Do. Not. Like.

So as you all know by now – thanks in part to my incessant whining – I had a biopsy done for possible prostate cancer. The entire day was less than enjoyable.

The day started off with a trip to court, where the gods smiled upon me by getting me out of the courtroom in less than an hour. I was home by 10am, and began the preparations. First up, “the dreaded apparatus” AKA the enema. I’ve never had to use an enema before; the closest I’ve come was a terrible tasting liquid I had to drink before taking a colonoscopy, which had me glued to the toilet for an hour.

The enema was basically the same deal, except more, um, invasive. I won’t disgust you with the details, but if nothing else, they work like a charm.

An hour before the visit, the doctors wanted me to drink 32 ounces of water for the ultrasound. I ended up drinking three 16-ounce bottles, and really, really, REALLY had to pee when I arrived at the office. After ten minutes of agonizing waiting, the doctor called me back and said, “Oh we’re not doing the ultrasound. Do you want to use the restroom?”


The doctor administering the exam explained everything. They would insert a scope into my perfectly shaped ass to get a look at my prostate. They wanted to check size and abnormalities. Then they would give me local anesthesia – by inserting a needle into the prostate – to numb the pain. Finally, they would take samples from the prostate and send them to the lab for analysis.

The first doctor inserted the scope – which was… unpleasant – and said my prostate size was fine, and everything “looked” normal. He then added looking at it through a scope doesn’t mean anything until it is closely viewed. The first doc wrote down measurements – 36-24-36 – removed the scope and went to get my urologist, as I laid on my side with a sheet of wax paper covering my perfectly shaped ass.

About ten minutes later, the first doc, my urologist, and the sexy Russian nurse from the previous visits entered the room. The Russian nurse started laughing, and I assumed it was at my predicament. The first doc laughed and asked, “You’re not laughing at him are you?” My beautiful Russian dreamgirl replied, “Oh, I would never laugh at Wyatt.” I’ll bet that’s due to my perfectly shaped ass.

The urologist grabbed the controls and reinserted the scope and the (I guess) scalpel. He said I would hear a click every time he takes a sample, and it would sound like a stapler. I was seriously hoping it wasn’t an actual stapler, but whatever. The anesthesia was already given, so I figured this would be a walk in the park. I heard the first click, and audibly groaned.

I wouldn’t say it was excruciating, but it wasn’t completely painless, either. I figured I could hold out for a few more clicks, so I kept thinking about the Russian dreamgirl. The clicks continued. I started to wonder how large my prostate had become because this guy was clicking more than Erik when he plays Fortnite.

The urologist got to six, and I was seriously ready to jump through the window. Then he says, “We’re halfway there.”


Six clicks and a ton of stress later, it was finished. The samples would be sent to the lab for observation, and the urologist said I could make the appointment – the big one, where I find out if I have the C-word – at the front desk.

Being Thanksgiving week, the office schedule was spotty at best, and the next available appointment is December 10th. Nineteen days from now. So I have the better part of three weeks to stress over this.

Yay me.

13 thoughts on “Do. Not. Like.

  1. RG – My family will be at the in-law’s. I’ll be working the 3p-11p shift. Hooray.

    Cathy – I don’t like it, but I understand it. The world doesn’t revolve around me. It will someday, but not today. πŸ™‚

    Toothy – Thanks. I told my coworkers I almost hope it’s positive so I can get the treatment a.s.a.p. I don’t want to come back a year later to hear it’s too far gone. Doc seems to think this is beatable, but we’ll see what the tests show.


  2. Hoping and praying for the best possible outcome for you, Wyatt. Next Wednesday, in preparation for my annual exam, I am having my “smash and dash” otherwise known as a mammogram. Those puppies are not fun either but still better than the pap smear. The things we go through as we get older.


  3. ROnni – Heh, heh, you said “puppies.” Good luck. Cancer of any sort is a despicable disease, and while these tests and biopsies suck, it’s the best way we can fight this off.


  4. Mike AKA Proof – Great, now I’ll be on Buzzfeed.

    TXNick – I can’t have sex for three days, and when it happens, I was warned there will likely be blood mixed in from the biopsy. So… yeah.


  5. Glad you survived the biopsies…would think they would be more humane and give you a closer appointment…results will be ready in less than 48 hours, couldn’t they give you some indication before appointment? I’ve got a lot of cardiology/AFib ablation, pacemaker, AICD appointments coming up, so I can understand what you’re going through. Feel free to email me if any questions…

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Doc – Thanks so much. I realize it’s Thanksgiving week, but apparently he’s going on vacation the week after. At this point, I would have been more than happy hearing a result from a nurse, receptionist or the janitor. I mean, I’m glad the biopsy was done, but another three weeks will be unnerving.

    Here’s hoping your issues are not severe, and you’re back to normal soon.


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