The countdown is on: three weeks from today I’ll be having my cancer-touched prostate removed via a procedure called a Radical Laparoscopic Prostatectomy. Already I’m starting to freak out a bit - after all, I’ve never had surgery or been under anesthetic before. But that’s not all - you start receiving calls and mail that you normally wouldn’t dream of seeing. I’m talking letters - letters from my urologist’s secretary laying out all the appointments I have between now and then, a letter from the surgical assistant introducing himself and the role he will play in all this (I never knew there were such a thing), letters from my insurance company, a letter from my primary care physician, and a letter from the MRI place reminding me of my appointment with them. Almost makes you long for credit card bills.

It promises to be a fun-packed three weeks, I’ll tell you. Today was my consult with my primary care guy, who approved my final blood work and did the required chest X-ray (don’t know why that was needed, and I sure wasn’t going to ask why). Next Monday is the MRI of my prostate - another invasion of my backside, which, I’m assured, will be nothing like the insanity of the prostate biopsy procedure I had a few months back. Right. Nevertheless, it’s yet another another self-administered enema prior to foreign invasion. This is supposedly required so my urologist has a clear picture of where the robot is supposed to cut and snip during the surgery.

I’m all for that.

Two weeks from today is the final consult with my urologist, where, I don’t know, we’ll discuss the weather and how the Sox are doing, I suppose. Then a week later, on September 8, it’s gettin’ the job done day. After that, who knows?

I’ve heard all kinds of stories from people who have known others who have had this kind of surgery. Some have tolerated it better than others, some not so much. Me, all I really want to do is attend to my prayers, enjoy what’s left of the monsoon season, maybe try to get a couple more signatures on my “The Endless Summer” poster. But it’s hard to do all these things with any kind of verve and gusto with this thing looming. Y’all may not want to be a part of it, but I’ll be blogging on it - the good, the bad, and the ugly. At least you don’t have to worry about pictures or gross graphic descriptions. I won’t submit you to that.

And please don’t think I’m feeling sorry for myself, because I’m not. For one thing, it’s not unusual - my primary care guy was telling me today his neighbor is having the same operation (unlike me, the poor bugger had a PSA of only 1.0, but he was found to have a cancerous nodule found after a suspicious physical exam). Second of all, I know there are those far, far worse off than me. Want a reality check? It just so happens this week is the annual WEEI Radio/Jimmy Fund Radiothon to raise money for the wonderful work the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston does for children and young adults battling far worse and life-threatening cancers than I have. Those are the ones who have it real tough.

If you frequent and enjoy this blog, would you consider donating on behalf of The Great White Shank? You’d have my most profound appreciation and thanks.

Anyways, it just shows just how fast things can change. Saturday, I’m hob-nobbbing with legends of the California surf culture and toasting margaritas on the shores of the Pacific; Tuesday, I’m sitting in a johnny having my primary care physician guy poking and prodding me for surgery prep. But that’s life and why it’s important, I guess, to just go with the flow - live the good times to the fullest, tolerate the not-so-good.

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Pool temp: 92 degrees