Hospitals, family jewels, yoga mats and exit holes
So it’s been a funny old week. Scrap that, it’s been an exhausting, terrifying week.
Tuesday morning, with school cancelled and the snow still deep outside, we were just pottering about. All of a sudden there was the most awful, blood-curdling yell. I rushed to the kitchen to find the Death Wish Child in agony, on all fours on the kitchen floor. He was clutching his groin (I’ve never said ‘testicles’ so many times in one week) and rolling around. My initial reaction, knowing de brevren, was a bout of some form of wrestling that had gone wrong, but when the Mad Professor ran in behind me, I realised this was far worse.
My heart in my mouth, I helped him to the car and we rushed to the doctor, who took one look and sent us straight up to the hospital. The trip up to Cavan is a good half hour drive, and with the snow still on the ground, it was a treacherous trip.
The hospital staff were absolutely brilliant – they got him straight in and he’d seen a surgeon within half an hour of arriving and was getting a scan within an hour. Ominously, they found a 1cm lump in the tube (tube? I don’t know the technical terms) leading to his right testicle. Shocked and panicking, I phoned his Dad, who arranged to fly back in to the country as the poor lad was admitted to a ward.
The first night was awful. DWC was in agony and I was given a ‘bed’ so I could sleep next to him. This ‘bed’ was some sort of yoga mat effort, but it seemed churlish to complain. We slept fitfully, me reaching up to hold his hand, while a teenage girl in the next bed moaned and groaned ALL night (‘God, it sounds like a porno’, he whispered to me at one stage.) I laughed, and then laid awake some more alternately worrying – my mind running away on terrible worst case scenarios – and trying to work out how my 12 year old knew what a porno sounded like. My Mum always says that everyone’s religious in a crisis, and I must admit to saying a few silent prayers.
The next day things were worse, and despite morphine, by the evening it was clear that things were going downhill. The surgeon came to see him and decided to operate. Straight away.
Midnight saw me walking beside his trolley down to the theatre. I was so proud of him, laughing and joking with the nurses despite being in pain.
The worst thing by far was watching him go under the anaesthetic – my youngest baby, floppy and unconscious. Awful.
And of course, with all this going on, the poor Mad Professor was at home on his own – looking after the dog (well sort of – ‘have you fed the dog?’, ‘yes, I gave her half my pizza’) and sleeping in an empty house for the first time in his life.
My friends, as always, were amazing. Lovely Erica even texting from her holiday in Lapland. D next door was fabulous – he drove up, bringing the Mad Professor to see his bro, sorted out a bag of clothes and stuff for us (we’d got to the hospital in the clothes we stood up in) and kept popping in to see if he was alright at home.
Back from the theatre, my poor little dude was in agony – I think this was the worst time, but with morphine he finally slept, and woke to find his very worried Dad (and the wonderful YTPR, Rev Craig), by his side. Amazingly, the news from the surgeon was good: the lump was just a cyst that had adhered to the tube and then twisted, causing the pain. With the cyst removed, there was nothing more to do than get better. What a relief.
And so now he’s home, directing the decoration of the Christmas tree from his throne of pillows on the sofa, and although sore, he’s recovering well. I know we’re incredibly lucky, and this is mainly thanks to a great doctor and fabulous hospital staff.
Funniest moments (you knew there’d be some):
- The Mad Professor asking the Death Wish Child if he’d had to have any ‘surrogatives’ (he meant suppositories).
- The DWC’s reply ‘nope, my exit hole will always stay exit-only’.
- A sudden light moment during his agony when he yelled ‘OW, MY BOLLOCKS!’ (I didn’t tell him off, I was too busy laughing)
- Mad Uncle A’s worried text ‘oy sis, hope the ugly bloke’s balls are ok’
Happily, I can report that yes, the ugly bloke’s balls are going to be just fine.
And just think how much fun you’re all going to have (well, DWC possibly excepted) relaying this story at his 18th. And his 21st. And his wedding…!
Love to you all, I wish you a really boring couple of weeks ahead! x
Thanks so much, hope it’s a nice quiet Christmas too x
We had to take our 8 y/o to hospital a few months ago as she had an infection and needed to get it drained and although she was in agony, there were children on the ward clearly much worse than her and I remember thinking then how lucky we were not to be in their shoes.
On the plus side, she now can’t wait to have a baby as she’s partial to the gas and air they gave her and the doc said she wan’t allowed any more till she was giving birth – cheers doc.
Glad you’re all OK x x
I know what you mean – there were kids in there that had obviously been there for ages. Absolutely terrible. I feel very lucky. And thanks for your good wishes. Mwah xx
So pleased he is well and recovering.
PS you know #1 will expect to be left home alone more often now
Shiiiiit….
Guess she is well and truly relaxing and settling in
Big loves to you all xxx
Does he know he has the most famous testicles in the blogosphere?!
Re the porn thing…. Don’t check the history on his computer – I made that mistake when no1 son was the same aged. Shocked the hell out of me I can tell you!!
Off to check my history now
my perfect blog to read!
glad all is well – heres to a lovely peaceful christmas
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