My Husband Doesn’t Want Doctors to Cut His Testicles Off

He finally confessed to me why

Hi! It’s Gaby again, and yes, I have yet another story for you about how my husband has prostate cancer.

If you don’t tend to read my work, then you are going to be okay. But, if you have been following my posts, you might be thinking, “what else can you possibly say about this topic, gal?”

Well, have you seen how some people can churn a lot of stories about pregnancy and the art of parenting? Turns out, you can also come out with a lot of things to say when someone is going in the opposite direction!

Isn’t that great!

Cas-tra-tion

When he was diagnosed, my husband wasn’t surprised. His father died of prostate cancer, so he knew his risk was very high. However, he didn’t make it a point to get tested periodically. I think it was because, since he watched his father go through a slow, painful death, he was in deep denial.

I was the one who pushed him to get a blood test after several years of not doing it. How did I manage that? Well, as a Christmas present, I gave him a voucher from a local lab. And people say I’m a Grinch!

Here’s a term you need to know: Prostate-Specific Antigen (PSA). Normal levels should be below 4.0 ng/mL. At that time, my husband’s analysis came back at 19.45 ng/mL.

That was a lot.

We went down the rabbit hole of imaging studies, biopsies, a first, second, and third opinion. They all agreed:

Dude, you have cancer!

One of his doctors, a woman, suggested they went ahead with an orchidectomy. That’s the official name for when they remove a person’s testicles. Some studies show that “it may prolong survival” of prostate cancer patients since it will stop the production of testosterone.

However, my husband said, “absolutely fucking no!”

I get it, by the way. In our culture, so much of a man’s identity is attached to his literal balls. Plus, he was concerned as to how this would affect our sex life since one of the obvious side effects of this procedure is the difficulty of having erections.

He was worried he would no longer be able to please me.

“There are many different ways to have sex!” I tried to point out.

“I know,” he replied, “but it worries me that I won’t even want to try them. What’s the point of living that kind of life?”

I honestly didn’t know what to say next. Sex has always been a significant part of our relationship. We have had trying times during which the one thing that kept us going was our sexual connection. And, when even that started to fail, it pushed us to stop fooling ourselves and address our issues.

Plus, he is a Mexican man. Macho, fuerte, viril…His testicles are the essence of his manhood. Losing them was completely out of the question.

So, he told his doctors he would take all of the drugs they gave him but, no, there was not going to be an orchidectomy, thank you very much.

At first, he tried to be very optimistic, he even made plans as to how he was going to beat this thing, “I’m going to work out more, I’m going to change what I eat, I’m going to do X, and Y…heck, I’m going to do Z.”

He did, by the way, but the numbers kept on increasing. Eventually, his PSA test showed 65.95 ng/mL.

Hmmm…

The truth

We have kept going. My husband is still battling this thing, but we can see how it progresses: there are cramps, bone pain, lack of sleep, difficulty to urinate…a long list.

But hey! We keep having sex!

Another one of his doctors, this time a man, suggested he went ahead with the surgery.

The answer? Still no.

As he told me how that conversation went, he paused for a moment.

“Do you know what she told me, the first doctor I saw?” he said.

“No,” I replied.

“She told me that if I wanted to live, I should say goodbye to my balls and my wife. That all of her patients’ spouses end up cheating on them.”

Before any of you post comments on how we should denounce this doctor so she will never again treat a patient, let it be known we are talking about the public Mexican healthcare system: you don’t get to be picky about who your doctors are. There are lots of lovely, generous doctors — but others are just plain assholes.

I looked at him for the longest time.

“What?!” I managed to ask.

“That’s what she told me,” he replied.

“So, in your mind, as you recover from your surgery, the first thing I’m going to do is turn around to find myself some new dick. Really?” I asked.

“No one could blame you. You are still young and very pretty,” he said.

What the fuck was I supposed to say now? Thank you? Screw you? You idiot?

There’s no How to Watch your Spouse Die for Dummies manual, nor is there one on the “proper” way to kick the bucket.

“Two doctors have told you that this surgery could help you live longer. And I know you keep looking for information about this. That’s what you should care about. I’m not going to go looking for some new person. It’s the last thing in my mind,” I said.

“I don’t want the surgery,” was his final answer. “No matter what.”

Peace of balls

And that’s how that went. He won’t have the surgery, and I’m not looking for a new something.

Still, I have noticed he seems to be at peace. Finally.

For so long, he has struggled with insecurities, alcoholism, anger issues, unhappiness. All of that seems to be out of his mind now.

I am thrilled for him. However, I must confess this has provided me with a great lesson:

Do not wait until you are about to die to learn to live.

Really, don’t. I don’t mean it as great philosophical discovery, nor is it my intention to provide a self-help lesson. Instead, take this as a comment, an observation from someone who is watching in real-time how someone comes to terms with all of his screw-ups.

How silly everything seems when you are running out of time! It reminds me of when people try to keep a sinking boat afloat. Suddenly, they find a lot of stuff they don’t need. It becomes so easy to get rid of it, all to stay afloat.

Yeah, people will get rid of a lot of things when they are trying to keep on living.

Except, of course, for a pair of balls.