Friday, September 21, 2012


I went to my urologist today. I took Ann Tyler's "Beginning Good-bye" and finished it in the waiting room and the exam room waiting for the doctor. I recommend it highly--or anything by Ann Tyler, the girl's a writing machine. In between the waiting room and the exam room, I peed in a cup and talked to the nurse, asking her how my PSA was. She wasn't supposed to tell me but because I am so disarming and charming, she did. It was so low it couldn't be measured. I was thrilled! That meant, I imagined that I wouldn't get an injection of Luprin--a drug I was on for over a year before last March. I haven't had it since then and my PSA actually went down! The doctor came in. We shake hands a lot. We shake hands when he comes in and when we leave and then again at the desk after making my next appointment. It's not bad because his hands are small and soft. The urologist who removed my prostrate 8 years ago had hands like an NFL linebacker. Since these are people who stick their fingers up your butt, small hands are a plus.... He told me that--after 8 years and after surgery and radiation (that messed up my bladder quite a bit)and hormone treatment, I was "essentially cured". I'd come back every six months for a year and then every year for a while, but what I heard him saying was that finally, finally I could say I was a cancer survivor! Praise the Lord and pass me another glass of wine! I told him in the last six months that I realized how lethargic Luprin had made me. He smiled, "well yes," he said, "I hear that a lot." So, I didn't go to them gym today as celebration. My seldom going to the gym over the year before the last six months (when I've gone 5 or 6 times a week) was due to the drug. I just didn't realize it until now. And the 15 pounds I gained and the occasional sweating spells and the lack of energy--all that was Luprin related, but I didn't realize it because in a year you can get used to how you feel and think it is normal, I guess. (He was so pleased with my progress that he didn't even put his finger up my butt. I had a cover story that I needed to have a bowel movement and a finger up my butt would be a problem, but I didn't need it. Truth is, whenever I think a doctor is going to stick his finger up my butt, I need to poop. That's just me and don't know if it is generally true....Women might be interested in this: whenever a doctor sticks his or her finger up your butt--I've had both male and female urologists--they invariable, like a knee-jerk reflex--say "sorry". My inclination, when they say 'sorry' is to say--though I've only said it once to my GP who've I had for a quarter of a century--"how was it for you? Want a cigarette?") I'm so happy about all this I could weep for joy...Probably, I'll get hit by a bread truck crossing the street next week....

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some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.