To pee or not to pee? – that is the question! The answer is easy but the road to finding a solution to my prostrate problem has been frustrating. The first urologist I went to lasted only a few months, eventually closing his Elite Urology office here in Venice after losing some key members of his staff. He convinced me that the best course of action was to participate a clinical study for a device called a “butterfly.” The procedure had been perfected in Israel and they were looking for patient results that would allow them to get FDA approval here in the states. It made sense to me, plus I was to be paid. However, soon after signing me up, he abandoned the project here locally, offering the nearest option to be Advanced Urology in St. Petersburg. It was a long drive, but I was a willing subject after already wasting the first three months waiting to get involved. 

I did all the testing over again, both written and clinical, encouraged that I would be accepted to participate. Many embarrassing and invasive probes were made in the process. A surgery date for tomorrow was eventually scheduled, but I would not know if I would get the actual device or a placebo, so much needed relief was not guaranteed. I’ve spent the last year with constant urges to pee all day long and annoying back-to-back-one-and-a-half hour naps each night before another trip to the john. When out and about, I never walk by a restroom without stopping. I was envious of a neighbor who now claims to “pee like a teenager” after his recent surgery.

Dribbling like I often do should only be done on the basketball court, and a painful bladder often results in only a thimble full of output. Even the possibility of getting this device kept me content these past few months, knowing that in no longer than three months later, I would get the actual surgery should I be the unlucky recipient of a caterpillar rather than a butterfly. However, late last week, I was notified that there was a .01% discrepancy in my written tests. I could not believe that these subjective answers on how often I go could possibly disqualify me from the study. As a result, no surgery and no compensation!

I can only laugh because with two strikes against this clinical test, maybe something could have gone wrong in surgery? I’m convinced that the whole thing was a sham and just not to be, maybe in my best interest. However, I’m still in bladder hell, with a need to find a new urologist and optional procedure. I’ll know more at the end of this month when I find out the status of my heart surgery. In the meantime, I will continue to suffer before, during, and after another trip to the toilet. To pee or not to pee – I wonder if Shakespeare had a similar problem? I paraphrase: Whether ’tis nobler in the prostrate to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous pressure, or to take Arms against a Sea of bladder troubles, and by opposing end them: to die, to sleep no more. 

One of the great mysteries in owning this home are the smoke alarms. I’m not sure what they detect but tend to go off in the middle of the night, especially if we have company. It started just after we moved in, still waiting for our furniture to arrive from Portland while sleeping on an air mattress. At 2 a.m. on a weekend, when no one was around to answer the warranty hotline, they started to blare, with nothing to absorb the sound. It was ear shattering and Tally, our schnauzer, was in a panic. The best I could do was put her in the garage while I figured out how to turn them off. I did not yet have a ladder to remove the batteries and the breaker box proved futile. They eventually stopped chirping, then started again, also warning us of “fire” in an annoying mechanical voice. 

After a sleepless night, I went out and bought a ladder. I then called the electrician, and they promptly changed them all out, thinking they might be defective. Two weeks later, it happened again, almost at the same time in the middle of the night. This time, I was at least able to remove the batteries and stop the madness. Neighbors advised me to put in brand-name batteries rather than rely on the cheaper ones provided by the manufacturer. They also told me to remove all the little gnats from inside that seek the tiny blinking indicator light. However, it happened again, and we had the electrician replace all of them while still under warranty. 

Every once in a while, they will mysteriously go off as if haunted, always in the middle of the night, but I know the drill of removal and replacement, and mark the annual date on my calendar to perform all of this maintenance and install fresh batteries. Last night, we had guests that had just arrived from extensive travel in need of a good night’s sleep. Naturally, just after we all fell asleep, it started to blare, maybe because we had the doors open that allowed the bugs inside. Tally headed for the closet, covering her ears while I grabbed the ladder and pulled out the batteries. Everyone was naturally on edge as a result of this disturbance, so sleep came gradually, wary that the alarms might sound again. There was never any smoke to detect!

