By shear coincidence, three very good friends of mine, all about my age, had prostate surgery this week. Must be "National Prostate Surgery Week". Well, of course, that got me concerned about mine.

I think I'm ok--no problems that I know of--but when I take my physical in Feb., we'll know.

I'd like to think I'm done with surgeries for the rest of my life. I've had my share. After our fourth child, I had a vasectomy (age 41). I've had two hernia operations since then.
The biggest scare was when I was diagnosed with colon cancer after a routine colonoscopy at age 60 (nearly 6 yrs ago). Two days after I was informed I had cancer, I had major surgery to remove two feet of large intestine. I didn't have much time to tell friends and loved ones, get my affairs straight (as they say), or ponder "why me?". My state of mind was "let's get this thing over with as soon as possible".

When I woke up, the surgeon said, "good news!". I didn't have cancer after all--just colitis. I was untwisted, and that was it! No apologies, no "oops". Just "lucky you". It took me two summer months to recover. No golf or garden hoeing or wood cutting. I would rather not go through that again. I'm still angry about the whole mess.

I've also had a couple of broken bones and arthroscopic knee and ankle surgeries from jogging. So from my belly button south, I've been sliced and diced, jabbed and stabbed (don't forget the dog bite--still sore). I'm not ready for another hospital visit, prostate or not. And I'm hesitant to watch Oprah today regarding "sex and good health". It might be more than I want to know.