cancer

Odd feeling sitting in the consulting room hearing muffled voices, hallway chatter through the door, Doc tells a woman in the next room to call him with any questions gee the walls in this place seem thin I check my phone for messages.  Soggy looking PEOPLE mag in the corner can't imagine touching anything in this room with ungloved hands. Doc walks in shakes hands. No gloves but that was the days of innocence before COVID.

My kids age. Gives one the impression of a guy at the top of his game.  Wiry, but without the nervous edge one usually associates with that build.  If he isn't a swimmer he should be.  I'm thinking do I trust this guy with a scalpel in his hand?  Urologist.

The story would be a lot easier to tell if the cancer has manifest in a part of my body that doesn't require going below the underwear. Uncle google can fill you in on all the details.

Probably started worrying about cancer in first grade when a wort appeared on the pad of my left forefinger worried me no end.  Dinner table talk at our house would have been salted with cancer stories. My old man, a small-town preacher always visiting the sick comforting the dying. It's possible that there had been a day or two between the first-grade worry wort and that morning in Doc. Mock's office that I didn't worry about having cancer.  Almost a relief to hear the words echo probably through the wall to the next poor sap sitting awaiting his fate.  First thought, well finally.  One less thing to worry about in this life. If something else doesn't get me first I'm going down with metastatic prostate cancer complications.  

Next year? Six months to live? Some guys make it ten years on the standard treatment for when it has spread too far to be cut out or zapped clean by radiation.