It’s official. I’m old.
After three weeks of feeling run down and discomfort — down there — I figured last Thursday that I might have an urinary tract infection; however, when I described my constant need to pee, the hardships of doing so and the feeling that I was never quite done, the doc said, “Nuh-uh, it sounds like you have a prostate infection, you old fogy. You should probably feel the need to yell at kids on your lawn, too.” He said it also explained the intense burning of my… uh… let’s just say that what should have been extremely pleasurable almost immediately turned into extremely painful. Whoever said ‘pain is close to pleasure’ never had a prostate infection. Lucky jerk.
Now before I get any more jokes claiming it’s due to “butt sex”, let me stop you right there and remind you that a massaged prostate is a healthy — and happy — prostate. So there.
Now let me amp up the ‘Ew’ factor.
After doing a little research into UTI’s, I found out the procedure for determining what is going on is to catch a urine sample midstream. No problem! I can pee in a cup! I had lots of practice when I was young on family road trips when we were between rest stops aiming for the small opening in the neck of a Coke bottle. So after the doctor checked my lungs and heart, he told me he had forgotten to tell me how he is going to do an initial check for the infection. He would have to do a rectal exam to feel the condition of my prostrate. After seeing him for over eight years, I love and respect my doctor. I just don’t love and respect him in the morning — IF you know what I mean.
I guess my concern looked more quizzical to him and he felt the need to tell me what he was going to do. “You’re going to have to drop trou, bend over and lose all your dignity for me.” Oh, I saw that porn. Look, I’ll be blatant. I don’t care how much I love you; I just don’t like fingers in there. It feels weird and uncomfortable especially when your prostate is swollen and tender; however, I have got to get the name of that lubricant. I kept going and going and going…
Yes, I took a shower after I got home because even then it was still going.
So here I am surrounded by yogurt and kefir trying to send in relief troops to replace those being massacred by Levaquin — a powerful killing agent that goes through your system saying over and over again, “Oh, are you a bacterium? Then you shall surely DIIIIEEE!” Heedless to the beneficial agent’s plea for mercy, it still murders the poor guy in warm blood. I’m on the stuff for 14 days because that damn prostate gland is so impenetrable. Sting is old now. I wonder if I can get him to rewrite one of his most famous songs and call it “Fortress Around Your Prostate”?