As we men age, there is a gradual decline in size. We get shorter, muscles shrink, and our leering eyes are far bigger than our, well, let\u2019s just say we may need pharmaceutical help to show off whatever size we have left.<\/p>\n
But there is one sure thing that will get larger\u2014our prostate. I\u2019ve been particularly cursed: mine has been enlarged since my 20\u2019s. It was so uncomfortable back then I had to sit on donut cushions. Before that I thought they only came with walkers and Depends as a package deal.<\/p>\n
But for 30+ years, there have been no symptoms. The only thing I had to endure was the annual doc\u2019s finger up my ass and his comment, \u201cYep, a little large but smooth,\u201d meaning no cancer.<\/p>\n
But prostates eventually present problems, so my urologist suggested some tests.<\/p>\n
The first was simple enough: pee in a container that measures your \u201cflow.\u201d Peeing under pressure can sometimes be a problem, even in an empty room, when you know at some level you\u2019re going to be judged. And it didn\u2019t help that when I started to pee, a voice from the machine blurted, \u201cMaximum flow.\u201d That stopped me in mid-stream and confirmed that I was going to be judged. Could I top that \u201cmaximum flow\u201d? Well, hell no. I\u2019d start to pee again and wouldn\u2019t hear \u201cmaximum flow\u201d and immediately knew I was failing, which made me feel under greater scrutiny and made it harder to pee.<\/p>\n
Ultimately, I couldn\u2019t very well. And I paid the price. \u201cWell,\u201d the doc said. \u201cYou don\u2019t empty your bladder very well. We\u2019ll need you to come back for more tests.\u201d<\/p>\n
You know you\u2019re in for a treat when the instructions for those tests are, \u201cDrink plenty of water and take four ibuprofen before your appointment.\u201d Really? Four? And then when you get to the office, they give you a prescription pain pill. This isn\u2019t going to be a walk in the park.<\/p>\n
So when the young office assistant said, \u201cYou ready?\u201d with a grin on her face, I asked, \u201cCan I have one of the mints on the counter here as a last meal?\u201d She laughed. It was oh so easy for her <\/i>to laugh.<\/p>\n
The test would be conducted by a nurse who, I can assure you, has seen it all before. So that wasn\u2019t a particular problem. After all, I knew I wasn\u2019t going to be judged on that kind <\/i>\u00a0of performance.<\/p>\n
Instead, she showed me a long thin tube, to where I knew it was going before she said anything. \u201cCould I have another pain pill?\u201d I asked. No was the answer before she showed me the other tube that had to go up there first. It was thicker, I swear, the size of a garden hose. The pain pill hadn\u2019t yet dulled my senses or my imagination.<\/p>\n
But first she had to shoved another tube up my ass to measure some kind of muscle reaction. My glutes tensed, but I don\u2019t think that\u2019s the muscle contraction she was looking for.<\/p>\n
Did she have a bullet I could bite? No, that pain pill and ibuprofen was all I had.<\/p>\n
First, the garden hose. She says I\u2019ll feel a little pressure.<\/p>\n
A little <\/i>pressure! Women often point to child birth as evidence of their superior pain endurance. But I\u2019ll wager that the birth canal is wider than a urethra. And at least the kid is coming out, not going in. I wailed. I half expected the nurse to say, \u201cBreathe, he-he-he-he.\u201d<\/p>\n
Fortunately, that tube went in and out quickly and made way for the thinner tube. My guess is the first was like a roto-rooter they put in sewer pipes to clean them out. I screamed again.<\/p>\n
Now I had to wait, while she filled my bladder. Everything about this was going in the wrong direction.<\/p>\n
Then she stood me up over the same chamber that talked back to me, \u201cMaximum flow.\u201d Only this time she tells me to wait until my bladder is full and I get the urge.<\/p>\n
So I\u2019m standing over this pot with something shoved up my ass and a tube threaded through to my bladder and she says, \u201cWhen you\u2019re ready, I want you to pee.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally?\u201d I said. \u201cJust like I do when I\u2019m alone in my bathroom and I don\u2019t have a tube up my ass and another in my dick?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want me to step out of the room?\u201d she asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, that a start.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll be right outside. Just call me when you pee. And oh, by the way,\u201d she says, \u201cWhen you start to pee, it will sting a little.\u201d<\/p>\n
Like I would feel a \u201clittle\u201d pressure, I thought.<\/p>\n
So she leaves the room and I\u2019m standing there trying to pee knowing that it will sting. That makes it kind of hard to relax. I call her.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I peed.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looks in the pot. \u201cNo, you didn\u2019t.\u201d She continues to pump more water into my bladder. Finally, I\u2019m ready.<\/p>\n
And it feels like I\u2019m peeing razor blades. I didn\u2019t call her name, but something I said clued her that it was time for her to come back in.<\/p>\n
\u201cKeep going,\u201d she says. It\u2019s going all right\u2014down my leg, in between my toes. \u201cNo, that’s normal. You\u2019re OK,\u201d she assured me.<\/p>\n
After that, she yanks both tubes out of my orifices without so much, as \u201cThat was great. I\u2019ll call you in the morning.\u201d She just leaves me to my humiliation and a promise that when I return in a week, the doc will share the results of the tests.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll need to take antibiotics, and it\u2019ll probably sting when you pee for the next few days,\u201d she says. \u201cHave a nice day.\u201d<\/p>\n
It couldn\u2019t get any worse.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
As we men age, there is a gradual decline in size. We get shorter, muscles shrink, and our leering eyes are far bigger than our, well, let\u2019s just say we may need pharmaceutical help to show off whatever size we have left. But there is one sure thing that will get larger\u2014our prostate. I\u2019ve been… Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[217],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1851"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1851"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1851\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1853,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1851\/revisions\/1853"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1851"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1851"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1851"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}