My Favorite Prostate Procedure

A Sick And Twisted Tale

You know you’re officially old when the most interesting thing you have to talk about with friends, is your latest procedure.

          You don’t even have to explain that it’s a medical procedure, because everybody knows by your mere use of the word procedure what you’re talking about.

          That’s what me and my buddies do these days. We sit around drinking coffee that we’re not supposed to have and talk about our ----insert name of procedure here----.

          It’s gotten so bad that my friend, Roy, from my college days, has issued a rule that in our group messages and reunions, no one is allowed to discuss knee replacements, and things like that. Good rule Roy.

          So let me tell you about my latest visit to the urologist. The urologist is kind of like the gynecologist, only for men. Though there are women who get the double bonus. They get to go to the urologist and the gynecologist.

          I had The UroCuff Test. The test is about as close as I’ll ever get to a European vacation. Whenever I go to the urologist I get to be Uro-peein. It says here on my cell phone the UroCuff test measures the amount of pressure generated by your bladder, your flow rate and the amount of urine you void.

Were it not for the UroCuff, I never would have gotten to meet Nurse Ratchet. The pleasure is truly mine.

“What’s your name,” Nurse Ratchet asks me.

“What’s your birth date!”

“What’s the matter. I asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry. 12/21/1955.”

“That’s better. Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Did you drink your water an hour before coming here.”

“Yes.”

“32 ounces?”

“Yes.”

“Is your bladder comfortably full or are you ready to burst.”

“I feel like Johnstown during the flood.”

“Good. Let’s get started.”

“Drop your pants!”

“Take down your underwear!”

“Lift your penis.”

I hesitate for a moment.

  I said lift your penis.”

“Ya vol commandant.”

"What was that.”

“Oh nothing nurse. You have a wonderful way about you.”

Nurse Ratchet makes a face as she looks at me. She knows a schmuck when she sees one. Nurse Ratchet is like the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld only she’s the Piss Nazi. I want to turn the tables on her. Tell her No Piss For You.

But I got to take this test. The urologist wants to determine if I have have a blockage somewhere from an enlarged prostate. I'd say say my prostate is a pain in the ass. But the discomfort is more around the front of the body.

I mean just look at my prostate. What a goofy son of a bitch. Smiling and all. The damn thing looks like an alien.

Nurse Ratchet has more instructions for me.

“Okay I’m going to put the cuff on your penis. It connects to the computer. I’m putting these monitors on you. Do not. I repeat do not pee on my floor. You got that.”

“Yes mam.”

  Nurse Ratchet puts the pneumatic cuff on my you know what.

“Press the button on the wall when you’re done.”

God that Nurse Ratchet is so sweet. She leaves the room.

  I start peeing into this flow meter. But then the cuff inflates, interrupting the flow. Nurse Ratchet didn’t explain any of this beforehand. So, I’m a little confused. I’m starting to panic. But then the cuff rapidly deflates allowing me to continue with my flow. The cycle repeats and repeats. Tightening then releasing.

          This goes on for a while. Picture having a miniature blood pressure sleeve on your manhood. They even have a bullseye on the device to aim at. So thoughtful.

           It’s a very pleasant experience. After a bit you start to feel like Bruce Lee has gotten you with the kung fu grip. Is the lemonade burning a little as it’s coming out, or, am I imagining that. No, it is burning. Oh, and it looks like I’m bleeding a little. Now it looks like pink lemonade.

          Boy this is a blast, a real pisser. What will they think of next. When I’m done, I hit the button on the wall. Nurse Ratchet comes in again.

          “Good. You didn’t pee on the floor.”

          “Pull up your underwear. Put on your pants. Go to Room 7. I’ll meet you there.”

          In Room 7, she does an ultrasound, to determine how much urine is left in my bladder. She also measures how tall, wide and the depth of my bladder. She shows me the measurements. They mean nothing to me.

          “You got your cell phone. I forgot mine in the other room. I need to add these numbers.”

          I make a joke about old people and technology. I pull up the calculator on my phone. She forgets to laugh.

          “Give me your phone.”

          “No,” I say. “Figure it out longhand.”

          She snatches the cellphone and punches in the numbers.

          “99.89. I’ll put down your measurement as 100. Head to checkout.”

          Was it as good for you as it was for me, I ask her.

          “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out. Your doctor will go over your results with you.”

Guess this Uro-vacation turned out to be just what the doctor ordered.