The Procedure

“The clock always winds down, whether we think of it or not.” – “The Summer Son” by Craig Lancaster

An 11am annual checkup with my urologist. (Given the mechanics of the exams they perform……why would anyone choose this area of medicine to specialize in? But I digress)


As I pulled into the parking lot and picked a spot, I observed a parade of older folks shuffling towards the entrance.

Reminded me of scenes so common in the Zombie movies.

I joined the parade with a sense of foreboding. I shuffled along, resigned to my fate.


In the waiting room, the dark ambiance washes over me. I’m thinking this is not good.

When their name is called, the chosen one struggles to stand and disappears behind the “door”. The humiliation and fear begins.


My name is called. My turn to disappear. A young nurse escorts me to my cell. Inside, a waist high rack with paper sheets ominously stares back at me. Hello sucker.

I notice various forms of torture hanging on the wall. The room is cold.

The young pretty nurse tells me to get naked below the waist. She’ll be back in five minutes. What the hell.

She returns in five minutes. I’m standing there with a stunned look. All my clothes on.

I told you to get naked. NOW GET NAKED! WHEN I GET BACK….BE NAKED AND ON THE RACK. She leaves in a huff and I silently acquiesce. My humiliation is complete. Almost.


22…………….maybe. Pretty. Nice figure. Of course at my age they are all pretty with figures.

She returns. I sit there apprehensively. Cold. Embarrassed. Disgusted. Shrunken. Silently screaming for a dose of debilitating opiates.

She prepares me for the PROCEDURE. I want to explain the ravages of age and 40 minutes in a cold room on a macho stud such as myself.

The words, while formed, will not come to life. I have become a eunuch. My humiliation is complete.


Enter the man in the white coat. Stethoscope hanging…..chart in hand.

He makes with the small talk. How are you? Still taking those meds? Then a few more specific questions regarding my health.

Ok. Let’s see what we got here. Nurse good body hands him a device that looks like a 6 ft. piece of 3 in. PVC pipe. With a 38 Ford headlamp attached.

Just a minute please. What is that and what’s it for?

He explains the procedure.

I bolt upright.

Wait……….I confess…… anything.

LAY DOWN AND SHUT UP YOU WOOOS. Nurse good body speaks……….again.

I obey.


Nothing there. No problems. You are good to go for another year.

Whoopee. Thanks Doc.

As I dance around the “cell”, Doc and nurse quickly exit.

I lost my dignity but regained my health.

Merry Christmas you lucky bastard.

“I wanna live. I don’t wanna die. That’s the whole meaning of life: Not dying! I figured that shit out by myself in the third grade.” – George Carlin

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7 Responses to The Procedure

  1. One has to consider the scale on these things, please. I mean it is one thing to force a log into a keyhole, and quite another to park a VW in a cavern. And, if you understand this, you need help.


  2. Judy says:

    Hey MAN!! Welcome to a women’s world!!!!


  3. says:

    Try spending some time in Naples, Florida. There is a whole medical industry down there for the elderly and infirmed. I know folks who would prefer taking a chance on dying by traveling to Miami before letting one of the docs there touch them. They call it God’s waiting room. Picture taking a bunch of wealthy old farts and putting them in an Eden of their making. Maybe not?


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