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If you're read my book or seen my live show you'll know this day was full of significance for me. It was just two days after
I'd been to get my balls scanned and (though I didn't mention this in the blog) had a shaky-voiced call from my GP suggesting this might be serious and then wept as I listened to my 3 year old son laughing in the next room. I was pretty sure I'd never see him grow up and that he'd have no memories of me. At that point if you had offered me a definite five more years of life (but would then immediately die), I would have bitten your hand off.
I am glad the devil was too busy to set up such a contract. Here I am, half a decade on, one-ball down, but still breathing. I am prepared to do a deal now if you're reading, Satan (I would assume that Hell is just having to read my blog for the rest of eternity) - I'd like a bit more than 5 this time, but if you can guarantee me fifteen more I'll take that. Get to 73 - the kids would be grown up, I'd have made it into the 2040s, I could have got Oh Spunk, I'm 70 in and have done something like 15000 blogs. Plus I'd be pretty knackered. I'd be happy with that.
I don't think I am going to Heaven anyway, so signing away my soul to burn in Hell isn't even that big a deal. Plus, I'd be banking on the fact that there is no devil anyway. So he'd give me another guaranteed decade and a half and then I wouldn't have to pay him back. Sucker. Failing that I could just use my 15 years to get really good at the violin and beat him anyway.
No matter, I was never likely to die from testicular cancer, but it does feel like I've already been given five extra years. I haven't quite kept up on my resolution to get as fit as possible or make the most of that time, but I have definitely appreciated what I have and seeing my kids grow and not being underground with some pillock taking photos of my grave and taking the piss out of my gravestone.
This week I got another message from someone who had read my book and then noticed the symptoms in themself and rushed to the doctor. He's about to have the operation, so it's sad that he too will be one ball down, but it's a terrific feeling to know that by talking about my experience I have helped a few people get earlier treatment than they might have had.
At Park Run today, I got round in 29 minutes and 13 seconds, which is a 2 minute improvement on last week (the lady who beat me by a second last week did better too, but I beat her by 30 seconds and the guy who pipped me on the line didn't even take part, the chicken - yeah you fucked with the wrong guy. Who's the loser now?). Whilst I was waiting for Catie another man came up to tell me that he'd also had testicular cancer and had the same oncologist as me, Dr Sharma. Sharma had given him my book, which he said had really helped (and makes me hope he's doing that for everyone and also that there is a proliferation of testicular cancer in the area so I can get those sweet, sweet royalties).
It's not often that my comedy is actually helpful as well as funny (and yes it often fails on the funnyness quotient too), so it's a strange thing to process.
Though I suppose all of this has been quite hard to process. It's not quite 5 years since the operation of course, but getting to five years since your cancer is a positive milestone (though annoyingly having it once doesn't stop you getting it again somewhere else- sometimes I think that cancer is a pretty bad thing).
So that cat shit snowman (which I saw every night on tour- in picture form only. He died a day or so after the photo was taken) is a weirdly significant thing. It represents that time of fear and doubt before I knew what was going on, but was pretty sure I was doomed (again, I am obviously doomed, it's all a matter of time scale), it was possibly going to represent me to my children as their only solid memory of me (and the only solids in that solid memory came from our cats' anuses - two cats, two anuses for anyone who doesn't understand punctuation. That's a film I don't want to see) and it now signifies a triumph over (imminent) death and illness. It's a rather moving thing to just pop up on your phone unexpectedly and it's very strange to be on the verge of tears over something that looks so ugly, is literally full of shit and yet is indescribably beautiful.
I am glad I am still here. If it was down to Satan then those five years with my family have been worth an eternity of having to read this blog.
And if you want to potentially save your life or the life of someone you love, there are
a very limited number of DVDs of Can I Have My Ball Back? left over from the kickstarter and you can buy one if you're quick (proper collectors' item as there are only a few hundred in total) or be like someone from 2026 and just get a download for a tenner
All money from this goes towards making more podcasts, so it's win/win and a nice way to contribute if you haven't before (plus get a top comedy show)
