My “ADD” is in overdrive right now. Maintaining coherent thoughts is difficult, let alone putting together a decent post. So I have asked my “very coherent” husband to do a guest post. And hopefully I’ll get my proverbial shit together soon!

Or I’ll just give him the blog.(I’m kidding. Maybe.) Have a great evening!

3T asked me to do a guest post, and I’ve thought long and hard about it. In a lot of ways, I’m thinking of the two of us strolling along the white sands of Hawaii in about 10 days, but that’s not something I want to tease any of you with or, worse, bore you with.
In any event, while a good part of my mind is thinking exactly about that, another part of me is looking at the big cloud that looms over me after we return.
My prostate cancer.
Yes, I know 3T has talked about this a lot in her past blogs, and before I go on, I can’t reiterate enough what she told everyone of her male readers. Don’t give into that malarkey about an annual physical not being needed. I read that, asked my doctor about it, she said she didn’t agree and that was good enough for me. And I am glad I asked, because of what she detected and what the specialist she referred me to later found.
Yes, it’s been caught very early and my prospects are bright. But it’s still a big cloud.
I haven’t been in a hospital for an operation for half a century. The last time I was in second grade and getting my tonsils out. I remember being in a Catholic hospital, where these nuns with huge white habits walked around. I went under the anesthetic with the doctor having me count down from 100- I think I made it only to 93. The next thing I knew, I was waking up and staring at this old nun with her white habit.
I did what nuns often inspired me to do.
I puked.
Since then, I’ve been to the ER a couple of times and have visited a few relatives or friends, but dodged being a guest.
Since then, I’ve watched a couple hundred different medical dramas, from ER to St. Elsewhere, and my mind is filled with horrifying episodes of things going wrong.
Since then, the health care system has deteriorated in my mind from a kind, warm God to a kind of fumbling monster.
It didn’t help last week to pick up Time magazine from our kitchen counter and see the cover story about why doctors hate being hospitalized. The article delved into error rates and other scary stuff. And I keep thinking of all those episodes of House and what-have-you where a simple procedure turns into one scary trip to the edges of extinction.
The image-admittedly-naive I used to have about doctors and hospitals is that they could do no wrong and were there to help you and to comfort you. I supposed most medical professionals still think that way, but we now have seen too much in real life and fictional life. We’re now told we need to be advocates for our care. I know I’ve got a great advocate in 3T, but it’s still a little disquieting to know that I need an advocate at all.
I mean, I just want to trust them and not worry about it.
And if I get past the hospital in one piece, I have to worry about recuperation. I’m a fairly active person - not someone who plays tennis and golf and exercises three hours a day, mind you. But the kind of person who likes making sure our household runs reasonably well. With 3T’s back problems, I feel it necessary for me to do the heavy labor around the house. I do it willingly because I adore her and don’t want her to suffer even a minute’s more pain. That’s not sainthood, by the way. It’s my way of trying to keep her healthy so we can enjoy the life we do together.
But now I am faced with the prospect of being relatively immobile for at least a week or two, and I am dreading it. Yes, the silver lining is that I’ll have more time with my wife. And that gives me a lot of comfort. But the uncomfortableness and the painfulness of recovery have me more than a little unsettled.
But I am glad I am getting this done. And feel grateful that all I have to do is this, to rid myself of cancer. My next-oldest brother would have been celebrating his birthday today if he hadn’t died of lung cancer at age 45. I remember all the painful procedures he went through just to buy a little extra time, and how all those painful procedures only served to prolong by a few months the inevitable.
So, I am trying not to be a big baby about all this. I know some of you readers have gone through or are going through things far worse than what I face.
And if you’re lucky enough to be healthy enough and if all your loved ones are the same, thank God.
I know I do, cancer and all.