Wednesday, October 25, 2006


The Boy's triumphal, uncut return to school yesterday was somewhat marred by--let's call her Nora--Fucking Nora, to be more precise.

Fucking Nora is a class assistant from whom I've been getting much insider information on the exact nature of the horridness that was about to ensue. Her older son had just had the same operation done a little over a month ago, so she was well within The Know.

When she saw Boy and me in the hallway she blinked twice, raised her eyebrows, and looked not even a little bit happy to see us. So I explained the situation, that upon further examination, the testicles were found to be present, if still rather high, in the scrotum so the surgery wouldn't be necessary after all.

Nora nodded sagely, wise in the ways of these cocky, know-it-all doctors, "Yes, we went through the same thing with my son. Then two years later when they still hadn't dropped any lower, they decided to do the surgery after all."

Fucking Nora!

Then I was reminded of a critical detail that I had not thought of before. The urologist at the hospital who actually put Boy on the waiting list back in February, examined him while he was standing up. She got a hold of both testicles and pulled them slowly, geeennnntly down into place. When she let them go, they bounced back up--one faster than the other. She told me then that the connective tissue attached to the left one was not long enough to allow it to drop down and stay in place which would necessitate surgery. But she thought probably the right side was fine.

The surgeon who examined Boy on Monday had him laying flat on a table. He did not attempt to pull the testicles all the way down into the sac, he only located them and assured me that they actually were in the scrotum even if it didn't look like it.

Whether or not any of this is relevant I do not know. Like I said, I didn't remember any part of it until yesterday morning. Probably I should call someone and ask. As I type it now and reread it, it's ringing all kinds of bells and whistles. I was an idiot not to have thought of it while I was standing there with the surgeon. But I didn't. And the moment passed.

I kind of like it here on the foothills of doubt, so I'm thinking I'll just let it slide for the time being. He'll be called in a year from now to be reexamined. It's not like he's going to be needing them between now and then anyway...

1 comment:

Jilly Baby said...

Well if it's any consolation, Hamish was examined lying down and went on to have the op.