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A New Ball Game I had always been healthy until I had a few beers after work one night and had difficulty urinating. After a few hours the condition wore off and again I could piss normally. Although the symptoms disappeared, I did not want to take any chances and saw a doctor. He said that I should have blood tests one of them was for cancer of the prostate. I asked him what were the symptoms for prostate cancer and he said that there need not be any and that all men over the age of fifty should be tested at least once a year. I felt a fool, because I was then fifty seven and had not bothered, because I thought that there surely must be at least some symptom and if there was, then, I would seek medical advice. I had made a mistake and my fears were confirmed with a phone call two days later. The tests had showed abnormalities.A few tests and visits to specialists later confirmed that I did have prostate cancer. Of course, I was deeply shocked and found it hard to believe. I could ill afford it, but underwent independent tests and a round second opinions. The results were the same. I had cancer. I was in a state of shock. I forced myself through each day unable to make any decisions, teetering on the brink of collapse. I had been advised, that at this stage, drastic measures must be taken. There were several options and none were palatable. There was no easy way out. I could not afford to delay or procrastinate. It was either make a decision, act and take my chances or die within six months to a year. Those were the hard, indigestible, facts. I slowly pulled myself together and forced myself to think and then rethink again and again until I was sick of thinking. However, I gradually decided on undergoing a bilateral orchidectomy. This is the euphemistic term for castration both balls had to go. Testosterone, produced by the testes, was feeding the cancer. Cut off the source of testosterone and the cancer is starved and dies. That is the theory and the simple version of it. Success was not guaranteed but, here, there was a chance. To do nothing, left me with only one certainty -certain death. I had gleaned as much information and deliberated.Castration was the course I would have take. Losing my balls at age fifty seven was not the tragedy it would have been at age twenty seven. I was a man, but a man who leaned more to my feminine side and had always considered myself about half male and half female, although I was physically and legally a male. I considered this and all implications, including social, but, for me, there was no alternative to castration. Once I decided, the Urologist explained the procedure with a few variations and choices. It would take less than an hour under general anesthetic and I would be out of hospital the next day if there were no complications, which was unlikely. My penis would be taped up to my abdomen-out of the way. An incision would be made in the scrotal sack, high up on one side large enough to excise one ball. Then it would be drawn out to the extent of the connecting cords the testicular artery and the vas deferens and they would be severed and cauterized using an electric iron. This was then repeated on the other side of the sac, to remove the other ball and the slits in the scrotum were sewn. The effects of the castration and subsequent chemical therapy varied with each individual. Some lost the ability to gain an erection and/or the penis became atrophied or permanently shriveled. Some developed female characteristics such as; enlarged breasts and/or nipples, less body hair and beard and a female pattern of fat distribution, giving a pear -shaped figure. All of which I was prepared to accept. With loss of testosterone there were all sorts of considerations including the possibility of osteoporosis and other things associated with hormonal lack or imbalance. Daunting, but nowhere near as much as the prospect of imminent death. It was just a matter of going through with it and hoping for the best. I was lucky that I could get immediate attention. I am a seasonal worker mainly fruit picking travel all over Australia and have friends everywhere but I kept this operation a secret. I was once married but split up once the kids had grown up.Since then, I have had sexual relations with a few of my male and female friends. Their gender did not significantly effect this as I am bisexual. It depended on the people and circumstances at the time. So, it was just a matter of arranging a time for the operation and trusting all would go well. I went into the hospital in the middle of the afternoon; was quickly prepared and, before I knew it, was wheeled into the operating theatre. A few faces in surgeons garb looking down at me and then waking up and walking without any pain to the toilet and having a piss without any problems. A nurse was on hand should I need help. I was still a bit groggy but felt OK, even good. I slept and then went to the bathroom again and examined the empty scrotum. Just an empty sac, with small patch - dressings over the stitched slits. My cock which was quite big , thick and uncircumcised eight inches when erect now hung straight down, without balls supporting it. Perhaps it would now gradually shrivel; there were all sorts of possibilities. Only time would tell. I knew that the scrotum would shrink once the weight and bulk of the balls were no longer there. My balls were about the size of hens eggs. The Doctor had asked me if I wanted to keep them in spirits, as a souvenir. He could have been joking, but I said I did not want them and perhaps some ultra feminist would like to set them in epoxy and use them as earrings, in the manner of Beryl Reid, the English comedian. That way, they could perhaps dangle forever and outlive me as an heirloom. Perhaps they became pet food. I did not care. I had better things to think about. He had also mentioned silicon implants artificial balls - and why some men preferred them. I said, no and I told him that I had always considered myself as more feminine than most people took me for. He was not surprised. To ensure he knew my feelings on the matter, I explained that under the circumstances I would be more comfortable if my appearance and persona was more feminine. He seemed to have already understood that. The main concern was ensuring there was not going to be any bleeding; which there was not. I was ready to go home when my urologist/surgeon made his rounds in the morning. A quick look and he said that I should visit him to have the stitches out in a week and we would take it from there. I caught the taxi home, which was just a room with cooking facilities and a shared toilet. I only intended staying there until my condition stabilized and I knew I would be well and on my way to start what would turn out to be a new life. A complete new ball game, but without the balls. |