| lgbt cancer project The two or Three weeks preceding the surgery were more mental preparation than anything. I went to work as usual, but while there on the side prepared to up date my wills. Retrieved the Living Will, and Dual power of Attorney papers for what was to be ahead of us. For years, in jest one of my sayings was “WELL, JUST SHOOT HER IN THE DICK!!” That old actualization tool of the 70’s came to mind, and perhaps I had said it too much? For in fact, I have been literally shot in the dick! I choose to delete that little one liner for awhile till this plays out.
February 13th would be slash day surgery. Out of mind for the most part, but you can damn well believe I called up some of those old mercy fucks for one more jizim spray!! And a few new ones to boot! I had so much fun with my cock that when our friend Doc John called and ask is there anything he could do? I replied “ hell yes, Sister!! I’ve worn the skin off the side!! call me in some antibiotics to heal this tenderness!!” Which he did promptly and with concern. Nearing slash day on a solo mission of cum slinging, I caught the DNA in a cloth, double bag zip-locked it, and ritually placed it in a small round stainless steel canister. It lies in the bottom of the freezer for no reason except that I once was whole. It is like the great creator just chose to not renew my cock hunting license. They were returned VOID, EXPIRED, JUST SHOOT HER IN THE DICK. Like he said, cut that bitch off. He has had more than his share of hot sport sex.
I cried some, laughed some, took stock of the man above and beside me, and shared the time behind with reference to the times ahead. Seems everything I went to do in those weeks I approached as this might be the last time? Is this the last time I go to the flea market? The last time I enjoy sex? Perhaps the last time I unlock the shop door? The last time I piss on my own? My luck is bountiful in so many aspects, and this one time required more than chance or luck. Slash day approaches.
I was to be in the hospital at least three days. The second day being Valentines Day, I set out to find the perfect VALENTINE for Bruce and thanked him for a wonderful life. You see the drama queen surfaced. If he got the card on Valentines Day? I may be dead. What a swan song! Seems I, as a gay man have always been dragging some bitchy queens through ordeals they insisted they did not want to participate in. “It would be just like that bitch Jared to die first!” I could hear them from the grave. Other than the timing, there was no joke in my message.
The day before surgery found me scurrying about, Bruce let me have most of the day off to feather my nest or pick a cremation urn. I wished at this time the ashes in a 1947 Howdy Doody Cookie Jar, and dragged around bar hopping had not been gayly done already. No food after six o'clock, and the Fisting enema special before surgery was all that remained.
The Clamppets [my born family] were to arrive the next morning and spend the day in great family concern with Bruce in the waiting room. I had just begged and pleaded that my Father not attend. That reason would in itself be another book. Seems they all do just what they want, and try to convince you that it was in your best interest anyway. So here we are, surgery morning, Mom, Pop, [who have been divorced since I was TEN] Nurse Rachitt, my older sister Sissy, followed by the 45 year old baby girl Kathy.
They parked across the street and all entered at the same time. We bonded as closely as any dysfunctional family can, while Bruce played the Daughter-law-role. Sis was a little perturbed that Bruce was in charge and in less than subtle ways dropped hints of her disapproval. Kathy as usual was peeking out from behind her bangs, and all three of us stepped out side to smoke one last time. We even had a photo session. Its rare the original cast of “Paradise Lost” are in the same place at the same time. Now deep down, you know that you are loved by your parents and siblings, and I must say with all the rancid water under the bridge their presence was comforting. Our family is most individual, and each knows his own way. Next to each other is the making of one of those oil and water family movie saga’s you always see during the holiday season ending with everyone crying and forgiving . Yeah right, “You go ahead and start without me, I am trying to quit!!” Hey love is the known factor here. It’s that closeness thing that scares all of us, me think.