I don’t feel bad or even look bad! However, the list keeps growing longer on my medical reports. I feel like I need to post them in front of my house like inspection paperwork, so I don’t have to keep explaining my woes to the neighbors. They could just walk down here and check out the dates of doctor appointments, procedure schedules, and health updates. I partially blame this on my wife, who is obviously seeking support for both of us, by letting the cat out of the bag. I would have preferred to keep all of this quiet, so I’ve begun to post it on this blog that no one reads. 

I’ve become the subject of conversation at neighborhood parties, the dog park, the resort centers, beach, pool, pickle ball courts – not sure about the tennis crowd. I’ve never really had to plan for surgery in my life – let alone a whole list of them. The question is: can I work these all in between our travel plans? I’ve had my share of aches and pains, Covid, kidney stones, stitches, shots, and colonoscopies. However, since the beginning of 2023, I have seemingly begun to slowly but surely fall apart. While my running pace continues to slow, my doctor visits and medical bills are quickening. 

I started the year with simple eyelid surgery, removing some of the excess skin around my eyes. Afterwards, it looked like I’d been in a barroom fight, but no big deal. Next, became the issue of potential surgery for an aneurism after years of monitoring its slowing increasing size on my aorta. X-rays, CT scans, a heart catheterization, a TEE, surgeon consultations, and lots of billing questions have been the story of this year. In between visits with my GP and three different surgeons, I also had to worry about how my prostrate was keeping me up at night and the constant trips to the restroom throughout the day. I’ve already been to two different specialists for this issue and have a procedure in St. Pete scheduled next Thursday. 

This week, I will drive with my wife to Tampa General Hospital for a meeting with a recommended and experienced cardiothoracic surgeon. I’ve already decided against doing this at a Regional Hospital. We will also soon confer with a renowned Stanford surgeon, where my wife’s daughter works as a PA. Adding to the list two weeks ago, I had a Prokera treatment done on my right eye, so it is healing for cataract surgery in about three months time. Finally, today, my Chiropractor suggested that as soon as I get these other problems resolved, I then go to see an orthopedic specialist about a sore tendon in my right arm. I just added that one to the list of What Ails You!

We buy a lot of tickets and when they are used, I drop them into a collector’s box with a glass front on my office wall. Sadly, it’s rare anymore to get an actual ticket, most are now electronic, so there’s nothing to put in the box. Understandably, every once in a while, we encounter a ticket problem – lost, misplaced, wrong date, rescheduled, etc. For example, two years ago we went to a Santana/EW&F concert in Tampa. It wasn’t until we were about to enter the parking when an attendant pointed out that we were a year early!

Last night, my wife bought tickets for the local Lemon Bay Playhouse, presenting “Let’s Murder Marsha” (not Marcia, for those of you that know my first wife). At least, my current wife thought it was last night until we went to sit in our seats that were occupied by another couple, as were the seats that she bought for our two guests. We checked the row just to be sure, but the “I” looked like a “J,” and to add to the confusion, it turned out there was no Row I. Rather than creating a big stink at this point, we simply sat in the uncomfortable empty chairs in the back, just behind Row J, just waiting for someone to kick us out. Our friends had gone off to seek the help of an usher, when my wife noticed that our tickets were for the next night. 

Admitting our mistake, while everyone around us was probably thinking we were idiots, the usher graciously said that no one had bought the seats in front of us, so we could sit there. To make matters worse, I had bought a glass of $2 wine that was actually in a plastic cup. When our friends returned, I stood up to let them pass and fumbled my drink, as I too often do these days because of my shaky hands. Red wine spilled all over my shorts and pink shirt that fortunately happened to closely match the wine stain. While I went to the restroom to clean myself up, the usher, obviously feeling sorry for us after all our disruptions, moved us up to Row D. The lady behind me then whispered to her husband that she couldn’t see over me, so I scrunched down as low as possible in the seat, already uncomfortable from the sticky wine. Fortunately, the play was good, but I was stiff, sore, and sticky by intermission. 

We had several of our neighbors involved in the performance, so we’re anxious to share the story with them. If someone would like to see the show tonight from Row J, we obviously still have four tickets available – just joking of course. Let’s murder the ticket buyer who created this snafu!