High Anxiety

I woke up with it. My first thought was this morning's appointment with the urologist. I'm anxious on at least two levels. Mostly, I'm afraid The D might have prostate cancer. As I understand it, it's almost inevitable if a man lives long enough. But I also understand it's very treatable and slow-growing. Still. After my brother's fatal sarcoma at age 41, my sister's breast cancer at 40 (she's fine after 6 years), and Mother's pancreatic cancer, it scares the shit out of me.

My other, much less dire, worry is talking about my father's reproductive organs. I suppose I'll just turn my head during the exam. I can handle hearing questions about urination (The D and I have already discussed that, and I'm sure I'll have to translate for him), but I'll die if questions about erections or ejaculation or libido ensue. After hearing Mother tell the nurse that she was sexually active, though, I'll survive.

Ok, I'm on the verge of hyperventilating, so I'm gonna hit the shower. I need to figure out how to get to the urology clinic, what to wear, etc. It's times like this when I get paralyzed by small decisions, like what to wear, whether I have time to shave my legs and if they need it. The D, however, enjoys his doctor visits. He's dressed and ready and reeking of Old Spice. Deb buys him gallons of it. It's not helping my nausea.

I hope we don't have to wait forever. I'll try to figure out some work to take. I think I'm gonna buy a netbook for times like this. I think they're incredibly cheap now, thanks to the invasion of the tablets. For today, though, I'll just grab some magazines, because I'm sure the waiting room won't have Glamour or Oprah. Probably just Field & Stream, Travel & Leisure and the ubiquitous WebMD magazines. And lots of pamphlets on prostates. I'll try to resist the urge to read those. Maybe I'll be in luck and they'll have Garden & Gun...