Friday 21st November

What an unbelievably emotional day this has been.

The alarm goes off before six, but we’ve all been stirring for a couple of hours on and off prior to this. Husband and I get washed and dressed, and then it’s time to try and coax son from his bed. We are now working on a tight schedule and need to arrive at the hospital a little after seven. And so the vomiting begins. Anxiety and nervousness about the coming hours begin to take hold. My son cannot control his feelings of dread and retches uncontrollably in the bathroom. It is difficult to comfort him; he feels wretched.

We do finally make it to the hospital. However, as we start our long walk down endless corridors, the vomiting begins again. So many lovely people came to our aid with wipes, tissues, bowls, and a porter with a wheelchair. He was then taken all the way through to where we needed to be ~ seemed like miles.

He was so scared and wobbly.

Luckily he was first on the theatre list, and we soon met with nurses, the anaesthetist and the surgeon. Having dressed in the requisite hospital gown and compression stockings, I was allowed down to theatre to support and reassure him. I kissed and waved him goodbye just after nine.

Midway through the operation the surgeon phones and asks our permission not to insert a prosthetic testicle. Everything is very bruised, swollen with much blood clotting, and it is thought to reduce the risk of infection, and to be safer if chemotherapy is needed, not proceed with this. So we are told our son is ready to be sewn up, and we’ll be able to see him shortly.

Finishing our coffee quickly, we make our way back to the recovery ward. Our son has his own room, and oh my goodness do we need our privacy. As he comes round from the anaesthetic, he is filled with so much anger, torment and aggression. The verbal abuse my husband and I get thrown at us is so hurtful, but the two hefty slaps across my face, as I’m trying to help him get comfortable, really sting. But I can’t cry in front of him. I can’t show him that he’s hurt me.

We stay in recovery for about an hour and a half, then the cannula is removed, we are given our discharge paperwork, and off we go on our long drive home.

What another very long day, and a distressing one too, for our son.