If I Had a Rear View Mirror

Yikes. What a tough 2 weeks it's been for me, the typically annoyingly happy and optimistic guy.

Dr. Dave called with my yearly blood test results: my cholesterol was "perfect," but my PSA, a marker for prostate cancer, had more than tripled in a year, from 2.5, already high for a guy my age, to 6.8. Dr. Dave said I had to see a urologist for follow up.

My bud Dr. Vince had the same PSA rise earlier this year. I asked him for advice, and he told me to go see Dr. Rob Puig, a urologist Vince had observed in the OR, and had great technique. Plus, Vince said, he's a nice guy. I called and they had an opening for Friday, which is now 2 weeks past.

I went home and hit the internet. I learned that PSA tests are notoriously innacurate, and that most men die WITH prostate ca than OF it. But my Dad had it at 60, and family history was a major determinant. Plus, a PSA rise like I had could signal a rare form of aggressive and deadly cancer, especially for a relatively young guy like me. I read about Frank Zappa (dead at 52) and Dan Fogelberg (dead at 57).

I'm always a big shot about death. Since my Dad died in my arms at 63, and his father died at 55, I always figured I wouldn't live too long. I hoped and figured that statins would keep my cholesterol down, and maybe get me to 70 or 75, hopefully old enough to become the best grandpa of all time...

But I found myself SCARED. Not so much of dying, but of putting the Ds through the hell of losing their father, something I endured when I was between them in age, just short of 21. It was hell, and I kept seeing them grieving and mourning.

I knew Wifey would take it hard, but she has such a full life with her friends, and the Ds, that I knew she'd be fine, assuming she didn't fall prey to a gigolo who'd swoop in and steal all my hard earned savings...

I slept badly. I was down. I leaned on my brothers, big time: they were great, as usual. I whistled past the grave yard in a more piercing tone than ever.

I didn't tell the Ds, but then Monday night, D1 was in the car when the surgical center called to pre register me. I explained what was going on, and asked that she not tell D2, who had finals and a long drive from UF.

Wednesday am, Wifey frove me to the surgical center. I got undressed and they started an IV. They wheeled me into the room, and started some valium. I felt calm. Then they started the propophol, and I went to another universe.

Next I knew, I woke up, and was completely at ease. I felt a mental acuity and freedom from anxiety unknown to me since I was a teenager. It was amazing.

I see why Michael Jackson became addicted. The stuff is magical, truly other worldly.

I got up to pee, and out came some blood, just as Dr. Puig told me. He said it'd last a day or so.

I called the office, and was told to come in next Thursday. Great. 8 days to learn my fate. My friend Maureen, Dr. Dave's wife and office manager, said she'd call and see if they could let me know sooner. She tried yesterday, but no results were in.

D2 and I had a big cry together. I tried to be strong, but admitted I was afraid. She was, too.

Last night, Rabbi Yossi hosted a meeting at our neighbor's house, a holiday to the Chasidim honoring the Alter Rebbe's release from prison, and his authorship of the Tanya, a book of spiritual thought. Essentially, the message is that we need to love each other's souls, and that our bodies and stations in life are the illusions.

As we drank, Rabbi Yossi said that tradition held that God listened carefully when blessingw were sought during these get togethers. I told him I needed a blessing, and he said a L'Chaim in my honor...

Well, all I know is that it must not have hurt.

Wifey, the Ds and I went to my in laws to take my mother in law out for her birthday. When we returned to the condo, I checked my voicemail and there was a call from Dr. Puig's PA, Jessica (the woman who gave me a DRE (digital rectal exam) with blessedly small fingers). She said the biopsy was normal.

I shouted out loud, waking Wifey, who was napping. I literally danced, and cried with the Ds. I was ecstatic. This may have been as good as the Canes win over Nebraska in '84. Nah, it was better.

So I was given a new dose of happiness and perspective, literally via a poke in the ass. Actually, the biopsy was 12 needles that penetrated my rectum, and stuck my prostate, so 12 pokes in the ass...

Life can be very, very sweet. I hugged Wifey and the Ds, long, hard, and often.

I plan to celebrate BIG. Tomorrow night, Dr. Eric and Dana are hosting a big party at their house, Eric's 50th birthday, and their 25th anniversary. Barry will be there. I think we may have a drink, or two...

I thanked the Big Man. My favorite Atheist, Chris Hitchens, died yesterday, at 62. I'm having doubts about atheism. The joy I felt today, when I learned I'd be around awhile, well, it came from a deeper place, I believe, than simply positive neurochemistry.

I got stuff to do, still, and now it appears I'll have time to do it.

HELL YEAH!!!!!!!