Your Life in Your Hands - checkemlads.com


Phil Morris' Story Part 1 - Diagnosis and testicle removal...



 
 

This is my storyIt was a normal day I was getting ready for work; the stereo was blasting out some old Hendrix tune. I'd had a kidney stone for the third time in five years and was looking forward to having it taken out in three weeks time; a simple operation I had had a few times before. I jumped in the shower playing my air guitar and covered myself head to foot in a dodgy shower gel from Tesco’s. Its probably the only time most of us feel our balls apart from the quick feel in the morning to check there still there. Today however something didn’t feel too right, one testicle was bigger and a bit heavy and a bit hard, I felt the other one and that felt small and soft in comparison but I knew that one is bigger than the other. I didn’t panic I just shrugged it off and carried on doing my Hendrix little wing guitar solo. 

Out of the shower and off to the Vauxhalls car factory as normal, no worries. Life was hard, at that time my first baby was six months old and that’s demanding enough. The factory was doing its best to scare us; it was going to shut soon if we did not improve. Money was tight, but things where looking up. The baby was sleeping better at nights and Kelly was feeling a bit better now she was getting a better sleep at night. Over the next few weeks my testicle became bigger and harder there was no pain at all it just felt rock hard and was almost twice the size than normal. I had a feel and there were no lumps anywhere but I did have a small fear in the back of my mind somewhere. I left it for a few days hoping it would get smaller; I made an appointment to go and see the doctor the next day. He had a feel and said "Its probably an infection of some kind but to be safe ask Dr Stephenson in a few days when you go to have your kidney stone out he will know what it is for sure”. He gave me a few antibiotics and said to come back in a week or so if the testicle had not gone back to normal. So I left happy and would ask Dr Stephenson just to check it in a few days when I was having my operation.

Two days later Kelly dropped me off at the hospital for a simple ten-minute operation. I knew Dr. Stephenson as he had seen me loads of times over the years when I had pain from the stones. He was a nice doctor. You can talk to him, he was not one of those stuck up toffee nosed Doc‘s. I was shown to a bed, I put my NHS robe on that looked like a cape and sat on the bed reading about how well Arsene Wenger and Alex Ferguson where getting on. Wayne Rooney was the nations new hero, Beckham was on the front page with a cut on his eye from a flying boot kicked in anger, (I don’t care how much you get paid or how much out of favour you maybe with your boss we don’t go to work to get stitches next to our eye from some angry boss). Thirty minutes passed and Dr Stephenson came in and said hello, told me what was going to happen and that it would take minutes and I would not be put to sleep. I asked him if he could check my testicle as my GP had asked and he said OK. I had the robe/cape on and he asked me to stand up. He had a feel of them both and he said it was an infection BUT, he would send me for a scan just to make sure as it was next door and was not busy that day. I felt happy, two doctors had said it was an infection and that was good enough for me. After a while a nurse turned up and said she would take me for a scan, I jumped up and followed her to the room just next door to my ward. It was an ultrasound scanner the sort of scanner they look at babies in the womb type thing. The Doctor came in and said hello jump on the bed and open your legs nice and wide. He covered my testicles in a special gel and started to move the scanner around my swollen testicle. He took a few pictures, put them in an envelope and gave them to me, I jumped off the bed and said, "Is it an infection?” he said, " Do you want me to be blunt?" I said " yes " I think he wanted Dr Stephenson to tell me. He said, " It’s a tumour of some sort” I said, " Like a cancer tumour " he said, " It looks that way ". I had done tours of Belfast in the army and been scared to death. I had been punched hard in the face boxing for my regiment. I had seen my girlfriend and baby having emergency surgery to save their lives in childbirth, but this feeling was alien. I couldn’t walk, my legs locked I stood looking at the wall, I felt an amazing feeling of calm fear, my voice went to a whimper and I walked slowly to the ward. As I walked into the ward Dr Stephenson had called me in to start my operation. I walked into theatre and sat on the bed, I looked over at Dr Stephenson and held up the envelope, I looked him straight in the eye, and I think he knew by the look on my face that it wasn’t good news. He took the envelope and looked at them, then said, " Ok Phil lets get this kidney stone sorted first ". 

