No need to be particular about the particulars

If you ever want to identify the oldest guy in the room, just ask, “Anybody know what a prostate does?”

The youngest fellow will say, “Isn’t it when you lay down flat?”

The middle-aged guy will shrug and say, “That equipment I saw advertised on the Golf Channel?”

The oldest one will sigh deeply and say, “Son … it’s my time management system.”

Because by that point the oldest guy is no longer guessing. He’s on a first-name basis with it.

It decides when he goes to bed.

It decides when he wakes up.

It decides where he sits in church.

And it absolutely decides when he stops at Buc-ee’s, whether he needs to or not.

By 65, men stop measuring road trips in miles.

They measure it in bathrooms.

“It’s only about three rest stops from here.”

Doctors, meanwhile, have a fascinating relationship with the prostate. They spend years in medical school, earn board certifications, and then cheerfully announce, “We’re just going to take a quick look.”

There are few phrases in the English language that inspire less enthusiasm for men.

Whereupon the Doc snaps on the latex glove, squeezes half a tube of jiffylube on the longest of his 10 fingers, instructs you to drop drawers, go semi prostrate, and …. There you go.

Afterward, the Doc does not tell you that your prostate has expanded around the urethra like a boa constrictor.

He says, “Your gland is putting a little pressure on the waterworks.”

“What gland?” you say.

“The male gland.”

“Where is it?” you say

“Down there.”

“What does it do?” you say.

After a technical conversation about fluid flows and reproductive infrastructure, none of which are complimentary, he says, “Nothing to be alarmed about. It is quite common among gentlemen of your years.”

“Gentlemen of your years” being the medical term for old enough to spend half the night walking between the bed and the bathroom.

He refers you to a specialist for a detailed looksie. I found myself before a professional Urologist, some guy who looked just about old enough to vote, and who was accompanied in the room by a perky young blond sorority sister-looking female note-taking med student.

Why she wanted to specialize in male urology is another discussion. Perhaps punishment for a prom date gone very bad?

Did I: have trouble getting the stream started; ever feel I wasn’t finished; experience dribbling afterward (big smirk from the note-taking, sorority-sister man-hater); get up repeatedly during the night; or have ever been unable to pass water at all?

Yes. No. Maybe. What the hell you looking for?

An MRI of the region is ordered up. It’s where you get naked and prostrate and ride a tray into a giant microwave for a 45-minute digitized rendering of ALL THE DETAILS down there.

Afterward, with the blond male-hater taking notes, the Urologist reviewed the MRI.

He spoke freely of every personal topic we experienced men hold dear and quiet that pertain to personal performance, frequency, failure, and all things ACTIVITYWISE DOWN THERE.

Considering my age and the sliced and diced MRI images (which, natch, I never saw), the youthful Urologist recommended a “fused” scan with sound waves to further advance the details and diagnosis.

I didn’t like the term “fused” while discussing exploration of my region(s).

The Urologist said, “It’s a simple and fast procedure. Ten minutes. The most uncomfortable thing is thinking about it beforehand. It’s painless. But if you are nervous we can prescribe ---”

I said, “Do so.”

He said, “It’s painless, really. But we’ll prescribe Valium to help you relax.”

I said, “Yes. What else you got?”

The Man-Hating Sorority Sister noted my question.

He said, “It’s simple, really. We’ve done thousands of them. But some people want ---”

I said, “So do I.”

He said, “We have some Oxycodone to help with pain.”

I said, “What pain? You said it’s painless. Put me down for a double dose. What else you got?”

He said, “So you want Valium and Oxycodone?”

I said, “You’re damn right I want both. You’re going to be inserting a sonar dish up there to FUSE WHATEVER and that you don’t say is painful yet you prescribe patients Oxycodone? Put me down. What else you got?”

The Blond Man-Hater flashed a smirk. Like, Oh, you got it coming, you once-upon-a-time player benched by the prostate.

He said, “Some patients are understandably nervous the first time and ---”

I said, “FIRST TIME?”

He said, “- — and to help them relax we can give them ---”

“I want it,” I said. “Whatever you got on your shelf, I want it.”

“Nitric Oxide for those ---,” he said.

“Yes, “ I said. “What else you got?”

The Blond Man Hater was smirking like it was Saturday night around the campfire.

He said, “Okay. I got you down for Valium, Oxycodone, and Nitric Oxide. All three. It’s just a 10-minute procedure. Painless, really. I must say, that’s a little unusual for a patient to request all three. Are you sure ---”

“Do I look like I give a damn how unusual it is?” I said. “What else?”

The Doc said, “There might be a little blood for the next few days. And it could be a little tender when sitting. And there are a few ‘restrictions’ on certain activities that -----.”

"I get it," I said. "No need to be particular about the particulars. I take it easy for a few days, and we'll get into the specifics later. That about the size of it?"

"That's one way to put it," said the Urologist.