percentage of cases, but not in mine. It’s testosterone that fuels the cancer growth, did you know that? Mine’s an aggressive one. Mucho macho. When I first met my specialist I thought he was a patronizing little fart, excuse me, but I’ve warmed to him lately. He tells it straight. The radiation treatment didn’t do the trick. I can still opt for surgical removal of the tumour, but it’s in a ticklish spot. There is the risk of a little slip with the blade, can you imagine? Whoops, I’m suddenly incontinent. Rubber knickers, absorbent pads, worrying about how strongly I might smell of piss when I’m sitting in the theatre.’
‘No. Don’t do that.’
‘Exactly. So instead of going under the knife, my friend the specialist gives me injections of female hormone. It works, but there’s a payoff. It makes me completely impotent. However much I might want to, these days I couldn’t get it up for a whole chorus line of chefs. Not even individually basted in virgin olive oil and served with side dishes of oysters and rhino horn.’
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