Night on the ward

My sleep may have started at 9:30pm, but it was soon disturbed by the goings-on on the ward. Considering there were only three others in the room, they all had their own particular way of ensuring my sleep was broken. It has to be said at this point, however, that I had my own way too as I snore like a moose when asleep (certainly not when I'm awake though).

It was the music that got to me first. The opening four notes of Magic Roundabout: da-da-da-da ... da would normally follow. What's that? Oh, it's some instrumentation saying that it needs checking. The guy next to me was constantly monitored with drains in his leg and he was the most musical of all. He also had Mungo Jerry's In the Summertime which I think was the blood pressure monitor because we all had that set of notes at various times in the night.

Filling the forms before brachytherapy

One thing you get very used to when you begin discussing anything to do with prostate cancer is the level of intimacy that you have to reveal. Nurses and doctors will listen, expressionless, as you discuss the workings of your erections, flow of urine, how well and often you defecate, the importance and extent of your sex life and any manner of other things.

I guess though, when you've had someone shove their finger up your bum or been probed about with MRI or with an ultrasound scanner, there's not much left to reveal about your physical self, other than what you actually do with your body when you're not sprawled on the examination table.

Visiting the urology department specialist

The invitation to visit the Urology department at my local hospital was fast-tracked. When the NHS fast-track it usually means that someone phones and tells you to get your arse over there double-quick. This was no different, although it was a letter, actually. And the appointment was a couple of days later. Yeah, no need to fret. Prostate cancer is not a fast-growing one, but nonetheless, they still had their skates on.

I went and found the Urology department, taking along my trusty minder (who shall be named Gloria, to protect the innocent). The waiting room was jam-packed with blokes of a certain age - most, to be fair, older than me. Or they looked it. Gloria and I looked at each other and she said, "Get used to this, mate."