Tigers on the Way

by Sean Kennedy

  “Can you not give us any guess?” Dec asked Dr. Hew.

  I sat beside Dec and took his hand. It was sweating.

  Hew sighed. “Look, I’ve seen a lot of these in my time. It’s definitely a tumour, and they have different feels to them. I could hazard a guess, an informed guess, but it’s still a guess.”

  “Please,” I said, hoping it would stop Dec from exploding.

  “I would say it’s benign. But we’re not going to know for sure until we do a biopsy. I would still say the best thing to do is schedule a surgery, remove the whole thing, and do the biopsy immediately rather than have you go through two procedures.”

  “I want it done now,” Dec said firmly.

  He was being just a little bit impossible. “What, I should just whack my nuts out on the desk and let them hack away?”

  “Can you treat this seriously?” he implored.

  “They’re my balls, Dec, believe me I’m taking this seriously.”

  Doctor Hew put up his hand to silence us, and when we both looked at him, he lowered it. “It’s natural to be this stressed. But I have to say again, we caught it early. It could be a benign lump, it could be more. But there’s one other thing we need to discuss.”

  “There’s more?” Dec asked. He looked ready to throw himself out of the window, and I placed my hand over his knee to stop his leg from shaking.

  “Go ahead, Doc,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like Bugs Bunny.

  “The lump has already done some damage.”

  Dec emitted a strangled wheeze.

  “We got some notes from your fertility clinic. There’s no easy way to say this, Simon, but you have a zero count.”

  I laughed, and Dec visibly relaxed. I’m not sure what he was expecting to hear. “It’s okay, Doc. They already told us that.”

  “Oh.” Hew pored over the file. “They didn’t say that here. That’s actually really embarrassing. I’m sorry.”

  “Is it permanent?” I asked. “I forgot to ask.”

  I’m not even sure why I asked. Could a guy come back from sterility? I’d heard that they could from low sperm counts, but a zero?

  “Most likely.”

  I had known it, I guess. But I couldn’t help thinking back to Roger when he and Fran were going through IVF, and he was horrified at the thought that it could be him who was the “problem.” He was devastated at the thought of being unable to sow his seed, so to speak. And although we had never asked for, or been given, the details, you only had to look at the twins to see both Roger and Fran within them, so they must have overcome the obstacles in the end.

  “Well,” I finally said, “lucky we have a backup plan.”

  “That’s not funny,” Dec exploded.

  “It’s a little bit funny.”

  My levity was not appreciated.

  “We might have to talk about prosthetic options as well,” Hew said.

  Dec and I looked at him blankly.

  “In case there needs to be a removal of the testicle.”

  I blanched.

  “Is that going to happen?” Dec asked.

  “The tumour could be in a tricky area. It may mean excision, yes. We’ll need Simon to do some scans today, so we can have a better look at it.”

  “Oh my god,” I said, more to myself. “You know Hitler had only one ball, right?”

  “Pardon?” Dr. Hew asked. His expression said it all: he thought he’d heard what I said, but it was so without context and out of left field that he couldn’t be entirely sure. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Just ignore him,” Dec sighed. “He’s going to go off on a tangent.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just, you know, when people talk about having only one testicle, it’s what you immediately think of.”

  “I don’t,” said Dec.

  I looked at Dr. Hew.

  “It’s not the first thing I think of either,” he said. “Removing a testicle won’t make you invade Poland,” Dr. Hew said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  “You say that now,” I shrugged.

  Declan got us back on topic. “You said something about prosthetics?”

  Hew nodded. “They’re not necessary, but some patients prefer them aesthetically.”

  “Do you look lopsided without them?” I asked.

  Dec looked like he was ready to strangle me, but I was actually being serious.

  “No,” Hew said. “You don’t have to make a decision today. And like I said, it may not be needed.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it,” I said, more for Dec’s benefit. “So, when am I looking at surgery?”

  “Within the next few days. We want this thing out as soon as possible to get it tested.”

  “And how long until the test results are back?” Dec asked.

  “Another few days after that.”

  “So we’re going to go through not knowing for a whole week?”

  I squeezed his hand. “Some people have to wait even longer. A week’s nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Dec demanded.

  I didn’t mean to sound so flippant. But I was numb. Numb was the best way to be for me right now. I wished some of it could rub off on Dec.

  “They’re doctors, not psychics,” I told him, and he glared at me.

  “Maybe you would like to speak to a counsellor?” Doctor Hew suggested.

  Dec firmly shook his head. “We’ve already been offered that through our fertility clinic.”

  “We believe in healthy repression,” I told Hew.

  He gave a small smile. “Well, your healthy sense of humour will also help.” He looked at Dec. “But it may not work for everybody.”

  Dec remained silent. He managed to shake Doctor Hew’s hand before he left but didn’t say a word of goodbye. At least worrying about him managed to distract me from worrying about myself.

  I didn’t want to think about that at all.

  “CAN YOU believe that?” I asked Dec as we walked back into the hubbub of the corridor.

