My cancer diary:
Monday - February 5, 2001
[total: day 1]

"My visit to A.'s department of urology. I have a strong feeling of discomfort about the fact that my right testicle is heavily swollen. It doesn't hurt, but it's notably increased in size.
I get to know B.: an urologist in his end-30s. I feel apathy and empathy towards him at the same time as he does his first enquiries. A quite impersonal and mechanical approach of his first examinations is followed by careful and honest statements. The examinations consisted of an ultrasound scan of the testicles after a visual and sensual check.
The results must have been quite clear as B. is heading for his colleague. When she is entering the room I learn rule #1: There will be very few moments of privacy during the next days. S. also examines my testicles and both confirm their concerns. It might be a tumor, immediate surgery is mandatory.

The ball starts rolling. The unforseen job is scheduled to take place in about two hours - at 15:15. I get a few minutes for phone calls and am later taken to my sick bay on the second floor, a room with two beds. In an absolutely chaotic way I get to know a lot of people: nurses, doctors, the anaesthetist, the surgeon, working students. I have to fill out a lot of forms, my rights and the risks of the surgery are explained to me.

According to rule #1 an unknown young student asks me to drop my clothes so he can shave me from breast to knees. This is done inside my room, but no precautions in terms of privacy are taken.
Thank god my wife Andrea is now joining me. I am praying that noone enters the room as he is shaving for 15 minutes: breast, stomach, penis, scrotum, legs. I start getting the feeling of a nightmare. After he leaves, a nurse helps me into the surgical shirt and leaves Andrea and me alone. We have another 15 minutes for us before I am brought to the operating room. We are silently crying for hope but calm down eventually.

The surgery is done in rooms Dr Hannibal Lecter could have invented: cold, white, a barren atmosphere. A lot of machines (as obviously typical for operating rooms in these types of mass society hospitals), no music, no personal atmosphere at all. The surgery is done by V.: a very capable person in terms of technical craftsmanship. But to me it feels like he is lacking another aspect of a true doctor: no smile, no explanation, no time for building up a relationship, one could almost get the impression of the reincarnation of an ideal worker from the times of the machine organization. (Although I will later learn that V. is the person at the department who is absolutely the best and nicest when it comes to talking and dealing with children.)

I am freezing as a lot of cables are attached to my body. It takes about 5 minutes of horror until the anaesthetist starts his job. I get unconscious quite quickly...

When I wake up I am back in my room again. I am feeling dizzy. It takes some time until I realize that I have just got one testicle left. It is like the self-fulfilling prophecy: cancer!

The day fades out in pain of the body and the soul..."

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PS: This diary reflects just my very own opinion. - You might be also interested to read further details in doerings.net general section about testicular cancer.