I got my test results yesterday from the urologist. The tests show that my cancer's confined to the prostate. Those are the tidings of great joy that shall be to all to all people.
I am, to put it mildly, relieved.
Now for the other "C" word.
I was in a wreck when I was fifteen and severely injured. Late that night, in the hospital, the nurse told me I needed to "void" into a bottle. Or else.
I had back surgery when I was twenty-two. Surgery in the afternoon, then around midnight, the nurse (a different one) told me I needed to "void" into a bottle. Or else.
Or else what? you might ask.
Or else they would insert a catheter to drain my bladder.
Catheter, for the medically challenged, comes from a Greek word which means "to force a large pipe into a small hole causing as much pain and misery as possible."
The doctor told me, as part of my surgical procedure, that I would be "wearing" a catheter for 6-10 days. I don't understand. It's not like wearing a coat or wearing a necklace or wearing a smile. Definitely not like wearing a smile.
My sweetheart had to have a catheter when she had surgery once. She thinks I'm a baby. I think she's (kind of) enjoying this (I'll debate anyone--anytime--about the indisputable fact that women are amused when men are in pain).
There's a reason they call private parts "private". Other than your mother when you're a child, your teammates when you play football, and your wife, no one--NO ONE--should be allowed in the dome of privacy.
Mine will be violated sometime in January.
I can't wait.