"Hast Seen the White Whale?"
Well, the time for the biopsy approached (again) and my nerves frayed (again) and none of this was helped by being unable to use the kinds of medicines that actually cure the headaches that come when you cannot eat what you usually eat, cannot drink what you usually drink, and in general are living an Alien Life!
My dear daughter-in-law Kim went to the doctor with me, knowing I would be something of a mess after the event. As we waited and the people in charge kept assuring me that most guys who go through this procedure think it is 'Nothing,' we discovered that Kaiser, grounds and all, is a 'no smoking campus.' Fortunately, Kim does not smoke menthol cigarettes, otherwise I should have said something about 'non campus menthis:' but I did not.
They called me in, and again assured me that I would be ok. They could tell I was having a problem by the dead whiteness of my skin and the trembling of all extremities.
Blood pressure was taken and I was ushered into the refrigerator. I know there are good reasons for hospitals to be cold, but that does not help. Cold makes me tense up even more! And then I had to take my pants off!
Oh, how I was longing for that cast party in the hot tub!
To cut to the chase: the procedure is pretty simple. They shove a sonic canon up your ass and use it to site as they fire a dozen harpoons through your intestinal wall and into your prostate.
The doctor first used the ultrasound to discover whether my prostate was swollen as a whale, but he didn't tell me. He shot first with lydacain ("Lydacain Rose, oh my Lydacian Rose..."), then fired away.
Mind you, everybody was kind and careful and bending over backward to assure that the experience was as least horrible as it could be. They let me tell jokes. We discussed the shores of Tahiti (where it is warm) and what opera I liked (I allowed as Peter Grimes was one favorite, though to call something 'modern' when it was written around the time I was born seems odd..) and many other things designed to divert me from the experience.
In the end (my end) the pain came on and was awful. I bled like a stuck pig!
When it was over, and the very kind doctor was gone, the assistant continued to sooth me until I was able to get up. (They had covered me with blankets against the approach of the glaciers from the hallway.) I did get up, made my way out, and greeted my dear Kim.
And then we had to do the shopping for the ritual two days in the future, which involved a Mexican market with excellent prices.
It was three or five hours later that I realized that the horrible pain was not from the procedure, but a seizure of spastic collitus, brought on by my tension and the cold. I kept on with my LeMaz breathing and by the time we got back to my house I was weak but out of agony.
I am still waiting for the results, but everything else is pretty much working again, and my son is doing the heavy lifting of stuff like firewood.
I cooked the goat, we got through the ritual, and next week we are going to Pantheacon. And, the weather has been a great deal better.
My dear daughter-in-law Kim went to the doctor with me, knowing I would be something of a mess after the event. As we waited and the people in charge kept assuring me that most guys who go through this procedure think it is 'Nothing,' we discovered that Kaiser, grounds and all, is a 'no smoking campus.' Fortunately, Kim does not smoke menthol cigarettes, otherwise I should have said something about 'non campus menthis:' but I did not.
They called me in, and again assured me that I would be ok. They could tell I was having a problem by the dead whiteness of my skin and the trembling of all extremities.
Blood pressure was taken and I was ushered into the refrigerator. I know there are good reasons for hospitals to be cold, but that does not help. Cold makes me tense up even more! And then I had to take my pants off!
Oh, how I was longing for that cast party in the hot tub!
To cut to the chase: the procedure is pretty simple. They shove a sonic canon up your ass and use it to site as they fire a dozen harpoons through your intestinal wall and into your prostate.
The doctor first used the ultrasound to discover whether my prostate was swollen as a whale, but he didn't tell me. He shot first with lydacain ("Lydacain Rose, oh my Lydacian Rose..."), then fired away.
Mind you, everybody was kind and careful and bending over backward to assure that the experience was as least horrible as it could be. They let me tell jokes. We discussed the shores of Tahiti (where it is warm) and what opera I liked (I allowed as Peter Grimes was one favorite, though to call something 'modern' when it was written around the time I was born seems odd..) and many other things designed to divert me from the experience.
In the end (my end) the pain came on and was awful. I bled like a stuck pig!
When it was over, and the very kind doctor was gone, the assistant continued to sooth me until I was able to get up. (They had covered me with blankets against the approach of the glaciers from the hallway.) I did get up, made my way out, and greeted my dear Kim.
And then we had to do the shopping for the ritual two days in the future, which involved a Mexican market with excellent prices.
It was three or five hours later that I realized that the horrible pain was not from the procedure, but a seizure of spastic collitus, brought on by my tension and the cold. I kept on with my LeMaz breathing and by the time we got back to my house I was weak but out of agony.
I am still waiting for the results, but everything else is pretty much working again, and my son is doing the heavy lifting of stuff like firewood.
I cooked the goat, we got through the ritual, and next week we are going to Pantheacon. And, the weather has been a great deal better.