It’s a Guy Thing
During a routine visit to my doctor, he started scrolling through my extensive medical records that are longer than a Google search for chicken soup recipes. He said “I don’t see any record of you ever having a PSA test and at your age, you really should. It's just a simple blood test.” Oh joy, another bonus for living longer.
A few weeks later I trotted off to my appointment to have my very first PSA test at the age of 67.
Three days later he calls with my results and he is not pleased!
Next, he arranges for me to have a prostate exam. My wife insisted on coming to the appointment, however I’m not sure she really understood what was about to take place any more than I did.
When the Doctor explained the procedure, he asked if she wanted to remain in the room during the exam. My wife replies, “thanks for asking but I think I’ll just wait in the hall” and bolts out the door like a shot.
So a few minutes later I’m alone with a guy I’ve never seen before, my pants are down around my ankles, I don’t see any medical diplomas on the wall, and neither of us are even attempting to make eye contact. Suddenly I heard the snap of a rubber glove followed by a squishy sound of lube squirting out of a tube, and I know what’s coming next.
Doctor Sausage Fingers back there hits the bullseye and I’m squealing like a ten year old girl at a Taylor Swift concert. I’m up on my tippy toes and feeling like a sock puppet.
A few minutes after the probing of my deep space, I pull my pants back up, not once daring to take my eyes off the floor. He says that he detected something he doesn’t like and wants me to have a prostate biopsy. Something he didn’t like? Let me tell you about something I didn’t like!
A couple of weeks later, I’m booked in for a prostate biopsy. If the prostate exam was a giggle, the biopsy ought to be an all out comedy fest!
Prior to leaving home on the morning of the biopsy I was instructed to completely empty my bowels because, how else are they going to get to my prostate? It took just a few minutes to realize why they insisted I do this at home, safely away from any innocent patients and the underpaid hospital cleaning staff!
Apparently, letting nature take its course is not reliable enough to do the job completely. They want to be sure that I evacuate everything I have ever consumed since the Nixon administration.
The procedure is very simple. I was supplied with some type of witch’s potion that has the blasting power of dynamite. I mixed the lethal brew together and poured it into a large syringe about the size of the thingy my wife uses to decorate birthday cakes for the grandkids. I then had to insert the king sized end of the syringe into my tiny sized business end that meant folding my body into a position that only an 80 pound Eastern European gymnast could master.
After giving a quick nod to the gods, I slowly massaged the syringe home and pushed the plunger in. A couple minutes later there’s a fire fight deep inside my guts as the gates of Hell opened up. I immediately experienced the world’s quickest weight loss program, dropping two pant sizes within minutes!
Upon arriving at the hospital for the feature event of the day I was instructed to remove all my clothes and put on what could pass as a queen sized bed sheet with the back side fully open, providing an unobstructed view of my lily white buttocks to the viewing public.
As I bent forward over the examination bed, the doctor stood directly behind me, focused on his assigned task. His assistant and trainee, an attractive young lady, sat beside him carefully noting his every move and running commentary.
I tried to maintain my calm, cool composure by thinking about this doctor’s career choices, but my mind drifted away for a moment. I started to wonder if this doctor somehow lost a bet and dashed his chances to become a dentist repairing cavities instead of staring at my cavity.
My attention returned to what was going on behind me and what sounded and felt a lot like the staple gun I use at home for tacking up plastic sheeting around the windows in the winter.
As the doctor continued extracting twelve small pieces of my prostate for analysis, the faint sound of “click-pop-click-pop” kept me into a state of minor terror. I really wish I had remembered to ask him how many times I would be hearing that click-pop-click-pop sound before he was finished because I was starting to sense an awful feeling building in my guts.
All I could think about was did I actually follow the directions correctly for mixing the human Draino or is my wife right when she says I never ask for directions or follow instructions?
Just as I was about to waive the white flag in surrender, Dr. Ben Dover gives me the all clear signal which was such a relief because if he’d been much longer, I’m afraid his attractive young assistant seated beside him might have decided to change careers right there on the spot!
In the end (no pun intended) I got through the ordeal, but as much as I respect the professionals who worked on me, I really hope I never meet any of them ever again! But if I do see them somewhere public like a grocery store, you can bet my eyes will be firmly focused on the floor at all times!
(Every detail of this story is absolutely true, except for the parts I completely made up)
Copyright 2025 K. Lane. Smith 2024
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Thanks for reading!
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Kenneth