Ten minutes later I was walking back to the ward. Dr Stephenson came to my bed about fifteen minutes later and sat down next to me. When a doctor sits on your bed rather than standing, you know it’s not good news. " Right Phil its cancer ". For once in my life I listened intensely, I usually get bored after five seconds. " Your testicle will have to come out and be cut open to be examined to look at the type of cancer it is”. I said "can’t you leave the testicle in there he said" No mate sorry I got to take it out and as soon as possible”. I said " How soon" he replied "Monday"; it was Friday. I started to cry, not a dramatic Hollywood bawl, just a subdued tear from both eyes. He put his hand on my shoulder and said "Phil the Chemotherapy for testicular cancer is so advanced these days", "Cancer is serious but it can be cured". I asked, "Am I going to die" the doctor said, "I don’t know but you got a good chance", he had only had one death out of about twenty-four testicular cancer cases. He stood up and said come back on Monday, try not to worry the cancer doctors are great in this hospital. He tapped my head and shook my hand. I got dressed and walked outside to ring Kelly to pick me up. 

I told her on the phone her reaction was a long pause then a "Ya what" I said just come and get me love, and hung up the phone. When Kelly picked me up I sat in the back of the car heading for home, looking at my son Charley, I had flashes through my mind "He won’t even remember me" and "He’s too young to go to a funeral". Morbid yes but I couldn’t control the feeling of mortality, we all believe in being mortal, but when someone hands you a running stop watch with no stop button how do you slow it down or stop it for a while at least. When we got to my house I sat in the garden and just stared at the wall really. I noticed a change in Kelly straight away. She sort of had gone into a zone of shock, or was it psyching herself up for the turmoil ahead. As usual she fed Charley and changed his nappy, sang him a song and put a CD on for him, (Charley loves Stop Crying Ya Heart Out by Oasis). It is a song, which stuck in my mind for weeks to come. Why? Maybe it was a message to get ya head into what could happen and accept it. I needed to tell someone so I rang Pete Fisher my mate from work, who over the last few years had become a close mate. As I told him his reaction was horror, which believe it or not was comforting because I thought " Hey someone cares”. Of course I knew that already but needed conformation. 

Pete shot round within twenty minutes and gave me a hug. I rang my mum, she went quiet and just said OK, right so what’s next. She must have known some how that you want sympathy from your mates and no nonsense from parents. Maybe it was a parental instinct. I rang my sisters, my mate Richie just to hear their reaction. That weekend was a complete blur. All I remember was the sleepless night and hours of fear. Lying in bed until I finally dropped off about five o’clock in the morning, only to wake up at seven o’clock when Kelly got up to feed charley. I must have smoked about sixty ciggies that day. Kelly would say " Isn’t it a bit stupid smoking when you have got cancer” but I have smoked for ten years and although I don’t really like it, it was my only comfort at that time. I remember putting "Waterloo Sunset "on the CD player on repeat, its such a relaxing song. I would sit for hours asking myself is this punishment for the way I had treated some girls in the past or payback, you do think these things. Sunday was much the same, the song changed today it was "Dust and Rocks" by Paul Weller, my all time favourite song, what it’s about I don’t know. All my favourite songs are not clear-cut I would look through my CD’s over and over, I wanted a tape of all my favourite songs to give to Charley. "We can work it out", "Across the Universe", "Bulldog" and "Rain" by the Beatles. "Brand new start",  "Dust and rocks", "Bull rush", "Start" and "Down the tube station" by Weller/The Jam. "You’re the best thing" and "Walls come tumbling" by Style Council. "Don’t go away", ""Sunday morning call", "Rocking chair", "Idlers dream" by Oasis. I didn’t realise so many songs meant so much. 

I watched a video over and over of myself playing drums in a blues jam in Liverpool with Duncan Ross playing guitar and I had a feeling of how I would miss the drums and my guitar. I had been playing drums and guitar since I was a boy and had got quite good, I could play slide blues and most stuff I could play along to. Drums I had given up on only for the fact I had no where to put them and had to sell them to pay for a 6 week trip to Spain, in fact the first time I had played drums for 5 years was recently when I jammed with a Duncan and it shows if you ever see the video. I wanted to record some of the songs I had written but had forgotten the words; strange that it’s hard to remember your own words but remember others. I would sit on the Internet for hours looking at testicular cancer sites just to see the words" it’s 90% curable" that’s all I needed to see. The more I saw it the more I started to believe it. I would check the Everton web pages and check Steve White’s web site. The day I found out I had cancer I was meant to be going to meet my idol Steve White; Paul Weller’s drummer for 20 years in Liverpool at a drum clinic. I was gutted but just couldn’t get motivated I had never missed a gig in my life, if my mate Duncan played gigs I would be first in the cue anywhere in the UK. As a roadie for Clipper Cartel I would drive them all over the UK and love every minute, I never got any money but it was worth it just to hear good music and have a drink after in some very cold Scottish pub, or wake up on a couch in Woolwich in London at 6 am pissed and a kebab still in my mouth and wondering how I got a fender amp here with me? 

