I am not one given over to superstition. I do not believe in karma – there is no mechanism beyond mere wishful thinking to mete out the rewards and punishments based on the rights and wrongs; moreover, whether something is “right” and deserving of a reward or “wrong” and deserving of a punishment is a subjective value judgement, rendering karma nothing more than solipsism substantiated by calling it a belief. I don’t have a lucky this or an unlucky that. I believe that fate is just the culmination of cause and effect – millions of causes producing millions of effects, many if not most beyond our control. And I think that religion is just an attempt to ascribe agency to cause and effect: we know experientially that we can take a twig in our hands and break it in two; so when we see a broken twig, absent any other explanation, we conclude someone had to break it, and we call that someone God.
I sound very rational, don’t I? But for years, I lived in mortal fear of the number 13 – which is called triskaidekaphobia. I wrote about that here. In that post, I proudly stated that I’d moved beyond this silly superstition. But here I am writing the 13th post of August 2025 and wondering if I ought to cancel all my plans and just stay indoors with the blinds down after posting this.
Not that that would do much good, as it is August. I had my first appointment with my new primary care physician on August 18th, Dr. Rodriguez, and the first thing I told him was that all my major medical crises occur during the month of August. His response was, “so, I just need to get you through the next 11 days.” I thought that rather flip and arrogant and dismissive, so I said, “oh, you think I’m joking?… well consider this:”
- August 1974 – nearly killed by a driverless, runaway car
(left shoulder crushed, head lacerated and cut open) - August 2006 – first symptoms of PML
(limping, loss of dexterity in left hand) - August 2013 – dual pulmonary emboli
(unable to breath, ICU for 15 days) - August 2024 – double pneumonia
(extreme difficulty breathing, hospitalized for 6 days) - August 2025 – lung cancer
Technically, my cancer diagnosis was on July 22nd with the pulmonologist I started seeing when I was discharged from the hospital after my run-in with pneumonia last year, Dr. Patel, but as a result of that I spent the month of August consulting specialists, having additional tests, and learning everything I could about cancer and its treatment. And during that time, my best friend in Palm Springs died. Of cancer.
But August wasn’t finished with me yet!
It is said by well-meaning believers that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle. If that’s the case, and I’m not prepared to concede that it is, then she certainly has an outsized notion of just what I can handle. Or she has it in for me.
You see, for years, I have suffered from chronic UTIs (infections of the bladder known as “urinary tract infections”). Their cause was a mystery, and although extremely painful and disorienting when I’m in the thick of them, they were easily treated with a course of antibiotics.
This summer, I began seeing a urologist (the pee doctor) in hopes of uncovering the root cause and eliminating it. I don’t like the pee doctor as a person, but I set that aside in hopes that he, with his expertise in all things pee, could solve this once and for all.
The first thing the pee doctor did was order tests. And not just “pee in a cup” tests! No, legs in the stirrups, butt exposed and up in the air like in the sling at a gay sex club (ahem… or so I’ve been told), and catheters inserted in both ends – I was aware/familiar with the front one, but who knew there was one for the back? When I questioned what my rectum had to do with my bladder and urination, I was told, “your sphincter is involved, and that catheter is connected to a computer which will tell us whether it’s doing its job.” Hmm, okay; sounds reasonable. Then they pumped my bladder full of saline and monitored how my body went about emptying it.
When I got out of that procedure, our 19 y/o driver, Ricky, asked how it went. When I told him, he said, “oh, you got snaked Mr. Matt” (I presume he meant like a plumber does with clogged pipes). Ah, the innocence of youth! I told him never to grow old.
So this past week the pee doctor summoned me to his office to discuss his “findings” from the aforementioned test. He showed me graphs that indicated very high pressure but low flow during urination, indicative of a blockage, which he said he suspected all along, the result of which was my bladder doesn’t fully empty and its leftover contents are what is infecting and reinfecting me. He used the analogy of an unflushed toilet, and invited me to ponder how gross that is, then said, “that’s what you’re carrying around inside you all day.” Lovely. He’s a real charmer.
Obviously, determining the nature of the blockage is the next step. The most likely culprit, given my age and gender, is an enlarged prostate. But to determine that… yep, you guessed it – more tests involving shoving things up my penis! This time, a small, fiberoptic camera which will allow him to “visualize” what’s going on. It’s called a cystoscopy. Having a name doesn’t make it any less unpleasant. Hell, the earlier one, the one with the butt catheter, was called a Urodynamics test, and that was just about the worse thing I’ve been asked to endure in my 59 years on this planet – and I’ve had brain surgery! When I got out of the pee doctor’s office, Ricky said, “so what did he say?” And when I told him, he said, “I dunno Mr. Matt, it sounds to me like this guy just likes snaking you.” I kindof agree.
Depending on what the pee doctor sees with his little camera, I may have to have my prostate “reduced,” which is known as “prostate ablation,” to treat what is called benign prostatic hyperplasia (“BPH” – oh great, more initialisms for Matt!), a condition where the prostate gland enlarges and interferes with urination.
This can be accomplished by invasive procedures like Transurethral Resection of the Prostate (TURP) or minimally invasive procedures that use heat, extreme cold, microwaves, or other energy sources. TURP treatment for an enlarged prostate carries a risk for impotence, urethral narrowing, and incontinence, while laser ablation surgery for BPH is an alternative to TURP and open prostatectomy. Sounds fun, yes?
So August is not ending on a high note for me. In fact, I think next year, I’ll just ask them to put me in a medically induced coma on July 31st and wake me up on September 1st! Happy Labor Day.