Buster Gonad and the mysterious case of the inverted Penis!

“Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway…” John Wayne ‘True Grit’ 1969.

“Why John Wayne?” I hear you ask.

Since being released from Hospital 6 days ago following a (hopefully) successful urethrectomy I have been walking like John Wayne with a bad case of rickets. However scared I may have been (and I was…) there’s no way in the World that I’ll be saddling up anytime soon and if that makes me a coward then I’ll happily take my custard and wear the badge with pride. This operation definitely wasn’t on my bucket list, yet at the same time I want the mass in my urethra gone as soon as possible before it can do any further damage. Having been given the positive cancer diagnosis only six days before the operation was booked, there has been little time to worry about the ‘what if’s.’ 

The operation I will have, called a urethrectomy, will completely remove the remains of my urethra (and hopefully all of the cancer contained within.) It is a completely different beast to the operation I had nearly five years ago to remove my cancerous bladder and prostate gland. It shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours and should have a shorter recovery time although it could be an uncomfortable recovery due to the site of the surgery. The surgeon did say that there was a small chance that I could wake up with a temporary colostomy bag (I’d be a double bagger…) in the unlikely event that the bowel is damaged but this has yet to occur in the many times that he has performed the operation.

The day of the operation arrives at a canter and it is back to Ansty ward at the Princess Royal Hospital for 7.30am. This time I’m given a bed by the door (it’s not too late to do a runner…) and I’m soon gowned up and sporting my anti-dvt stockings and non-slip socks. The first VIP to visit is a young, female anaesthetist. I share with her my (now well documented) concerns about the anaesthetic etc. and get the most comprehensive and compassionate response that I’ve received from any Healthcare professional throughout this whole process. I am both impressed and comforted. The Surgeon is the next to visit. I’ll be going down soon as I’m the only person on his list for today (thank goodness he doesn’t have to rush the job of turning my penis inside out…) Finally, another anaesthetist visits and explains that as well as the general anaesthetic they would like to give me a spinal block to assist with pain relief. This involves an injection into the spinal column and, ideally, they’d like to do it whilst I am awake. I ask if it’s possible to do it whilst I am asleep. It is… that’s the easiest decision I’ve ever had to make! I’m not feeling the love for needles in my spine at this exact moment. At 9.15am a couple of porters come and wheel me away to my fate.

I start to come round in the recovery room at about 12.15 feeling very groggy yet quite comfortable. I’m wheeled back to the ward and Alice tells me that she’s already spoken to the surgeon and the operation went well. The cancer had spread but he was confident that he removed it all. There are never guarantees though and more will be known when the histology results come back in a few weeks. I spend the next 20 minutes in floods of tears. No particular reason, just my reaction to the anaesthetic. Once that passes I get the chance to really assess my situation. I am quite comfortable and pleasantly lightheaded. I can’t feel a thing from the waist down and I can’t even wiggle my toes. The situation improves further a couple of hours later when a patient goes home and I’m offered a spot by the window (all thoughts of running away have passed seeing as I can’t feel my legs…) giving me a sunlit view all the way across to Queen Victoria’s ‘V’ on the South Downs at Streat. The afternoon is spent with plenty of laughter and jovial banter (seriously…the drugs were that good) and at about 4.30 I’m starting to get some feeling back. I can start to wiggle my toes and move my legs plus I am starting to get a dull ache around the operation site. I choose to have a little look at what’s going on downstairs. My testicals have been replaced by a blue/black grapefruit sized mass and my penis is completely covered in several layers of bandage. Someone has also been let loose with a razor which could explain the shaving rash.

Before long it’s medication time. Today’s offering consists of two paracetamol, a small blue tablet and a long, thin yellow tablet. The blue tablet is 5mg of Oxycodone, a powerful opiate and the yellow tablet is Gabapentin, a medicine used to treat nerve pain and also help control seizures. They do a good job and I have little more than a dull ache to contend with over the next few hours. Alice leaves at about 7.30 and I’m left to my own devices. I don’t sleep (it's been a long time since I pulled an all-nighter…) but I am quite comfortable, plus I’ve plenty of time to catch up with some shuteye as my diary is looking pretty clear for the next few weeks.

It’s day two and I’m already institutionalised. Medication, blood pressure plus other checks, breakfast followed by the Doctors rounds, it’s all very familiar. Four Doctors are on the rounds this morning and they all take turns to have a good wince as they inspect my wounds. Fingers crossed I should be going home today provided the Consultant is happy with my progress. I’ve already completed the first task. My bowels haven’t suffered as a result of the operation and I’m farting like a trouper. The second task to complete after lunch is getting out of bed and walking around. This could be a painful process so I’m given a dose of oral Oxycodone. As I manage to get my feet on the floor and start to stand my blood pressure drops like a stone and I very nearly end up in a heap. Fortunately, I manage to flop back onto my pillow and no damage is done. We’ll try again later…My second attempt at 6pm is successful but the Consultant has already told me he’d like me to stay another night just to be sure. A good night’s sleep follows and the meds seem to be doing a good job. I’m becoming much more mobile and the highlight of the night is being able to raise each foot up from a lying position in order to untangle my toes that have slipped out of the dvt. stockings. Heady stuff!

Friday arrives and there isn’t a huge amount of excitement to report. I have a wound drain removed plus my dressings removed. Once again I am given some oral Oxycodone for this but it doesn’t really touch the sides. There are various bits of super sticky tape and blood soaked bandages to remove. There is also a stitch in the most delicate part of my anatomy which still makes me wince just writing about it. The day drags a bit and then I become just another Friday afternoon statistic. The Consultant comes to see me and tells me that they haven’t managed to get my home medication request to the pharmacy in time and it’s now closing…so I’ll have to stay in for another night. Frustrating, but I don’t have any plans.

After another reasonable night's sleep and Saturday arrives.  I’m off home at lunchtime with some antibiotics, a bottle of oral Oxycodone and a sick note for a month off work.

So that’s it. Nearly… I had little sleep the first night and was in quite a lot of discomfort. I’m definitely missing the Hospital grade drugs. Especially, I think, the Gabapentin which controls nerve pain. My nerves seem to be firing on all cylinders at the moment. My sleeping arrangements are improved by the addition of a sofa cushion to prop me up more in bed and the home meds do a reasonable job of keeping major discomfort at bay and the days slowly pass with me doing very little. On the Wednesday after my return home I am just cleaning my teeth, ready for bed when I get the feeling that I’ve spilt water over my trousers. On checking, my lower half is soaked in blood. It appears that the scab on my drain hole has come off and a substantial amount of built up gunk has soaked my trousers and undergarments. A four hour wait in A&E follows (sitting on lovely hospital chairs) and the long, drawn out conclusion is…better out than in. The body will normally remove the build up fluids from bruises and swelling but if not, it’s got to go somewhere.  I’m thoroughly checked over and am allowed home with a handful of serious man-nappies.

A few days down the line and things are improving. I’m sleeping well and eating well. I rarely need pain medication and, although my drain hole continues to drain into my man-nappies, the amount released is decreasing daily and the swelling has almost gone. I shall be careful not to run before I can walk and in a few weeks I will return to work to try and plug the black hole in my finances that comes as a result of being ill in the UK in 2024. 

As far as I’m aware I no longer have knob cancer and I managed to escape Hospital without catching Covid so I have much to be grateful for. I’m hoping for a peaceful, undramatic non-blogworthy few months where I can slowly discover what my new, new normal is going to look like.