August 24, 2010

Girding my loins for what the National Weather Service is promising to be the hottest day of the year here in the Valley of the Sun. Temps around 110, oppressive humidity, heat indices around 115 or higher. And I thought today was miserable, it only hit 107. I’ll tell you this: the pool sure noticed it, it jumped to 95 today.

Welcome to the machine: A great Pink Floyd tune, one I couldn’t help thinking of Monday during my 30-minute stay in the MRI exam tube in preparation for my prostate surgery just two weeks from tomorrow. The MRI itself wasn’t that bad, it was the endorectal coil I had inserted into my cabooseskie throughout that made the experience less akin to the half-hour, “inside a tanning booth” experience the helpful and friendly tech tried to assure me beforehand.

Fortunately, being able to contemplate and recite some of the Psalms I’ve become familiar with from my years of prayers really helped. Oh sure, they try to relax you with music they pump through earphones, but to be honest, if they ain’t got surf, they can play whatever the hell they want, I’ll just focus on the Psalms, thank you. Besides, being aurally assaulted by that crap they call “smooth jazz” from Kenny G and his ilk was almost as bad as the procedure itself.

I’ll say this: today’s experience made me realize just how real this whole cancer thing now is. This is where the rubber hits the road, for sure. Up until now, September 8 seemed so far in the future, something to deal with when the time comes. Well, the time has come. Laying on my back while the MRI machine did its buzzing, grunts, wails, shakes, and rattles brought to mind that wonderful scene in Monty Python’s “Life Of Brian” where Judith interrupts a meeting of the People’s Front of Judea to announce Brian is being taken off to be crucified: “It’s happening, Reg! Something’s actually happening, Reg! Can’t you understand?”

Yep. Something’s really happening. And like my very good friend and fellow Goodboy Ben “The Funny Guy” Andrusaitis is wont to say as he stares down a slippery downhill 6-foot putt for par: “I’m ascared”.

No matter. When you have cancer it’s really just you and the treatment, no matter what form(s) that might take. And I’ve never felt so alone as during my prostate biopsy back in May and today’s MRI. But perhaps there are some things in life you just have to go through alone.

Pool temp: 95 degrees

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 00:03 | Comments (0)
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