. Just as well – you never know what they put in them these days. There’s probably a horse at least.
Preamble over and we’re on to the physical exampination. I’ve self examined, and apparently this is enough to rule out any lumps or bumps down there.
‘They say it’s quite hard examining yourself when there’s only the one,’ she says. ‘You don’t have anything to compare it to.’
‘Perhaps I should ask someone if we can compare testicles?’ I say. She thinks I’m joking, but has obviously never seen me cockwatching in the changing rooms at the gym. I don’t gawk, gentle reader, but really – you can’t help but look. I’ve nearly had my eye poked out on a couple of occasions. It’s terribly disappointing, though, when some sweaty hunk comes in, strips off and reveals … a pair of Batman boxer shorts . And that’s not the worst of it. By a long way. The other week someone tweeted that they’d found a shit in the shower. No, really. A shit in the shower!
Chsritmas is the time for baubles. Sparkle is everywhere. Christmas is our showcase of how the world would be if it was run by The Gays fulltime. There’s a reason for the saying ‘Camp As Christmas’ – it’s our gateway drug. That’s the real Gay Agenda – everyday will be ChristmasDay. Baubles are everywhere. Santa, I’m told has an enormous, wrinkly, white haired drooping giftbag of balls. Wispy. And you know what they say about Rudloph? He’s not only known for a big nose. Holly berries and misteltoe? Constant reminders. Look again at your xmas tree and it’s just tinsel and balls. With a fairy on top. I haven’t even started on snowmen or snowballs.
On the way home, I shop off at the supermarket to buy vodka to make a seasonal Cranberry Vodka. The label says ‘everyday vodka’. Everyday vodka?! Something to go with your baked beans… in fact, I notice, they actually have ‘Bloody Mary’ baked beans. I don’t even like vodka, but you never know when the apocalypse if going to start so I get a couple of tins on the offchance.
But now I have a mission. Fellas, make yourselves useful.Next time you see me and I slip a hand down your pants, I’m doing us both a favour, right? Thi is the season of good will among men. There’s nothing wrong with comparing, and it beats pissing up a wall. It would be a much nicer world if instead of a handshake we cupped each other’s balls as a greeting. Much more trusting. None of that ‘limp’ or ‘firm’ handshake nonsense. You know where you are with a guy’s gonads in your hand.
Jingle Bells, anyone?