I spent the 20 days of Lent sitting in a heap of ashes, revisiting my shortcomings, and wondering deep down if death was beckoning me.
This season has never been my favorite season, and as the year goes on, my hair shorts itch gets worse. There is so much suffering, fasting, sacrifice and self-denial all year round that it seems like there is no need to make time to think about it. Nature and politics impose themselves regardless.
The results of a prostate blood test called PSA taken in the first week of March showed a significant increase. I was already on my urologist’s watch list. Last year, as a nurse was preparing to insert a snake from behind for a biopsy, she said: “You can thank your brothers for this.” Three of them earned the Big C.
Thanks to an efficient and expensive medical system, I was able to get an MRI scan in Sioux City 20 days after my test results, giving me plenty of time until March 27th.
Has it spread? What is happening there? Every aches and pains have a fateful resonance. I know, as did my relatives, that treatment for prostate cancer can be very successful if detected early. nevertheless …
Jump down the laptop rabbit hole. Oh my PSA score definitely kills me. What his MRI machine is like — I couldn’t bear to be John Glenn in that tube orbiting the Earth. Maybe I can’t play rock’n’roll anymore? Well, buddy, you’re not Wilt Chamberlain or Donald Trump, so calm your libido and cool your jets.
To prove I’m not powerless, I named my son the editor-in-chief after Tom to reflect what he’s already doing. He is responsible. call him. I’m busy thinking: oh, maybe I wasn’t such a hotheaded sloth, but there was no corpse in my trunk, and I’d leave the campsite no worse off than I found it. .
All that self-reflection left me with a stiff jaw, then back pain, and finally a splitting headache until the morning of March 27th when I woke up at 6 a.m. to flush my system. When I woke up, Tom drove me to Sioux City and I went on a mission. name. date of birth. Please bring a photo ID and insurance card. Please sit over there and wait.
That magnet is so strong that I think my belly button will pop out if I don’t remove the stud. What effect will it have on my neurosis? The nurse cheerfully greeted me despite my grumpiness and told me I felt like I was being hit with a hammer. They put earplugs on me and headphones and slipped me inside. Hammers began to pound and buzzers sounded as Outlaw Country competed for attention. Drinks are fine, Merle. At least you can see all the way to the edge of the machine.
The sound of the hammer will stop. They pull me out. Thanks to my three brothers, they have to insult me again, but I’m howling at the moon. Go ahead and scream, no one will hear you here. No one will come to help you. Then they pushed me back, crying. Then the hammer started pounding, the buzzer started going off, and it felt like his head was about to be blown off.
This went on for 30 minutes and then they made me withdraw and head to South Dakota where there were no taxes (of course there were doctors there). The urologist there was very nice and seemed as up to date as Kansas City. He saw some spots. He was found to require further investigation. waiting. Life is a series of indefinite gaps held together by the fear of not knowing. most of the time.
There seems no need to be alarmed. It’s not advanced by any stretch of the imagination. Doctors have been monitoring me for years. You really should get tested, old man. I won’t die from prostate cancer, but my bad habits and faulty genes will get to me at some point.
In the 20 days I spent in the spiritual desert, several epiphanies emerged.
Rural medical care stinks. There is a shortage not only of diagnostic equipment but also of staff, and patients are being lined up like lemmings in a sea. Unless you can afford to go to the Mayo Clinic, there is no way our vaunted private system is any better than Canada’s. It’s great to see a doctor.
There are people worse off than me, and probably worse than you. I may need to explain a little bit at the end, but I don’t think I’m a hardened criminal beyond redemption after earning some time in purgatory.
I have miles left before I need to rest. Place it between the ditches and keep an eye out for deer. Honestly, that’s the best most of us can do.
I passed out after returning home from a Sioux City/South Dakota trip. When I woke up an hour later, my headache had subsided considerably and my back pain had subsided rapidly. The brain is a strange thing. At least that’s the case with me. Is that my fault too?