  “No, I don’t,” Dec said bluntly.

  “I was treated by the Doctor!” I laughed. “Dr. Hew. I mean, it wasn’t a great disguise, but I saw through it! I’m in safe hands.” At his blank expression, I belaboured the joke. “Dr. Hew. Doctor Who. Get it?” I did a weak imitation of the TARDIS coming in for a landing.

  Dec was horrified. “Is none of this getting through to you?”

  I ignored him. “He said a healthy sense of humour was needed.”

  “Also a dose of reality,” Dec shot back.

  “I don’t think he specifically mentioned reality. Anyway, I’ll stick to humour, and you can stick to reality.” I began to walk away.

  He said my name, and it was so laden with emotion I turned back.

  “Simon, you have a tumour.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Can you just take a second and think about that?”

  “What do you want me to think?” I asked. “I have to get it removed, and then we wait for the results. Until then it’s best not to worry about it.”

  “I’m worrying.”

  “Well, try not to.”

  “I can’t just turn it off.”

  I almost lost it there and then. “And you think I can? Goddammit, Dec, this is happening to my body, can I just not respond the way I want to for a bit?”

  “So I’m not allowed to feel anything?”

  “Of course you are. But, Jesus, just let it go for now!”

  He was furious, and he clammed up again, or else we probably would have been thrown out of the hospital for disturbing the peace. But he took my hand as we made our way to the next department. His grip was strong, as if he was scared he was already losing me.

  It was doing my head in.

  After the scans, I let him drive us home; I couldn’t trust myself. We still hadn’t spoken by the time we reached Fitzroy, and we were almost back at the station. When I snuck glances at him, he was barely holding it together. Maybe he shouldn’t have bee
n driving either.

  “Let’s try and keep calm.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “There’s no use worrying everybody when we don’t even know ourselves.”

  “We have to at least let them know about the surgery,” Dec said doggedly.

  “Why?”

  “Because they would want to know!” He pulled up to our driveway and hit the garage remote on the dash. He didn’t even wait for the door to roll up fully; it was still rattling behind us when he turned off the ignition.

  “Well, I don’t want them to know just yet. Please just back me up on this.”

  His jaw set even more, but he didn’t say anything.

  I didn’t want to fight with him. I knew, as a couple, this should have been a joint decision. But it actually was happening to me, and surely I should hold the cards when it came to laying them down?

  He got out of the car and didn’t look back at me. I followed in his wake.

  I found him in the kitchen. It was only just turned eleven in the morning, and he was cracking open a beer.

  “Bit early for that, huh?” I asked.

  He stared at me expressionlessly. “This is the one thing I can decide upon at the minute, isn’t it?”

  It stung to have that thrown at me. “Sure.”

  My mobile rang, and the number came up as Doctor Hew’s. From the way I answered the phone, Dec knew immediately. I listened to Hew, gave my assent, and hung up.

  “They’re managing to get me in tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” Dec asked. It was barely a whisper.

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” I said, guessing he assumed I was being treated as a priority case and that meant things were dire. “There was a rescheduling and it freed up tomorrow morning, so he asked me if I wanted it.”

  “Oh.”

  So Dec was now communicating monosyllabically.

  “I thought you’d prefer it, as it would shave a couple of days of waiting.”

  “Sure.”

  I grabbed a beer from the fridge, determined to enjoy one before fasting would begin that night. I went upstairs to the study and opened my laptop; my calendar for the next few days was pretty full-on, so I would have to call Coby.

  “Hey, boss,” he said. A printer ran noisily in the background.

  “Hey, Cobes.” I jumped into the thick of things. “I need you to rearrange my schedule for at least the next two days.”

  “You’re not coming in?” He sounded concerned.

  “What, to our nonexistent office?”

  He sounded affronted. “We usually go to either your house or mine. I really think we should just bite the bullet and move in with GetOut.”

  I was starting to think the same. Why bother being proud and refusing to take assistance from my partner? It might even make Dec feel a little bit better if he saw me capitulating on something.

  “Look,” I replied, “you’re probably right.”

  “Excuse me?” Coby sounded stunned.

  “I said you’re right. I’ll talk to Dec.”

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  I jumped at the chance provided. “Actually, I’m not. They gave me one of those flu injections today, and I’m starting to feel ratshit. I might just take tomorrow off to make sure I recuperate properly.”

  “That’s not like you,” Coby said airily. “You come into work sick so you can take a sickie when you’re well and can do something fun.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” I said glibly.

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” I told him.

  “And you’re not going to change your mind about the GetOut offices?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow. I hope this isn’t a dream I’m having right now.”

  “It is,” I told him. “And the worst thing is, Coby, the call is coming from inside the house.”

  I ended the call and swivelled in my chair, jumping at the sight of Declan leaning against the doorway with his beer still in hand.

  “So we have to resort to lying instead of not saying anything?”

  “Well, I had to tell Coby I wouldn’t be in tomorrow, didn’t I?”

