So, we’ll start with two stories. I think I have the energy to tell them both..but better not to dawdle on idle preamble.

DISCLAIMER: Both of these stories are gross and/or involve discussion of poop, butts, balls, and other potentially obscene things. Do not read this post if you expect or desire clean humor. It’s gonna get shitty. Slash ball-y. Shuttup, whatever, let’s just do this. You’ve been warned.

I Need A Swab

It was the first night I was in Sloan. I was still feeling fine, didn’t have any effects of anything, other than a sore shoulder/chest from the Hiccman placement. A pretty nurse comes in, and says she needs to do some swabs to get cultures as a baseline of what I got goin’ on. Sure, no problem. The first swab is in my nose, and it kinda tickles a bit.

Then she pulls out another set of swabs. She looks at me with pity in her eyes. I look at her. “Really?” I say. “I’m sorry”.

So I stand up, shrug my shorts down a bit, as a pretty nurse takes a cotton swab, gently spreads the you know whats, and swabs. My. Butt.

You’re welcome for that laughter, by the way. I should start charging to read these stories.

“Testicular Boost”

This one takes all the cakes. It is by far the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. It is worse, by orders of magnitude, than handing my sister a container filled with my sperm.

Not only is it all that bad, the guys at MSKCC really could have done things a bit better (and they did for doses 3 and 4, which I appreciated). But doses 1 and 2 were. Bad.

(Editor’s Note: This is as far as I made it that night, before I had to go to sleep. This gives you an idea of how shitty I was feeling)

So, they wheel me down to the waiting area. I waited, and a very nice english bloke named Lenny took me into the room. He stops the wheel chair. Another tech is present.
“Ok Sir, if you could stand”

“Thanks. Now, remove everything below the waist.”

What. Like. Here? Now? Don’t I get dinner first?

“Ok, now hop up on this table and spread your legs”.

Not even gonna warm me up to this first, huh, just straight at it.

I hop on a metallic table, naked jewels to the world. They fit little booster things under my legs to make my legs bend into a diamond shape. Keep in mind; this entire time, MY BALLS ARE AKIMBO. THEY ARE NOT SECURED. JUST FLAPPIN’ IN THE BREEZE.

Lenny was great. He gently took a bit of gauze and tape and taped the “shaft”, as it were, to my stomach. Then they took a pedestal. Literally. A pedestal. And put it under my balls.

Then, they aimed a gigantic laser at them, and pretty much put me point blank range. And then the doctors came in. And then they permanent marker a line on my skin so that they could aim easily the next day.

Then we sat there. 5 people in a room. One with their balls out. And just waited.

And waited.

Finally, the doctor came in, took one look at my package, nodded, and left. From there, I got to sit there for about an hour while they did the math for the the exact ball blast they wanted. The actual radiation took two seconds, and then I got to go back to my room, covered in shame.

It was cold in that room, god dammit.