I was never meant to be a nurse

and I'll tell you why...

My husband recently went under the knife. Last Friday, his urologist confirmed that the suspicious lump on a certain body part was indeed a tumor, and that it needed to be removed asap. On Tuesday this week he had a right radical inguinal orchiectomy. I could just say that they took out his right testicle, but I really like big words. Plus if you say it ten times fast--well, you can't say it ten times fast.

Surgery went well and while he was in recovery I was trying to help him stand, which he did just fine. He swayed a little back and forth, but he didn't fall. No, it was me who almost fell. Granted, I am pregnant and we were in a small room perfumed with way too much air freshener and he was swaying. So I could never be a nurse. Back in 2001 when he had shoulder surgery I had to call his mother to help clean his wound because the sight of blood sent me heaving. I don't think he will appreciate me having to call his mother this time.

He is doing well post-surgery and so are we. The doctor says it is a 99.9% chance that the tumor is cancerous. Next week, after more procedures and testing, we will have a better idea of what we are dealing with. Instead of hoping on that 0.1% chance that it is non-cancerous, we are hoping that we caught it early and that any post-operative chemo will be minimal. We are optimistic and very grateful to friends and family.

On the more positive side of things, we think we are having a girl--if the ultrasound technician is right. We weren't too surprised. The girls were a little. "But, mom. We have too many girls." At least we won't have to buy anything new. Plus if we have a boy that is anything like his father, he would need a nurse for a mother with all the potential bruising and cuts and scrapes. And apparently I'm not the nursing type.