A Grain of Rice

You’re on FaceTime with your girlfriend. She took off her shirt and is playing with her nipples the way you like. Now it’s your turn. She tells you to take off your pants. She likes to watch you play with your balls. You feel something weird. A small grain of rice sized lump. You don’t say anything; you don’t want to ruin the mood.

Later, she says goodnight but you can’t sleep. You need to check again. You don’t feel anything; must’ve been all in your head. You think to look again. This time you feel the same lump. Your balls feel and look different all the time, so you tell yourself it’s natural. That calms you enough to sleep.

In the morning your balls are sore, very sore. You start googling. A lump could mean testicular cancer. A symptom of testicular cancer: sore balls. You tell yourself that they’re only sore because you were feeling them so much last night. You’re calm again, but you can’t stop googling. You can’t get any work done. You have your phone in your left hand and your balls in your right. You stay away from WebMD but you trust Mayo Clinic. You find out there are lumps that aren’t cancerous. Either way, if you find a lump you should go to your doctor immediately. The first thing your doctor will do is shine a light at your scrotum and if the light shines through, then the mass is fluid-based and not cancerous. If it doesn’t shine through, the doctor needs to run more tests (translation: "you probably have cancer").

You have a flashlight; a green flashlight that your parents gave you in middle school because they thought you’d appreciate a flashlight that shines a green light. You can just do it yourself. You put the flashlight between your legs and pull your scrotum over as if it was plastic you were using to cover a cake. You get the angles wrong and the green light flashes directly into your eyes. Now you can’t see clearly. You wait a few moments before trying again. You think it shines through--no cancer. You try again and don’t see any light--cancer. You try again and aren’t so sure. You have no idea what you’re looking at.

Your balls hurt more now. At lunch you try googling examples showing you what to do. You only see medical graphics which mean nothing to you. You can’t find any explicit images showing you what cancer in your balls looks like--not even on the porn sites. You know there’s definitely a market for this. You read that noncancerous lumps are common and sometimes go away on their own. You decide to wait it out.

You wake up a few days later with lower back pain. Another symptom of testicular cancer: lower back pain. You sit all day at your desk job and never work out. You can barely touch your toes. Your back always hurts; but that isn’t enough to calm you this time. You start thinking that maybe you should go to the doctor. You have insurance through your job, so it might not cost too much. Even though testicular cancer is a common cancer in your age range, it’s still rare overall. You’re not sure if insurance covers peace of mind tests for something like this.

You take your girlfriend out to lunch. It’s good to be distracted. You haven’t told her anything; you don’t want her to worry; you don’t want yourself to worry; you're already worried. You have a tomato in your sandwich and you feel a seed in your mouth. You feel its smooth texture and you wonder if your lump feels the same. The distraction is over. Your girlfriend casually says something about your future children. It used to be a normal conversation for you two to discuss but now you’re not so sure you can have kids. Reddit user slumpg0d6969 says that when his buddy found out he had testicular cancer it was too late. A few weeks later, he was going into surgery to have both his guys cut off. You’ve always wanted to have kids once the time was right. But maybe now is the time. Maybe you tell your girlfriend you’re ready. Maybe you’ll agree to not pull out and just see what happens. Maybe she’ll think you’re just messing with her.

The green flashlight sits by your bedside and you use it every night. It’s become your new obsession. Your new nighttime routine--a highly unsuccessful one too. Every night the green light either blinds you or you have no idea what to look for. You think back on the texture of the tomato seed in your mouth. You remember reading once about cysts and how people sometimes squeeze them to make them burst. You put your hands down your pants just to gauge how much strength you’d need to make it burst. The thought makes you nauseous and you want to vomit.

You learn about this famous news anchor who died from testicular cancer. He’s become somewhat of a posterboy (posterman?) for the disease. He actually went to the doctor and said things didn’t feel right down there, but the doctor said it was all good and sent him off. A few months later, it was too late. You think it’s stupid to go to the doctor because you don’t see the point if they decide to not listen. You know you're not alone in this. You remember the advice from someone on TikTok: if a doctor doesn’t believe you or validate your concern just ask them to make a note of it in your chart. The thought of their potential negligence being documented in the record is apparently enough to set them straight.

You know it’s time.

At the front desk you double check if your insurance covers the visit. The receptionist isn't so sure. You regret asking. The doctor tells you to pull down your pants and he puts on his gloves. He says there’s definitely something there, but there’s no reason to worry yet. You’ve been in a constant state of worry so that’s a useless statement. You ask if he’ll do the flashlight test and he says that won’t work because of how the lump is angled. You feel better about yourself. You have two options; you can either do a blood test or get an ultrasound. Your doctor can do the blood test but you’ll have to go to another location for the ultrasound. You ask what he recommends. He says you can start with the blood test and go from there. So that’s what you do. He says the results should be posted in a few days.

Two days have passed and you’re not sure how much longer to wait. You feel like time has stopped moving. You’re constantly watching the seconds go by waiting to hear some news. At times you find peace in the wait; if it was cancer they’d have called you already, you think. You hear an email alert on your computer, but it’s just Apple sending the receipt for your iCloud storage. Your phone rings, but it’s just the same scam robocall trying to sell you an extended car warranty. Is it even a scam? You have no idea.

Your girlfriend asks to FaceTime but you tell her you can’t tonight. You’ll tell her everything once the blood results come back--there’s no point in saying anything now. You lay in bed looking at your ceiling wondering how something as small as a grain of rice could have such a big impact on your life. Suddenly your whole identity seems temporary and you’re not sure who you’re about to become.

You grab your green flashlight once more and try to keep the green light from blinding you. You know it’s no use, but you need to try anyway. You can't see anything. You put down the flashlight. You just have to wait. All you can do is wait.