Stuffed Owl
The biopsy was a walk. I mentioned to the doctor that I'd heard two stories from people who'd had this done: one, from my cousin, saying it was like someone snapping a rubber band against your skin, which I don't remember being all that uncomfortable; and, the other, related by a friend about her friend who'd described it as the most painful experience of his life. They used a local anesthetic and I think the rubber band snaps I remember as a kid were more painful, more a popping sound, really, than a feeling of pain. Good. Very good.
I'm sitting here now feeling sore down wherever this damned thing is located and assume - it says so in the instructions - all will be well tomorrow. Something about blood in the stool and the urine and don't start the blood thinner again until it disappears. May also be blood in the semen. Might be interesting, from a purely intellectual standpoint you understand, to check that out.
I meet with the doctor again in a week to go over the results. My guess is I should be reading about prostate cancer - I've read a few things on the web and they are depressing, although it seems manageable if you catch it in time - but I'll put it off until Thursday. Even if the biopsy is negative, why the unusual PSA count? What in the hell, by the way, is a PSA count? Better to catch it now. Get your annual physicals, kids. Things happen.
Enough of physical ills. I do not want this journal to turn into a "Last Days of the Proprietor" screed, at least not until Thursday, and any joking I'm making about it now is an indication of how little I know about any of it in the first place. Ha, ha. Right. Tired, though. Long morning, rubber band snaps notwithstanding. Lunch at the cafe over near the Grand Lake theater. So far, so good. The butt is feeling better. Go over to the City Center concert and have some chicken wings, a glass of wine and a sit in the sun. Notice: of the 800 people in my company who work in the building next door, I am the only one sitting out here listening. What does that tell you? About my company? About me? Watched the other people, little stories each unto themselves, many of them, like me, here every week. Who are they? Shot more pictures. Thought about tomorrow and the tomorrow thereafter and what tomorrow thereafter may bring. Actually, I drank wine and kicked back. Let tomorrow take care of itself.
Wuss update: Wuss just now peed on the bed. I'm not sure he even knows he's doing it. The whole works is in the washer at the moment mixed with Tide and Nature's Miracle. Still smells like piss. Maybe I should use cold water in the wash. Maybe I should trade Wuss in on a stuffed owl.
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