So my dad made a full recovery and I learned a little about living with a colostomy. You glue a plastic pouch over the hole in your side to collect the waste. Your digestion moves things along and exits at will. There is an outhouse aroma about you the strength of which varies with the length of time between changes like an infant. Hey it’s better than dying.

My parents reassessed their situation and decided to move to Sunny Southern California. They sold the house in Ridgewood and moved in with me while they looked for a house. Unfortunately I never got the chance to tell my parents “My house – My rules” I had wanted to say that to them for years. As long as you are living under my roof…etc. Never happened I was so busy working that we hardly saw each other.

A house in my neighborhood went on the market and they bought it and moved in, my father did not want to be a burden. I did not care, I was still single and they could have stayed as long as they wanted. So my parents were living a block and a half from me close enough to smell dinner cooking, I still liked mom’s cooking and ate dinner with them as often as my schedule allowed.

I took my father to his first doctor appointment. The doctor did all the standard initial visit things and then suggested a prostate exam. This my father found extremely amusing as I was about to exit and let the doctor do his thing, my dad grabbed my arm and laughed. Since my operation there is no way to do a manual prostate exam he explained to the physician. They sewed me up back there.

As a young boy I made the astounding discovery that the prostate is the male equivalent of a G-spot. You poke that little sucker and hold on. Your cheeks clench, your toes curl and it’s hard not to squeal sqeeeee! I was a very disturbed little boy. I had to hear it again; they sewed up your butt! Please tell me you are joking. It was true and accurate.

So since then I have pondered the pros and cons of colon surgery. I think I could live with all those other things. After all women as mothers routinely have all sorts of disgusting things spewed on them and manage to smile. The only real requirement is a need for more vigilant hygiene and maybe baby powder. But the cure includes losing that nice little ring of muscle and nerve endings. No more gooses and poke me hiney, just a flat spot and a scar. Death may be preferable, an end to all cares and strife. I may have to look into reincarnation.

CS