Goosey-loosey

Yesterday (Monday, December 3rd, 2012) was my every-six-months consideration and inspection of my prostate-gland, which is fairly enlarged.
The appointment was at Urology Associates of Rochester (NY), where good old Crystal, MPAS, RPA-C, pokes her well-lubricated finger up my butt to ascertain if any lumps are on my prostate. Such lumps could be cancerous.
That’s “prostate,” people; not “prostrate.” I caught that mistake at the Messenger newspaper, and my brother-in-Boston, a macho Harley-dude, loudly insists it’s “prostrate.”
Crystal and I also discuss the results of a PSA blood-test. “PSA” is Prostate-Specific-Antigen, which goes up with prostate-cancer.
My PSA goes up and down slightly, but it’s never been a red flag.
Although two prostate biopsies have been done.
So Crystal walked in. “How ya doin’?” she bubbled.
The dreaded question I always have difficulty with as a bereaved person.
“Well okay I guess,” I said.
“Why? What’s all that about?” she asked.
“Well, my wife died,” I answered.
She frowned, as if to say “I forgot.”
“Still eating right, sleeping properly, taking care of yourself?”
“Yes,” I answered; “but I live in a mad, mad, mad, mad world.”
In-and-out in about five minutes. Rectal exam completed it was “Get outta here. See you in six months.”
I worry about these health-assessments.
What if follow-up is required?
The last biopsy was an outpatient hospital procedure. It involved anesthesia, and my wife had to drive me home.
My wife is gone now.
Crystal and I discussed this, that a prostate biopsy didn’t have to be a hospital procedure, and could be done with local anesthetic that didn’t impede driving.
We also discussed my dog-problem, and she told me they would arrange for my dog if I had to be taken out of my house.
As it was I had to leave my dog alone in my house to make this appointment.

• The “Messenger” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired almost seven years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern [I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well]). (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.