Julia - The english version

The time before the trip – An ordinary day becomes a turning point

I put off my doctor's appointment for months. It's nothing urgent, I think, just a slight pulling sensation that gets stronger at times and then subsides again. But when the pulling becomes more intense in recent weeks, I finally let my girlfriend persuade me to see a urologist. It's a cold February morning, and I'm sitting in the waiting room, unaware that this day will change my life.

"Mr. Köhler?" calls the doctor's assistant, and I get up and follow her into the examination room. The doctor, a serious man in his mid-fifties, asks the usual questions: how long I've had the symptoms, whether there is a family history of the condition, whether I've noticed any changes before. The examination goes smoothly, but the doctor's forehead wrinkles as he finally says, "I'd like us to do some tests to be sure." A few days later, I am sitting in the office again, this time with a lump in my throat. The doctor's assistant greets me with unusual friendliness, and the doctor's face is serious as he takes a seat. "Mr. Harrington," he begins, "I have the results of your tests. I'm sorry to tell you that we have discovered a tumor in your testicle. It is most likely a malignant tumor."

The words hang heavy in the room. I stare at the doctor as if I can't believe what I'm hearing. "Cancer?" I finally manage to say. "But... I feel fine. How can that be?" The doctor nods slowly. "This is not unusual with testicular cancer. It often has few symptoms in the early stages. The good news is that we detected it early and your chances of recovery are very good."
"What are my options?" I ask, after I've sorted out my thoughts somewhat.

"The standard treatment is to remove the affected testicle," the doctor explains calmly. "It's a relatively straightforward surgical procedure. We'll then carry out further tests to make sure that no metastases have formed. Depending on the results, we may proceed with chemotherapy or radiation."

Thoughts are racing through my head. The idea of losing part of my body is terrifying. "What happens if I don't do anything?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. The doctor doesn't hesitate. "Without treatment, the cancer could spread. The risk of metastasis increases significantly, and the chances of recovery decrease. It would be irresponsible to leave the tumor untreated."

"And what happens if you remove the testicle?" I ask. "What does that mean for... me as a man?"

The doctor pushes up his glasses and speaks calmly. "The loss of a testicle usually has no effect on your hormone production or sexual function. The remaining testicle takes over the work of the removed one. Some patients opt for a testicular prosthesis, which is inserted during the operation, for aesthetic reasons, but that is your personal decision."

I nod slowly, but his words offer little comfort. The thought of wearing a prosthesis seems strange to me. I never thought about my body—it was just there, functioning, causing no problems. Now it feels like a part of me is being taken away. I spontaneously say that I don't want a prosthesis.

"How soon would the surgery need to be performed?" I ask.
"The sooner, the better," the doctor replies. "The tumor is growing, and it's important to remove it before it spreads further. I suggest that we schedule the surgery within the next two weeks."

I nod, but inside I am in turmoil. Two weeks? That seems far too soon. I don't even have time to really comprehend what is happening to me. "And after that? Will I be cured?"
"That depends on the results of further tests," the doctor says honestly. "Most patients with your diagnosis recover completely, but additional treatments may be necessary."

At home, I feel numb. I stare at my hands resting on my thighs and wonder how everything could have spiraled out of control so quickly. I think about the doctor's words, the sober description of the procedure that will take away something I took for granted. It's not just the physical loss that torments me, but the question of what comes next. Will I still feel like myself? Will I still be the same person?Emily, my best friend, comes over when she hears about the diagnosis. She listens to everything, holds my hand, and finally says, "You're still here, Julius. That's the most important thing. It's not the end."

The days before the operation pass in a fog. I try to come to terms with the idea of having the affected testicle removed ( ). I don't talk about it much, not even with Emily, who usually supports me in everything. The night before the procedure, I lie awake, my thoughts revolving around the impending change. I try to calm myself by remembering the doctor's words: "It's a simple procedure, and the remaining testicle will take over."

In the morning, I arrive at the hospital on time. The nurses greet me with reassuring routine, lead me to the preparation room, where I put on a surgical gown, and explain the procedures. Shortly before the anesthesia begins, I feel a mixture of fear and relief. Soon it will be over.

In the operating room, everything goes according to plan at first. The doctors remove the affected testicle and begin examining the tissue, as is customary. But what they find changes everything: the second testicle also shows signs of tumor cells. A quick test confirms that it is also affected. The surgeon is faced with a difficult decision. Immediate removal is necessary to prevent the cancer from spreading. There is no time to wake me up and ask for my consent—the risk is too great.

When I wake up from the anesthesia, I feel heavy and groggy. The memory of the procedure slowly comes back, and with it the relief that the tumor has been removed. But when I open my eyes, I see the doctor's serious face. Sarah is there too, her hand firmly on mine.

"Mr. Köhler," the doctor begins cautiously, "there is something we need to explain to you. During the operation, we discovered that your second testicle was also affected. We had to remove it as well." The words hit me like a blow. I stare at the doctor, unable to speak. "Both?" I finally manage to say, my voice little more than a whisper. The doctor nods. "It was the only responsible decision. We couldn't take the risk of leaving the tumor cells in your body. I know this is a difficult loss, and I'm here to answer any questions you may have."

I lie still as the doctor's words echo inside me. The rational explanation makes sense, but the emotional impact of the loss is not so easy to process. Sarah is still holding my hand, but I can't look her in the eye. "What does this mean for me?" I finally ask. My voice is fragile, and I feel a lump growing in my throat.

