Guys have this annoying little thing called a prostate. Far as I can
tell, it’s about as useful as an appendix, and as troublesome. I’ve
never developed much appreciation for mine. Now I downright resent it.

It was bad enough when my prostate started waking me up at night five or
ten years ago. I tried swatting it with saw palmetto and other herbs and
that seemed to work for a few years. But the sucker just kept getting
bolder and bolder. Lately it thinks it can run my life.

Enter Dr. G., the kindly urologist. Girls, you can tune out now. You’ve
got your OB-GYNs and that should satisfy you. Guys don’t visit OB-GYNs
and, far as I can tell, girls don’t see urologists. Kindly Dr. G.
festoons his office with copies of Car and Driver, Sports Illustrated,
Success, Fortune, etc. I’ve never seen a copy of O The Oprah Magazine
there, nor do I expect to.

Dr. G. first put me on a prescription drug with a package warning I’d
never previously encountered. It says: Not to be taken by women.
Ever. Don’t even think about it, girls.

But the prostate waxed and battened. Probably liked the drug’s taste.

Sterner measures are called for, said Dr. G. as he removed his greasy
rubber glove from you-know-where. We’ve got lasers to incinerate it.
We’ve got microwaves to cook it. But my personal favorite, the gold
standard, is the rusty-trusty old scalpel.

(At this point I could get really gross and tell you what he planned to
do with that scalpel and where and how he planned to do it, but I won’t.
The procedure is called TURP, short for Transurethral Prostatectomy, and
my pals at Johns Hopkins will be glad to fill you in. Read about TURP at
www.johnshopkinshealthalerts.com/ppc/prostate/turp_reg_landing.html?st=ppc&s=GLP_005011_004&gclid=CP7qstyz-owCFRI7ZQodPT_eDg)

Enter Carol. You do not want that dirty old man messing with you
Down There, quoth she. Go to Dr. S.

Enter Dr. S., the acupuncturist. Dr. S. is a cackly old witch who speaks
an incomprehensible Taiwanese dialect of English and delights in poking
you where it hurts most. She also enjoys feeding you brackish liquids
and poisonous powders, while giving you baffling dietary instructions
and discoursing about Heat On Your Liver. She warms you. She ices you.
She sees mysterious energy flows where you see only bare skin. But what
Dr. S. enjoys most is sticking you all over with pins.

I hadn’t been to Dr. S. in years. When I’d gone, she’d actually helped
me with certain things. But her explanations made so little sense that
I wasn’t quite desperate enough to go back until … now.

This time, I was facing a 4- to 6-week recovery. Pain to be expected.
Hemorrhaging possible. Impotence and incontinency extremely unlikely but
… possible. No heavy lifting. No tennis. No exercise except walking.
No sex. And in the background is Dr. S., screeching: I can helrp you!
Twelrve treatments! Give it a try!

I visited Dr. G. and told him to schedule the surgery for a few weeks
hence, but that I was going to try twelve acupuncture visits in the interim.
To his credit, Dr. G. showed an open mind. I don’t know anything about
acupuncture, he said, but it can’t hurt. We’ll retest you after the twelve
treatments and do the surgery if it doesn’t help.

You know how this story is going to end. I started feeling better around
Treatment #4 but thought I must be imagining things. Around Treatment
#7, though, I was pretty sure it wasn’t my imagination. The retesting
proved it wasn’t. While not cured, I’ve gotten a lot of relief — enough that
I see no need for surgery.

Dr. G. thinks this relief will be temporary and the day will come that
I’ll need the surgery. I suspect he’s right.

But whatever. Acupuncture is working for now, and it got pretty much rid
of my morning backache in the bargain. Needle me again, doc!

Frank Joseph
www.tolovemercy.com

P.S. Getting boys to read is a big concern for educators and school
librarians. They often push “boy topics” — sports, cars, etc. — but I
think there’s a better approach. I think boys (like girls, like everyone)
respond to a good story, well told. On Saturday, Nov. 3, I have to
prove my theory. I’m speaking on the topic at the Illinois School Library
Media Assn. annual meeting in Springfield IL, my first stop on yet another
Chicago tour. This is a call to anyone out there who can adduce evidence
to support my position. Help! Please!!!