The "Procedure"

I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in December of last year, just in time for Christmas.  I had surgery in March of this year, just in time for Easter.  I'm having a cystoscopy day after tomorrow.

Just in time for Halloween.

I get to drive to Birmingham, Alabama, home of the University of Alabama Hospital and my doctor, Erik Busby.  He is my new doctor since my former doctor told me there was nothing wrong with me.  It didn't seem to matter that I couldn't pee, have sex, or move without my midsection feeling like it's separating from the rest of my body.  No doctor in Georgia will see me since they all suspect I'll be suing the former doctor as soon as I find out what IS wrong with me.

If it weren't for my family doctor, Al Parker, I'd probably be dead or dying by now.  He did the test that first showed cancer back in December, then sent me to the urologist for surgery.  He's also the one who found a doctor who'd see me after the surgery to find out what happened during surgery that has left me, well, uncomfortable.  I love Dr. Parker.

My understanding of what a cystoscopy involves goes something like this:

A)  I get to the hospital at 5:30am--AM--Wednesday morning, after which the hospital staff, all of whom are from Alabama, "The Moron State", prepare me for "the procedure".  This involves cleaning and shaving parts of me which I clean but will never, NEVER shave, to allow the doctor unobstructed access for "the procedure".

2)  At around 7:15am, I will be put under General Anesthesia, totally unrelated to Corporal Punishment or Sergeant At-Arms.  This, I guarantee, will be the best part of "the procedure".

D)  While I am "asleep", Dr.  Busby will insert a section of 3 1/4" radiator hose roughly the length of I-75 between Atlanta and Macon into the tip of my You Know What with a camera attached to the end, presumably to record the road trip.  Once the pipe enters my bladder, the good doctor will film a feature-length motion picture, premiere date TBA.

The cystoscopy will determine if I have a tear, rip, wound, etc. on the interior wall of my bladder.  This information is then used to diagnose if any further surgery or treatment is required.  When I wake up my sweetheart will wheel me to the truck and drive me home.

I was wrong.  The anesthesia won't be the best part of the day.  Going home will.