  “Flu shot.” He took a swig of his beer. “Well, I’ll call Will and tell him to cancel my stuff tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” Man, that was a stupid thing to say. It was just an automatic reaction, as if I had fooled myself into truly believing tomorrow would only involve the flu shot I had told Coby about.

  “Oh, okay, I’ll just let you go to the biopsy by yourself, then.” He drained the beer and chucked the empty in the rubbish bin near my feet. As it was empty, the glass hit the metal bottom with a thud so heavy, I was surprised it didn’t break.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He huffed to himself and walked away.

  I jumped up and ran after him, catching up in the bedroom as he kicked off his shoes. He let them fly away rather than neatly putting them side by side beneath the bed as he always did, so I knew he was off-kilter.

  “Of course I want you there,” I said and hugged him.

  His arms hung limply by my sides at first, but as I buried my face into his neck, they came around my back and pulled me in close.

  “I really don’t want to lose a testicle,” I told him, snuggling in closer. “Will you still love my lopsided ball sac?”

  This finally got a laugh out of him. You have to enjoy the little miracles when they come.

  He suddenly jerked, a thought occurring to him. “Hang on, did I hear you say something about using the GetOut offices?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said offhandedly. “I meant to say something to you. Is the offer still open?”

  He pulled me down so we were both lying on the bed, facing each other. “I’ve only been asking you for months,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, you know I’m a procrastinator.”

  “The worst,” he agreed and smiled before he kissed me.

  I would die for that smile.

  DURING THE night, I turned to find Dec also awake.

  “Can I ask you something?” No preamble, just straight into it.

  “Okay.”

  “Will you still love me if I only have one ball?” I sounded more flippant than I felt.

  Dec saw right through me. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “What, with our rich history?”

  He smiled.

  “Seriously. Will you—” Goddammit, I was not going to falter here. “Will you still find me attractive?”

  I couldn’t believe I was thinking it either. But men have grown up practically being told from birth that the source of all their masculinity and worthiness resides between their legs—both their dick and their balls. The loss of any part of them seemed like ripping away any preconceived notion society had of you and your manhood.

  “Let me put it in your own language,” Dec said, pulling me into him. “I don’t give a flying fuck if you have two balls, one ball, no balls, or green balls.”

  “The lesser-known Dr. Seuss book,” I muttered.

  “I just want you here and healthy,” Dec said. “It’s not going to affect our love or how fucking sexy I think you are. Stop driving yourself crazy with things that are never going to change.”

  He was an excellent almost-husband.

  “Can you try and get some sleep now?” he asked.

  As I was drifting off I heard him say, “I promise I will love your lopsided ball sac.”

  Chapter Seven

  THE NEXT morning Dec woke up with his usual steely resolve. He bossed me around from the moment I opened my eyes, and although that would normally piss me off and make me act up to show him I was nobody’s lackey, I knew it was a remnant from his time being captain on the field. I meekly followed his orders because it was his way of dealing with the day ahead of us. He looked at me suspiciously a couple of times, waiting for me to break, and when I didn’t, he began to push my buttons
to see how far he could take it for his own amusement.

  I actually enjoyed it, especially as I knew it was distracting him.

  “You can’t wear that,” he said as he inspected my choice of bed wear: bedraggled trackie dacks and a T-shirt of Batman kissing Superman.

  “Why?” I didn’t particularly want to wear them either. It was all part of my plan.

  Dec fussed about in the chest of drawers, and I smiled as he chose a pair of black lounge pants and a black T-shirt. “The Melbourne Arty Wanker Uniform.”

  “Really?” I frowned. “I would have said my choice was more the official Melbourne Arty Wanker Uniform with its subversion of traditional figures.”

  He sighed. “You’re probably right.”

  I took his attire of choice from him. “These’ll do.”

  Dec started inspecting my messy pile of objects in the middle of the bed. “Are two books going to be enough for you?”

  I tucked them into my bag. “I hope I’m not in there long enough to need a third.”

  “The rate you read?” He moved over to my bedside table and opened the cupboard beneath. “I’m going to pack your Kindle.”

  “Don’t forget the charger.”

  He waved it at me, as it was already in his hand.

  “You’re too good to me,” I teased. “Don’t forget to put in Maggie.”

  “I think she’s been through enough moving to last the rest of her life.”

  The weight of the final words of that sentence made us both pause. I didn’t want to be thinking about Maggie’s death, let alone the possibility of my own. Dec gave a brief shake of his head and continued with his packing duties.

  I hugged him from behind, and he leaned back into me, his hands resting over mine.

  “It’s all good,” I told him.

  His thumb stroked the small, plain gold band on my wedding finger. We had both bought one after our engagement, symbolising that we were together forever, even if our government wouldn’t let us solidify it through marriage. We had also signed power of attorney to each other in case of crisis, which I was glad of now. I couldn’t see my parents fighting him if something went wrong with the operation, but I was glad it was there for backup. Of course, this wouldn’t be necessary if we were married. Nobody would dare question Declan’s authority if he was my husband by law.