The urologist

A bloke walks into a urology clinic and the nurse says "Haven't I seen you before?"

I'm getting this a lot at the moment.
"Yep" I say "looks like it's all happening again".
"Oh, that's disappointing" she observes.
Great, now I feel like I'm midway through a drunken one night stand, not only am I going to spend the near future vomiting but I'm disappointing people as well.
We agree that it is disappointing and I make for the waiting room before she can ask about the rest of my life and I disappoint her further.

The waiting room is standard fare, bored worried looking people, a superfluous silent television and magazines that speculate on the happiness of Charles and Diana's marriage.
I flip through my book regretting having hastily grabbed Chopper 2 as I ran out the door. Still it reminds me that whatever unpleasantness the near future holds I'm probably not going to have my toes removed with bolt cutters.

Two hours later

That child is looking at me again. He's dribble from the eyebrows down. His jumper seems to be saturated with the stuff. Shit! He's tottering over, arms stretched towards my ipod. I glance at his mother but she's absorbed in a silent ab-master commercial. No help there, anyway she's wearing a poncho. I know her type, should her child wander over and smear me in mucus she'll undoubtably cock her head to one side and go "awww, he likes you". I try staring him down but he just keeps coming, a little bubble of snot emerging from his nose then retreating with every breath. I wish I was still radioactive, then I'd have an excuse to trip him over.
He falls over anyway and discovers something edible on the carpet.

35 mins later

The urologist is a friendly bloke who reminds me of Richard Branson, we spend an hour or so watching slide shows of my insides, talking about tumours and feeling the lump in my stomach.

I don't know whether to have been pleased that the biopsy didn't produce any cancer cells, the urologist and oncologist are both very confident that it is cancer. The urologist summing it up by saying "If it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck it probably is a duck". There's a slim chance that it's not and given the toxicity of the chemo used to treat this type of cancer the oncologist wants to open me up and cut out some more. I try not to let myself cling to what the doctor advises is a very small chance it's something else.

It concerns me a little that they're willing to undertake this reasonably serious exploratory operation for such a tiny chance, the doctor explains that the chemo can do permanent damage to the lungs and other organs so they must be absolutely certain that it's necessary first. Still I don't mind so much I guess. After all, they have TV in hospital!

So that's where we are at the moment, I go in for the operation on Tuesday. I'll keep you posted.

Jez