Rambling on the Prostate

Let all people of good will be warned, do not come between the pastor and his prostate. If a bathroom run is needed and a person, even though notified by the not so continent priest, asks a question anyway and expects a reply, that person is open season for pushing, shoving, or becoming drenched. Prostate cancer runs to the restroom in the men of my paternal side. None have so far died exclusively of that bane of male geriatrics but it hasn’t made life a bowl of cranberry juice. My father complained some years ago of the indignity of bending over a table for 36 different radiation treatments in the private area. The image caused the family grocery bill to decrease substantially.

When the doctor announced it was time for action on the malignant gland, I jumped into action and ran for the nearest toilet. The decision was made to remove it; this led to several questions to which the urologist claimed ignorance. “Do I have to call the organ donor people and mention they won’t be getting that particular piece of the male body?” Several years ago I made a similar call about my gall bladder to which they feigned apathy; the Lord only knows what they’ll do if the appendix is knocked off the “to-do” list for my cadaver.

You may find this insane, but there is no transplant list for a prostate. Who knew? Not to make light of livers, lungs, kidneys, hearts, etc., but if they have effective treatments for erectile dysfunction, shouldn’t there be a 50 million dollar government grant for an artificial prostate given to the University of Southern Incontinence? Could there be a dialysis machine for prostates? To be fair, I’m not really sure what this gland or organ does other than kill you eventually.

Good preparation requires going on the internet and believing everything you read. First and foremost, become a one man hoarder of Adult Diapers (hereafter, ADs). Not just any ADs will do, they have to be name brand. I tried out a store brand AD in preparation for P-Day but it disintegrated in the water. The manager of the motel pool was not a kind and understanding person. The name brand was much better but had the down side of being sold out first at every store. It is said you’ll need the ADs for a month or more. I figured the “more” in my case since potty training was replaced by puberty.

To hook up with the most packages of ADs it was helpful to hang around the diaper aisle of the local grocery as the supply trucks arrived. It’s a bit embarrassing to explain to the security officer why you were standing in that aisle for four hours but the haul was worth it. The sales clerk wanted to bag the booty (think pirate) but they were carted loud and proud to the rented U-Haul. If I’m found dead before the surgery, the 250 packages of ADs will live in local legend and mystery.

There are things in life that seem small and insignificant until they make their presence known in a loud and threatening way. Little lies are like that. “Well, it’s just a small and insignificant matter, what harm can it do?” But it’s like all sin, starts small and grows so much over time that we’re not even aware of its size until too late. We can even fool ourselves into thinking everything is all right. I can’t feel my prostate, there are few bathroom issues, but an expert doctor detected it. We don’t feel sin, most the effects are few, at first, but it takes a good prayer life and spiritual guide to point to a possible sin malignancy.

There is so much more to say, but I have to go…

4 thoughts on “Rambling on the Prostate

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