The last time another man touched me in my underpants was eleven years ago. Last week that same man touched me in my area again and, while I don’t know about you, I really didn’t like it.

Which is why I put off having my oversized testicle looked at for so long. Well, not really, it was definitely looked at, people couldn’t help but stare, but I decided to finally solicit an expert’s opinion when the dull throb of pain got too much for me and my underpants couldn’t handle the abnormal load anymore.

I was in a bad way, no doubt, and with much trepidation I made my way to my urologist with a mix of shame, fear and a bit of a limp given the size of my left nut. There was hope though, because after the first time I went to go see my urologist I walked out of his offices with a much lighter step. The imagination has a way of making things far worse than what they actually are, and a week after my consultation with him he removed a hernia from my groin, fixed a varicocele – a type of varicose vein of the scrotum –and then circumcised me.

For a while I looked like Frankenstein’s monster from the waist down, but as soon as the Stay-Soft medication wore off – an erection would’ve split all of those fresh stitches –I found a girl and tried out my new goods on her. After she fell pregnant it was clear that everything still worked. Lucky me.

You’d think that having gone through all that I would now be the first in line to go and have an ingrown ball-hair seen to. Well just because you’ve done something once doesn’t make it any easier. My wife had actually been asking me to go and have my nut looked at for a while. I’ve always had big balls, but she reckoned that the left one was growing. I laughed it off. She persisted, phoning my mom, questioning my dad and rustling up a posse of people who then pestered me about my package. So I told a convenient lie, saying that I’d seen my GP and that he said that there was nothing to be concerned about, that I just had big balls.

I was prepared to live with a left nut the size of a fist. Who wouldn’t want a big bulge in his pants? After I broke up with the mother of my first child I realized how skinny jeans got me a lot more action than I would’ve otherwise had. Sure the majority of girls were bitterly disappointed once I’d revealed what I was actually packing, but that was fine, I’d already got my, ahem, foot in the door.

Living with a massive testicle can be fun for a while; the novelty then quickly wears off when it starts to get in the way of everything. I’ve bruised my ball more than once. Football and surfing are the worst offenders, and then everything from playing with the kids to an excitable dog to girl-on-top sex have potential to cause pain, too. After being spatchcocked in the flats one evening session at Llandudno, I walked up to my friend Dwalla in the car park, popped a bright red and swollen nut out of the bottom of my boxer shorts, and asked him what he reckoned. Guy was visibly repulsed, asked me to never do that ever again, and said that I should probably go and have it looked at. Which I planned to do, just as soon as I could breathe properly again… Then the swelling went down, the black turned to the type of green you see stamped onto steaks, and so I just kind of left it…

But there are only so many knocks that a man’s balls can take, and it happened again while freeballing in boardshorts while recently in Durban. I went up to do a turn and my surfboard shot between my legs and the lip of the wave drove it into me. This time it was so bad that I didn’t really know where the other nut had gone to, somewhere in my abdomen probably, and I was forced to wear tracksuit pants on the flight back home. This was made worse by having my wife, her brother and his wife discussing my bulge and them joking about security check.

By then I’d also noticed that most of my underpants had holes in them. Not the type of holes that Joost had in his undies when he did Ketamine with that stripper; one large strategic hole, which my balls hung out. Was the alternative buying custom made undies with underwire supports? Was I like that overly developed schoolgirl with the back problems, forced to carry a pile of books in front of my lap whenever I walked?

So I finally went to see a urologist, didn’t even mess around with a GP, because forget the middleman, right? I went straight to the same doctor that I’d seen as a 21-year old boy, who didn’t remember me until I pulled my pants down. (I kid). He had a fiddle, then said, “Definitely abnormal.” After a scan he was relieved that the testicle was healthy, that it was some sort of water retention and scarification caused by all those knocks that I’d taken. So besides an operation, some discomfort and a few new stitches to my collection, I’m going to be okay!

If you’ve read anything else with my byline on it you’ll gather that I’m pretty cynical about most things. Making money on a cute pun, facial hair and ball cancer makes me question motives. Despite my issues, if Movember somehow results in a dude having that lump on his nut looked at, well then I can’t fault it. Early detection means that you get a second chance. Don’t go and die from something that can be fixed.