It just so happens that later the same day Malarkey has an appointment with his urologist. It’s not his first appointment nor is it going to be his last. It’s a follow-up appointment as it’s called. The assistant escorts him to an examining room and hands him a gown, which Malarkey puts on with little fanfare and sits on the edge of the examining table as he scans a copy of Wine & Food magazine the cover of which has a picture of giblets made to look appetizing and in large black letters above the photo it reads: GIBLETS FOR GOURMETS.
At that moment, his urologist, Dr. Bako, walks in. Bako is in his early fifties, of medium height, slightly graying at the temples and wears very fashionable Prada glasses. Bako is strictly business, and has a very dry sense of humor that only a urologist might have. Or maybe a proctologist. He shakes Malarkey’s hand, leans against a counter and folds his arms.
“Doctor Malarkey. How are you?”
“Fine, until I come here.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because sooner or later you’re going to get personal.”
“Absolutely, so let’s do it sooner.”
Bako turns around, grabs a pair of latex gloves, puts them on, slaps his hands together and squirts some KY onto the fingertips. It’s the sound of a squirting tube that prequels the subsequent events.
“Did you know your name in Hungarian means axe man?” Malarkey asks, trying to postpone the inevitable.
“Yes, I did and that’s why I became a urologist. You remember the pose?”
Malarkey rolls his eyes, sighs and climbs onto the examining table, bending over with his chest as far as possible to his thighs so that his ass faces the Reader. Bako raises the gown and at that moment, he sticks his finger up Malarkey’s ass. The Reader needs to try to imagine Malarkey’s face as it contorts. There’s no photo Malarkey can possibly use to illustrate this discomfort. So, the grimace on Malarkey’s face has to be manufactured by you the Reader. If you’re a male over fifty, then it probably isn’t much of a stretch for you to imagine the grimace on Malarkey’s face yourself. If you’re a female, then Malarkey has no analogy for that. Malarkey imagines that, perhaps, a Pap smear might be analogous, but since he’s never had a Pap smear he doesn’t know for sure. Actually, a Pap smear sounds worse.
Minutes later, a fully dressed Malarkey sits in Bako’s office. Medical degrees and fellowships hang on the wall, medical books line the bookshelves, photos of family abound. Bako is at his computer typing away as Malarkey sits somewhat uncomfortably across from him, slightly squirming from the after-effects of the rectal exam. Bako quits typing and turns to face a fidgeting Malarkey across his desk.
“So, how’s your social life?”
“You mean, like dating?”
“Yes, like dating. From what I gather that’s what you’re doing.”
“Well, yes, I’m dating.”
“Really? So, how’s that going?”
“Hmm. She’s a wee bit younger.”
“How much younger is a wee bit?”
“She’s thirty-six.”
Bako raises his eyebrows.
“That could cause some stress. Does she have kids?”
“No.”
“Have you talked about that?”
“She has. Kinda.”
“Kinda yes or kinda no? It’s not a trick question, professor.”
“I’m of two minds.”
“I imagine she’s of one. What’s the problem? Too much sex or lack of it?”
Malarkey raises his eyebrows as Bako returns to the computer, reads something then turns back to Malarkey and crosses his arms across his chest.
“You need a higher dose of sildenafil?”
Malarkey shakes his head.
“Not yet.”
“If you need more let me know.”
“Top of my list, doc.”
Bako shifts into a more serious mode.
“Couple of things, professor. You emailed me to place an order for a semen analysis, but you haven’t done it. Is that part of the dating process?”
“Yes, well, no.”
“Why not?”
“Not sure I want to know.”
“Know what?”
“Whether my fellas can swim or not.”
“But I imagine she wants to know.”
Malarkey nods.
“So, when will you do it?”
“Sooner or later.”
“What’s the issue?”
“Something odd about jerking off in a cup.”
“Pretend you’re in college and it’s a sock. You’ll be fine.”
Bako smiles and turns back to the computer.
“Over the past year your PSA has varied from five-pointone to five-point-eight. Just a reminder. If you’re going to take a PSA test don’t have sex for several days before.”
“Because?”
“Because it skews the results.”
“Up or down?”
“Up, but I don’t find your results that alarming.”
“Is there something you do find alarming?”
“Yes, well, not necessarily alarming, but I’m disinclined to take another biopsy since we’ve done two and I’m not a big fan of them.”
“Because?”
“Because there’s risk involved. After the last biopsy, there were only trace amounts of cancer. We talked about that and that’s why you’re on active surveillance.”
Malarkey looks somewhat preoccupied.
“Something bothering you, professor?”
“To be honest, it’s a bit disconcerting to wake up every morning knowing cancer cells are dancing in my prostate and the phrase ‘active surveillance’ seems like something a Navy Seal might do.”
“Well, there’s always the option of not waking up at all, isn’t there?” Bako answers with a smile. “Let me reassure you about something.”
“What’s that?”
Bako leans back in his chair and crosses his arms across his chest.
“That you’ll probably die with it rather than from it, though there’s no guarantee. See me in six months.”
Malarkey is not at all reassured.
“Could I ask you a question?”
“Ask away.”
“Are courses in bedside manner an elective in medical school?”
Bako smiles.
“They certainly are, they certainly are.”