"It means," the doctor explains calmly, "that your body no longer produces testosterone. We will prescribe hormone therapies to take over this function, and we will make sure you get the best possible support." "And... my sexuality?" I ask hesitantly.

"Hormone therapy will help maintain most masculine functions," the doctor says honestly. "But there will be a period of adjustment, and your fertility will be lost. I recommend that you talk to a specialist who can help you adjust to these changes. You should also consider talking to a psychologist."

The first few days after the operation are marked by pain and shock. I feel empty—not only physically, but also emotionally. The idea that part of my identity has been taken away from me is overwhelming. I avoid looking in the mirror, avoid talking to Sarah or anyone else. Emily stays by my side, bringing me food, talking to me quietly, without pushing. "You're still Julius," she says one evening. " n't what defines who you are." But I'm not sure I can believe that.

One evening, I stand in front of the mirror. For the first time since the operation, I take off my underwear and look at my body. The scars are small, but they tell a story that is indelible. I run my fingers over them and feel tears welling up in my eyes. My scrotum is gone. Only my little penis is still there, and it looks pretty lost between my legs. When I pull it back, it disappears—and the area looks like a woman's. It was probably a mistake to decide against a prosthesis. But at the time, no one mentioned that everything would disappear. I no longer feel any sexuality at all. It all disappeared during the operation. My little tail also seems much smaller than before. Downright tiny. I'm just not a real man anymore, I think sadly.

...

"God, I look so... different," I murmur, running my hand over my prominent cheekbones and my ever-expanding cheeks. My fingers slide down my neck to my , then over my collarbone, which now looks more delicate and defined. As I continue to look at myself, I can't help but notice how my once muscular physique has given way to softer, rounder curves. At least on my legs. But also on my butt.

"When did my legs become so... feminine?" I ask myself aloud, turning to the side to get a better look. My appearance is in stark contrast to the men's underwear I'm wearing. I realize that something is very wrong here. The loose-fitting clothes I used to wear and took with me on my travels now hang loosely on my dramatically emaciated figure. At 5'8", I was never really tall for a man, but now, at 112 pounds, I feel downright skinny.

Unconsciously, I run my hand over my flat stomach and feel the sharp edges of my ribs through my thin T-shirt. The weight loss has been rapid and unintentional—a side effect of post-operative depression and my loss of appetite. In addition, my pelvic bones protrude on the right and left and are even visible through my pants. And the gap between my thighs no longer closes when I bring my knees together. "I should probably eat something," I think to myself, although the thought of food still holds little appeal.

As I raise my arm to run my hand through my now longer and softer hair, I notice how spindly my arms have become.
"Not that I was ever Mr. Universe," I chuckle self-deprecatingly, flexing my non-existent biceps.
The sound of my own laughter, which sounds higher and brighter than I remember, surprises me. It's just another reminder of how much has changed since the operation. I sigh and turn away from my reflection.

"Who am I now?" I whisper, and the question hangs unanswered in the quiet room. I lie on the lonely beach, sunbeams dancing across my body and a light breeze caressing my skin. The sound of the waves and the cries of the seagulls form a symphony of comfort, lulling me into a peaceful state of mind. I haven't felt this good since the operation, since the loss of my testicles to cancer turned my world upside down. My fingers absentmindedly stroke the smooth fabric of my empty swimming trunks, the dull pain in my groin a constant reminder of the parts of me that are now gone forever.

The warm sand shifts beneath me as I change position, and my thoughts wander to my girlfriend Sarah. I still can't believe I haven't touched her since I was discharged from the hospital. The surgery has left me feeling incomplete, robbed of my masculinity. My hands clench into fists as I remember the look of regret on Sarah's face when she first saw me naked after the bandages were removed. I am severely emaciated, downright thin. And the little something that remains between my legs can hardly be called masculinity. The memory of her horrified words still echoes in my head: "I don't know who you are anymore, Julius." Now I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my hotel room, Sarah's words in my head, and let my gaze wander over the unfamiliar contours of my body. I hardly recognize the person staring back at me.

Later at the hotel:
I turn away from the mirror, my emotions swirling inside me. Despite the drastic changes to my body, I can't deny that a spark of excitement is coursing through me. I run my fingers through my longer hair and marvel at its silky texture.
"I never thought I'd say this, but... I kind of like it," I murmur, a small smile playing on my lips.

At that moment, my girlfriend calls from the adjoining room of our suite at the St. Bernards Hotel: "Julius? Are you ready for dinner?" I take a deep breath and steel myself for the inevitable conversation. When I enter the main room, her eyes widen as she sees me and takes in my appearance.

"Oh, Julius," she says with a tone of concern and frustration. "You really should consider taking testosterone. Otherwise, you'll soon look like a woman." Her words sting my chest. "Does that bother you?" I ask quietly, watching her face. She hesitates before answering, "No, of course not." But the slight tremor in her voice betrays her true feelings. I sigh, walk to the balcony door, and open it. The warm coastal air flows in, carrying the scent of frangipani. In the distance, I see the twinkling lights of Surfers Paradise.

"I haven't made up my mind yet," I admit, leaning against the doorframe. "I know you want the old me back, but... I'm not sure I want that anymore." She joins me on the balcony, her hand hovering briefly before landing on my shoulder. "I'm just worried about you," she says softly. I turn to her, my blue eyes searching hers. "I know you are. But this softness, this change—it feels right somehow. Like I'm finally becoming who I'm supposed to be." She frowns and wants to say something, but I interrupt her, slightly irritated: "Let's just enjoy our dinner, okay? We can talk about it later."