The follow-up treatment for prostate cancer patients treated with radiation includes a review of PSA levels every 6 months and a manual exam. So I pack up my glowing, radiated prostate and drive it over to the urologist’s.
“Any problems to report?” he asks me, reviewing the record.
He’s used to me by now. “I mean physical problems,” he says.
Well, hell. Those two things are a huge pain in the ass.
“You don’t know what a pain in the ass is,” says Guido. “But keep it going. You will.”
“How many times are you getting up in the night to urinate?”
None. It’s winter. The floor is cold. I just wet the bed.
He notes the record while Guido makes that funny growling noise she uses to scare the cats off the table. What a team they make.
I show him what I think is a bruise on my dick — a very sore area that is discolored and tender to the touch. He says he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “Did you do this during sex?” he asks.
That’s likely, especially with Guido. I mean, ONLY with her. ONLY!
“Isn’t it about time you performed the exam?” Guido suggests to the doctor who is unsuccessfully repressing his laughter. “Because if not, I have something sharp of my own to stick in him.”
He snaps his rubber gloves and motions toward the table. I drop trou and bend over. What a job this poor man has chosen for himself. He runs his right arm in up to the elbow, then shoulder. You think I exaggerate? When he’s done he tells me my prostate feels fine, but I should have my top left molar checked out.
I flee to the bathroom to pee and exhale anally. Aaah, the fine bourquet of latex and KY Jelly. Takes me back to my days hanging out at the Glory Hole Inn. Yeah, I said it — “hanging out.”
On the way out the physician’s assistant writes me a prescription for another PSA test, then has me bend over so she can repeat the manual exam. The receptionist sets up another appointment, stamps my parking ticket, and performs another manual exam. I wobble out with Guido, get the car, and drive to the payment booth. The attendant, seeing that the ticket was stamped by the urologist’s office, performs a manual exam.
Everybody wants to get into the act.
As we’re heading home, Guido suggests we pick up something to eat. “If you don’t want to sit anywhere, we can get it to go,” she offers.
Go? Go where? Damn — not again! Enough already!
Keep an eye on your prostate health, gentlemen. Cancer may be coming to an asshole near you. Very, very near.