Survival is just the beginning...

I shook his hand and thanked him for saving my life. He looked at me without emotion. ”I'll discharge you in a couple of weeks, if all is well.” He said.?

I walked out from his office and into the hospital car park where a friend was waiting to take me back to my pre-operation reality. I had healed well and the graft lump of skin he had taken from my leg had settled in its new role as my new penis gland, the original having been taken over by a malignant tumour and as a consequence had to be chopped off, which was all in an extreme effort to save my life. Soon I could pee like a man, stood up that is. Even though the direction was a much less controllable than before. I decided?to take great care and not to utilise public male urinals until I gained control and? when I had adjusted to this oddity.? ”You look great” all my family said when I returned home. ”Can you still have sex?” One asked in a quiet tone, it was the question all men wanted to know, unsurprisingly. In reply I always smiled broadly and said? ”Sure,no problem at all.” ?

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The truth was very different of course. I could barely look at the damn thing let alone show it to a female. ”They must be mad to think that nothing changes after you have had your top of your real penis amputated”? and replaced by a piece of your leg? How can any man get used to that??

When I returned to see my specialist for the final examination I was still getting-over the shock of losing my manhood and trying to become accustomed to the whole idea of this new thing between my legs. ?After my official discharge I visited the hospital ward to thank the nurses for their care and patience and attention that the gave me. They were truly wonderful. As I walked into the ward my favourite nurse looked at me with some urgency.?

”Thank God you’re here” She said to me. I looked at her curiously. ” There’s a man who has just realised what is going to happen to him and he’s not going through with the operation he’s going to run away.” She said. ”Can you help to persuade him, he will die if he does not have the operation.” I looked at her and walked into the ward and up to the man. I introduced myself and shook his hand. I pulled the curtain around the bed and showed him the result of my operation. ”Its better than dying” I said to him. ?

I really do wish someone would have shown me their penis before my operation or at least a painting of it. I said to myself. Perhaps I should paint a portrait of my own, I mean I am an artist, after all?? The meeting with the man went OK – and after my 'exposure' he relaxed and asked to speak with the nurse. He agreed to go ahead with the last resort, one that would, hopefully, save his life.?

Months later,? I started to crack up. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I couldn’t sleep at night or I slept for an unnatural amount of time. I viewed my own penis as an alien. My financial situation worsened as the news got out of my ’disability’ and my debtors started pushing me for quick repayments of overdraft and loans. The situation became critical as confidence in myself deteriorated. My customers turned away in fear of me not being able to fulfil my contracts.? I had become a shadow of my former self. Even life long business friends shunned me. It was easy to understand why, no one likes being around a person who is ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? depressed, all artists are ’that’ at the best of times, but manic depression is another ball game.

I decided the best way to overcome this dreadful situation was? enforced isolation.? I had to turn and face the reality that tormented me and I had to regain, rebuild or find a totally new me. And I should do this through art? - I reasoned as an artist I should be able to do that, shouldn't I ? That was an open question of course. However, I forged ahead with my plan to rid myself of this person I had become. I removed myself from my wife and family. I sat alone in a one roomed run-down apartment. I thought of suicide frequently, but then remembered discussing that subject years previously with a person who was suffering from a Major Depressive Disorder and whom I had convinced that suicide represented the ’easy way out’.?

So that was a ’no-go’ choice. ”Why didn’t they warn me” I remember asking myself.?But nobody had and I certainly didn't know what lay around the corner, otherwise my advise to the frightened man in the hospital may well have been, perhaps different, but more precise and detailed.?

Once you’re in a deep depressive state you can’t think straight and looking for someone to help you seems pointless. And all these network websites are just full of ego centric applause seeking psycho therapist wannabe’s. Besides, I couldn’t face talking to anyone about either my new penis or my depression attacks.? ? ? ? ? ? ?I lumbered on like a cart with one wheel for about eighteen months. I took on various meaningless jobs which enabled me to make the crucifying back payments schedule enforced on me by my bankers. I lost weight and took refuge in alcohol and painted pictures of agony and emotional breakdowns. I become unable to view myself in a mirror as I became unkempt lacking the self respect to groom myself. Old friends fell away as I meandered into an abyss of self doubt and self pity.? I could have obtained anti-depression pills from my local Doctor, but I knew that would only represent a false and momentary relief from the real problem. ’A quick fix for a superficial society’. I remembered thinking and resisted the temptation. Eventually I turned to writing and reinforced that with painting seriously.? ?

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I created over twenty large paintings over 10 years one of the first was ’Cellular Abstraction’ (see above) which was one of three - and the second set (which took a very long time to paint ) was called Portrait of a Tumor' - That's the one in the heading. The series ended with "One in One million” which relates to the miracle of the creation of life and the fact only one in a million men get Penile cancer.? Again that was a series of three on the same theme. I managed to access the world wide web where I posted my work, I joined cancer?forums on a host of web sites. But that didn’t really go too well. Male Cancer charity's seem only interested in your personal story, so they can gain grants from Governments. I then began to consider if anyone at all had made ’consequence of cure’ as a topic of debate? I couldn’t find anyone on the net who had. ?

This began to give me a direction. I started thinking of others and began talking to people more openly about my new penis, my new direction and my new life and how others could use art, in particular painting as a ’cure to surviving life’. I started thinking better, clearer much more creative and certainly more thankful that I had survived possibly the worse cancer that a man can have and that art really had rescued me from self delusion and destruction - Now I only Lived for Art - and Not Lived off it.

In 2024 the painters TUBES gallery will be mounting a Solo show entitled "Second Chance" where the majority of these paintings will be exhibited.

Painters TUBES magazine is also holding a special Charity Auction for Childrens Cancer in February 2024. All proceeds will be given to the nominated Global Charity. Information will follow on https://painterstubes.com for both events.