We had been to a Weller show the November before and had cheered Steve White’s drum solo and watched in ore at the Mod father. I remember putting "Brand new start" on and thinking is this song written for me, and after listening to it over and over, thought it’s a message, USE IT. I didn’t sleep on Sunday night. I watched the bedroom go dark then go light again; I heard cats jumping on the fence, milk floats, and birds landing on the gutters. I remember thinking how great to hear these sounds. Through fear of dying I started to listen and look at things I never normally would. I can’t remember much after that. I just remember giving my baby a kiss with a tear in my eye and passing him over to my mum. 

I had arrived at the hospital and walked into the surgical ward in Clatterbridge. I have this ability to hide fear with putting on a comedy act. I was shown to my bed and Kelly followed with my bag. I said hello to the other men in my ward, three older fellas and two about my age. You get the drunken spirit when you are with other men in hospital a sort of "We aren’t scared stuff em". While women as usual just seem to take it all in, even though they are just as scared as us. I find it hard to see pensioners in hospitals because being ex army my hero’s are world war veterans and I love to hear the stories from the Second World War. I wanted to die in my uniform, not for the Queen or John Major but for my country (and die with my army mates). I didn’t want to die of cancer a civilian. I wanted to die a soldier. For some reason I wouldn’t have been so scared if I was still a squaddie. I had no fear in those days; I would stroll around Belfast with my mates Adam, Hutch and Walshy bullet proof, but secretly hoping if I die today I will be a hero, if I die a civilian in a factory no one will care.

I was given an NHS razor to shave off my pubic hair on my groin. Why did I have to do between my penis and my belly button? The nurse said "They take it out from below your tummy". I had imagined they would take it out of the scrotum, but they have to get the entire pipe out too, if the testicle is cut by accident then the cancer cells could hit the blood stream. I was given a surgical tunic and told what time I would go to theatre. Dr Stephenson appeared and asked me if I was up to it, he stood this time in a sort of positive pose, which made me confident. I said, "Ready when you are doc". Before I knew it I was outside the theatre with a silly hat on and a NHS cape, I looked like batman who had fallen in bleach. 

The guy who knocks you out asked me to lie on the bed and asked me how I was, I told him to keep an eye on the doc to make sure he doesn’t cut the other one off by mistake or WORSE!!!!! He said, "OK but he has only cut two off by accident before". (I felt sick until I realised he was joking). He put a needle in my hand and said count to five; I remember saying one, two, and that’s it. I felt liked I had blinked for three seconds and woken up. I was awake but groggy but clear enough; I looked around, where was I? A nurse came over in one of those pigs in space uniforms and said "how you doing?" I felt down SHOCK TWO BOLLOKS!!!!!!!!!!." Why hasn’t he taken out my nut?" I said, she replied "he has, one’s false" I said "What do ya mean FALSE?" She said, "You know like a false breast" I shouted "What! I have got a false tit for a bollock" (I was a bit out of it). She said, "Yes, if ya like". I felt down again and remember thinking "Jesus that’s bigger than the real one I am gonna look like an elephant chewing a gob stopper". My scar was about four inches across my groin; it felt OK there wasn’t any pain as such, just a dull ache. I could have walked properly but they wouldn’t let me. I remember feeling "IT’S GONE, THE CANCER HAS GONE, IT CAN’T DO ANYTHING TO ME, YOU HAVE GONE" and that was just the first step out of the way. I thought what could be worse; surely chemotherapy (If I needed it) can’t be too bad. I was home the next day. The lads from work Nigel, Jay, Pete and James came to visit with a whip round from the lads in the body shop in the Vauxhall factory. Bernie the union steward came round to say hello.

Here comes the next step. WAITING FOR THE RESULTS


Phil Morris

 

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