Thursday 14 March 2019

This couldn’t happen to me, I’m invincible! - by Stuart Brown

I’d spent my first 30 years of life, as many do, with a sense of invincibility which I’ve since learned is really something to be treasured. At 27, I’d met the girl of my dreams, travelled all around Australia with her for 5 months, returned to the UK and bought a house together and we both got good jobs. Life was amazing during that time. I’d popped the question and we were doing up our new house and planning our wedding and honeymoon.

we were married in the June, we had an incredible adventure ahead of us.....

The year was 2006, we were married in the June, we had an incredible adventure in Malaysia for a honeymoon and I’d saved enough money to take my new wife to Barcelona as a treat for her 30th birthday in September. Whilst out there, enjoying the sights, tastes and culture of the city, we both agreed this time of our life was simply perfect. However, on our last evening there, my wife, who we joke about having a bit of sixth sense, suddenly broke down in tears but she couldn’t explain why. All she could do to explain it was that it just felt like an incredible sadness. It was completely out of the blue, and it left us both feeling something on the horizon wasn’t right.

We’d decided it was time to start a family but after 4 months of trying we didn’t have any success. One weekend, I was invited to play a round of golf with a mate of mine and half way round we got talking about another mate of ours who had been diagnosed with testicular cancer in his late 30s after a year of tests trying to work out why he and his partner couldn’t conceive. It sparked me into action – the events in Barcelona were still heavy in my mind and I was starting to have a real feeling that “perhaps someone is trying to tell me something here”.

I got home and felt compelled to do a self-check. I looked up on line what you’re supposed to feel and after a few minutes of feeling all sorts of things down there, I was pretty sure I could feel a small ball bearing type lump on my right testicle. The colour drained from my face as I panicked about what it might be – this couldn’t happen to me, I’m invincible….

I plucked up the courage to share my feelings and fear with my wife and we both agreed I’d make an appointment with the doctor straight away. On the day of the appointment, I was so nervous and uncomfortable that I shrivelled up like a prune and it was impossible for the doctor to feel what I was feeling. As a precaution he put me on some antibiotics but after that didn’t remove the lump, he sent me for an ultra sound at Frimley Park Hospital.

Another uncomfortable and nervous wait followed that test but I knew something was wrong from the face of the Urologist doing the test. He looked concerned and my fear was confirmed a day later when I was asked to come in to talk to him about the results.

“I’m sorry to say but you have cancer”


The words “I’m sorry to say but you have cancer” are as bad as people say. You panic, you think inevitable doom and you stop listening to anything they are saying. My wife broke down but I just sat there in disbelief and shock. I was diagnosed with a Stage 1, Seminoma (which is a type of testicular cancer). 80% of my testicle was now a cancerous tumour and I would need an orchiectomy (removal of the testicle) and then some chemotherapy as they were worried that it had spread to some nodes in my abdomen. We went home, we cried, we spoke to family and our amazing new world collapsed.



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Click on this link for infomration on Testicular Cancer &how to check yourself. www.nhs.uk/conditions/testicular-cancer/ 


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The next day, the Urologist rang and said that they had a cancellation and that they could operate on me the next morning. To be honest, the fear of having the operation and losing some of my man hood, wasn’t there. I just wanted this horrible cancer removed from my body and as quickly as possible. I was grateful to the Urologist team for finding some time for me as I know some have to suffer weeks of uncertainty whilst they wait for an operation. I can tell you, you just want the thing out as soon as possible.

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The first few weeks post operation were about recovery and getting my body ready for chemotherapy. There was laughter in between the quiet moments alone where I would cry a lot and get very angry with life. Why me? Was it that our life was too perfect before and I needed to be brought down to earth a bit? These thoughts are irrational and superstitious but very real. On a more positive note, most of my scruples about my body had disappeared, along with any dignity I ever had! I had to freeze my sperm as I was likely to be sterile after chemo and that meant lots of embarrassing trips to Guildford Hospital to “do the deed”.

I recovered pretty quickly from the operation and so when chemo came along a month after my operation, I had got myself mentally ready to get myself through it. It was as people say, pretty awful. It wasn’t a particularly nasty type but it left me feeling like I had the flu and all I could taste was metal for weeks. My mum sent me some mental wellbeing cd’s which I would play to chill me out and stop me from thinking too much of impending doom and panicking about it. The big question was what were these nodes in my abdomen? Had it spread there?

My heart sank...


After 3 weeks, the Urologist called me and gave me the sad news that they were sufficiently worried about my abdomen that they wanted to give me another dose of chemo. My heart sank, it had been hard enough and now they wanted to do it all over again. I was inspired though by reading other people’s stories who had gone through far worse and thought if they can do it, then I can too.

I was determined to get through that and to “live”


That afternoon, my wife had been keeping a little secret from me about “being a few days late”. She had bought a pregnancy test and we sat and waited for the result. When it showed “positive”, we simply couldn’t believe it - it was like an amazing weight had been lifted. We’d literally had a small window of opportunity to fall pregnant between the orchiectomy and chemo starting and by a miracle my trusty remaining testicle had come up trumps! I no longer cared about the upcoming second round of chemo, I was determined to get through that and to “live” for my new son or daughter.  

man sitting in front of table with sliced citrus fruitThat second round was tough but at the end of it, the result of my CT scan showed that those nodes in my abdomen were just “me” and that my bloods showed no cancer present. I was so relieved but despite that I knew the cancer had taken an effect on my mental health. I went on doing the “bloke” thing and denying it for months and months. It was ”manageable” until I nearly lost my wife and son in child birth. I couldn’t believe, after everything we’d been through, and the miracle of his creation, that that would be the outcome. It was a close shave and, whilst relieved, I was now getting increasingly angry, especially as my cancer testing went on intensively for years after my initial diagnosis.

My anger used to peak before a blood test or CT scan which was 3 to 4 times a year. I would panic, irrationally, thinking that the cancer would return. My wife also suffered, notably with post-natal depression after the traumatic birth of our son Harry so life was tough, and I was struggling to cope.

I was not a nice person to be around when I had these dark thoughts


I don’t know what sparked me to ask for help – I think I recognised that I was not a nice person to be around when I had these dark thoughts and that they were increasing to the point I was worried about the outcome of leaving it be. I went to the GP and he got me some counselling. At first I thought it was waste of time and that it wasn’t giving me the answers I needed to my anger and frustration. I was really confused about my faith in God – He had been my rock during chemo but had also left me feeling guilty about not going to Church (I never have really, my faith is more spiritual) but in my mind it was almost like a “I helped you so you now need to come and worship me”. I was scared that if I didn’t, my cancer would return.

“Stuart, sh*t happens, deal with it. Take control of your guilt, enjoy what you have and get on with your life”


Eventually the counsellor just said “Stuart, sh*t happens, deal with it. Take control of your guilt, enjoy what you have and get on with your life”. It was the shakeup I needed – 12 years on, I still have the odd dark moment, as people do, but I’ve learnt to deal with it better. I do feel vulnerable but no more than any other 42 year old and my trusty left testicle even managed to produce another bouncing boy so I’m now running around after both my sons. Life is a journey, I’m sure there’ll be more hurdles, but at least I live in the hope that I can pull myself out of those dark places by opening up to my friends and family and seeking help when I need it.

By Stuart Brown


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