I cannot help but consider Shakespeare’s play as I review my thoughts about meeting with the urologist yesterday. He explained how he would extract the “pound of flesh” from me while under a local anesthetic. Further, like Bassanio, my doctor will have to select the correct box in order to win the prize. Fortunately, my doctor is not limited by choosing only one vessel.
But enough of the allegory. Kristina and I did meet with Dr. Miller yesterday. He is the only physician associated with the clinic who performs MESA. It was our first meeting, and it went well. He is a quite likeable fellow, which is a comforting thought considering the task he has to perform. I told him he needed to buy me a drink first, but he prescribed me a valium instead. Fair enough.
Another thought I have had during all this – as a result of yesterday’s visit – is how awkward some of this must be for my wife, who has lovingly been with me for all my doctor’s appointments. Yet in this process, she has witnessed other men (trained medical professionals only) handle and examine my manhood. I think she averts her eyes. Yet I did chuckle under my breath yesterday when the doctor tested for the firmness of my epididymis. I couldn’t help wondering Kristina’s thoughts as this man held my junk while striking up a casual conversation with her. In all fairness, it was not devoid of uneasiness on my part, but then again he was squeezing.
My last thought on the subject is about the doctor’s last name, Miller. The etymology of “miller” is one who keeps a mill, which of course is manufacturing machine to grind grain. So, a miller uses machinery to free trapped seeds from their encasements. This somehow seems of good portent, and is much more consoling than when my grandfather had a proctologist named Dr. Carver...or was it Dr. Butcher?
For the record, whatever that proctologist's name, he did a very fine job removing my grandfather's hemorrhoids - or so I was told.
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