Praise the Lord and pass the Alpha Blockers!  I can tell this story now. 

Besides hanging out with the Gaither crew Wednesday, Mr. Smiff had another adventure that very day, yes he did. Mr. Smiff went and had him a Big Boy Physical done. 

 I don’t remember the last time the Mr. had bloodwork and all that stuff done.  It’s been a long time.  He’s been to the doctor for sinus infections and stuff like that.  He’s never had the exam that most menfolk types dread, I think worse than us womenfolk type dread ours.  Yeah, THAT one.

I am not lying when I say that poor Mr. Smiff had himself worked up into a tizzy over this physical.  He literally made himself nauseous the day before.  I think he had convinced himself that he had prostate cancer, the poor feller. He’s had some “issews” of late that made him concerned.  He was even thinking things like “How ironic would it be for Sharon to lose her father to prostate cancer and then me?”  I understand that cause I have an inner hypochondriac myself.

Oh Precious Jesus in Heaven, how I wish I could have been a tse tse fly on the wall in the doctor’s office when my Mista had to do the manly version of the Stirrup Scoot Boogie.  He did tell more detail that I won’t enlighten y’all with, however, I asked permission from him to tell the funniest observation he had about the whole experience:

And I quote….“I will be farting petroleum jelly for a week.”

 I think maybe the Man version is a little worse than what women do. (Don’t tell him I said that)  Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been having the woman thing done for about 20 years, I’m somewhat used to it.  This was UNCHARTERED TERRITORY, if you will, for the Mista.  I’m very glad he had it done and that all his bloodwork checked out a.o.k.  His LDL could maybe be a little lower but he’s good.

I texted Mr. S. last night after he and the Grascals did a beautiful rendition of Farther Along on the Grand Ole Opry (it was so sweet…they sent it out in memory of Josh) to thank them for doing that number.   Ole Mr. Smiff hit that high note perfectly.  He usually does baritone with the Grascals but on this one he went way up there and it was fabulous.  I texted him and said “You hit that high note perfectly, enlarged prostate and all!” 

 All my life it seems I’ve been hearing about our friend, The Prostate.  No, I do not have one (last I checked anyway) but jeebus, that word has been in the air since I can remember. 

I was in the 8th grade when my father was told he had Prostate Cancer.  I was introduced back then to the world of “Radiation Seeds”, “TUR” procedures (remember when Al Franken described this in detail on SNL after Reagan had it? Heh.)  and our family was never able to stand in Forest Hills Baptist Church and sing “All Hail The Power of Jesus’ Name” the same again.  All because of the line that says:

All hail the power of Jesus’ name, let angels’ PROSTATE fall

Yes, we were wrong for that.   I still get the giggles whenever that hymn is sung in my presence.  I’m glad I come from a bunch that can laugh in the face of fear.  The whole prostate cancer issue hovered in the background, even though it was not discussed at length, at least with me.  My mother prefers the “Let’s Not Talk About Reality Method” of living because it might create an uncomfortable feeling and we can’t have that, now can we?

  Dad would have regular checkups and a procedure done here and there and never had any radiation or anything like that until the year before he died.  He was only supposed to live 3 years but he hung around for 9.  For that, I’m quite grateful.  He was diagnosed before the PSA test was around. 

I kid and can laugh about prostatic things, but, I am serious when I say that all the menfolk past a certain age should do what they need to do, get regular checkups and stay on top of that part of your health. My dad let his go too long.  Take advatnage of the advances in prostate screenings.

The preceeding blog post has been a public service, courtesy your Sista and the Mista (and the Biffer, too, if he were around to say so)

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