31 Shots In The Man-Ha.

Hey people.
First of all-- what am I talking about right? For you non medical personnel: man-has are to dudes what girl-nads are to chix. I know that sounded vaguely math-y, but don't be frightened.

This is a rare public service announcement. Dudes-- I know you hate going to the doctor, and I typically ascribe the the "if it ain't broke don't fix it" doctrine, but-- especially once you hit say, your forties-- go. Go and do that turn your head and cough thing because if you get prostate cancer you want it caught before the stage where they have to give you 31 shots in your man-ha.

My dad is going to be fine they say, but it's been a pretty sucky winter for him. His humor remains in tact, but it's been tough. Yesterday was a nightmare-- the 31 shots, having to go back to the hospital last night to get catheterized (twice-- bonus pain), not to mention suffering the indignity of numerous strangers checking out his junk. He was still cracking jokes even from the emergency room. "I'll tell you one thing-- if I slide down any banisters tomorrow, they're going to be made of ice."

We also made jokes about bronco busting, bike riding, poorly designed saddles, peeing and the whole harrowing experience possibly being an elaborate ruse on his part to obtain fancy rubber soled hospital socks. But it seriously sucked for him.

He should be home now, but I'm guessing the fun will continue for the next couple of days dealing with the cath. Hopefully they'll be able to take it out tomorrow or the next day.

So-- don't let this happen to you. Dudes-- get your junk checked out. Ladies-- get your guy's junk checked out. Nuff said.