Any ways here they are, coffee hugs and awaiting the removal of my prostate. I have to trick them into giving Bruce and I a thirty minute head start. They complied and we went ahead to be checked into pre admission testing room. I remember little after the first IV, but they all were there when I was wheeled out of my room, and a tear I detected on Moms cheek. I remember vaguely seeing my cousin Charles and the long hall way that led to the operating room. How surreal!! That old grade school cafeteria tan tile all the way up the walls. There were people everywhere. I struggled to see what each was doing. Another IV and a sweet girls voice explaining the journey ahead of me. There was the kind doctor suddenly. He pulled down his face mask smiled and ask if I was ready? I replied “I’m ready if you are sober?” He smiled again. Counting backwards I slipped from conscience between six and three.
I remember being in the door of my semi private room next. I heard them all scurrying about the door, and being pulled on to my bed. That peculiar cowboy, my dad was crying and he bent to kiss me on the forehead. I heard him say he just wanted to hear me speak. So I did, Now go away!! Go count cows and money. There was Bruce all tear eyed, and Mom and Sis and Kathy, and Joe our loyal and long time friend. Hail, hail, the gang is all here. The day it seems was more stressful on the waiting family than on me. So stressful that Sis and Kathy had to shop for shoes and find a BINGO hall just to cope.
The Sleep and pain were the most I remember that first day, and awaking to see Bruce laying across two chairs for the whole of the night. The next day was little to share other than the visitors, flowers and gifts. There was Daryn and Mike. Pretty John, and Nathan. Steve and John, and my precious niece Shelia sat for most of the day. My old high school chum Joe and his wife. More percocet please, percoset. This is when I first became aware of my surroundings. There was Nurse LINDA!! Super Nurse Bitch from Hell.
Nurse Linda looked like one of those black and white crime photos of the murdered victims of Richard Speck back in the 60’s. Oh, all right already, so you have to be as old as I am to remember that nationally known murder case! She had one of those little starched half moon caps with some superior stripe across the top. At first I thought she was concerned for my painful situation. She was concerned all right. She was concerned that she was on a double shift and wanted little bother from me!! She was most successful at letting my pain get ahead of my medication! What a superior bitch!! It was on about the end of the second day, that a fill in doctor from the urology clinic checked in on me. What a SAINT this kind doctor was. He called in my own prescription, so that I did not have to rely on Nurse Linda. So like a junkie, I hid my own pain medication and applied as needed.
As previously mentioned, I was in a semiprivate room. In the next bed was a very old naked man between ninety and death, who in great concentration tugged and pulled at his catheter. Later that day, another older fill in doctor came in to check on me. He went right to the old guy in the next bed, thinking it was me. He was sort of shocked that a man as young as me had just had a radical prostatectomy. “Not much to excite either of us Doc!!” I said. Another large nurse came in and announced my private room was ready. I was in such pain, I requested not to be touched, much less moved to another room. And besides, Elmer Fudd in the next bed made little if any fuss.
Now in the hospital, I discovered, there is a job of dubious distinction. This job is the catheter cleaner. That's right, he goes all over the hospital, cotton swab and soap cleaning every catheterized dick in the hospital about 4 times a day!! Where does a semi retired gay man apply for this job??
About the middle of the second day they came to retrieve my zombie roommate for a return trip back to “GODS LITTLE WAITING ROOM RETIREMENT HOME”. It did not occur to me that his bed would be filled again shortly. If I had known this, I would have suffered the discomfort of the previous offer to move to a private room. It was not long before an entourage wheeling a bed full of head trauma victim came crashing into my pain filled world. Having lots of gay friends with flower industry connections had my first side of the room cluttered with bouquets and well wishes.
Seems they had to move every arrangement twice to cart my catatonic roommate to the far side of the curtain. It was like being caught up in the movie with Dan Akroyd, “Ground hog Day”. Everything happened over and over again. Bruce was there, and some lady kept calling on the phone wanting to know about the new person. I heard Bruce say “look lady, I'm here visiting someone else. I don’t know anything about your son” Then he abruptly hung up.
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