I thought it would be a good idea to assume the worst. That way when I got my results if they were good I’d be delighted, over the moon. And if they were bad, I’d have made a start on coming to terms with where that left me. Facing death.

I was wrong.

The worst didn’t happen. My scans were clear. The cancer is contained in my prostate. That means I can be cured. Chop it out and all is well. Except it isn’t. And there’s the problem. I may have made a start with coming to terms with the fact that my life could be much shorter. But whilst I was focusing on that, I neglected to do anything about coming to terms with the consequences of surgery. And actually, they’re just as hard.

I’ll live, but not without cost. I’m facing some huge changes to my quality of life, to my self image and self esteem. This is going to be a rocky ride. Very soon I’m going to get a date. A date that represents the end of the life I’ve known, and the start something very different. The start of a new sexuality.