A few weeks ago, my father went for his annual physical at the doctor’s office, a very important event which he is very proud of. My father has always been relatively healthy except for a history of high blood pressure and some tumors that appeared on his thyroid when I was in high school. Both of these things were controlled and corrected somewhat easily and now my father is back to normal, maintaining his huge Polish calves the size of tree trunks and also daily sipping a huge green drink full of algae and vitamins and God knows what else that he simply calls his “Concoction”. I spoke with him briefly after his physical which happened to coincide with mine.

Phone Call #1

Me: DAD! It’s Laura. How are you?

Dad: LAWRA! I just got back from my physical!

Me: Yeah, ME TOO!

Dad: It’s pretty exciting. Everything looks good I tink. My blood pressure is 120/80!

Me: Dad! THAT IS SO CRAZY AWESOME SUPER FLY!

Dad: What?

Me: I don’t know. I’m bored.

Dad: Oh. Well. How’d you do!?

Me: 94/74! This vegan thing is making me a healthy superstar.

Dad: 94/74?! LAWRA! THAT IS OUTTA DIS WORLD.

Me: I KNOW! It’s pretty incredible. What else is new?

Dad: Well, it went really well! They took blood and they say I’m old so I should probably cut out some white carbs and sugar and that type-a thing. Mom says I gotta eat better.

Me: I fully support that.

Dad: Thank you.

This went on for a good twenty minutes, as I lamented over the fact that we couldn’t compare intricate details yet, since I was still awaiting lab results. You know, a conversation isn’t really a conversation unless you can analyze HDL and LDL cholesterol ratios.

Phone Call #2

Me: Hello?

Dad: LAWRA. It’s your dad. I just wanted you to know that the doctor got back my PSA test which is like a ting for your prostate and I have to get a biopsy.

Me: What? Why?

Dad: Well, the reading isn’t that high, the doctor is just concerned because it made a huge jump since last year so I just have to get it looked at.

Me: I am going to try not to freak out now.

A PSA test, google tells me, measures a protein-specific antigen which is basically a protein produced by the cells of the prostate. A low reading is between 0 and 2.9 ng/ml, which is what my father’s was last year. A somewhat elevated rating is between 2.6-10 ng/ml and I believe my father’s this year fell around 8. So, they poked my dad with needles and in his words, “it didn’t really hurt dat bad.”

But something went badly somehow because despite the antibiotics they gave him after the biopsy, over the weekend my father developed a raging UTI. It started with blood in the urine and ended up with him and my mother in the hospital until 3:30 in the morning. After finally seeing a doctor, his urethra was completely closed and so they inserted a catheter which he had to wear home with him. He was instructed to wear it for ten days, complete with pee bag around his leg in order to keep it open as the antibiotics cured his infection.

Dear God, I’m sorry, but it’s 2007 and WHY DOES IT TAKE TEN DAYS TO CURE A UTI? Love, Laura.

I know UTI’s. I just HAD a UTI and let me tell you, there was noticeable pain after five days on the antibiotics so I BELIEVE the doctors that it’s necessary but I think it’s RIDICULOUS. Anyway let’s rewind. I went to bed early on Sunday night, trying to catch up on a tiring week. Around 11, I received a phone call from my sister.

Phone Call #3

Deb: Just so you know, dad’s in the hospital.

Me: WHAT?

Deb: Mom just called me. They went to the emergency room.

Me: Why didn’t she call me?

Deb: Because she hates you.

Me: This is so dumb! What happened!?

Deb: I don’t know. Jem said something was happening yesterday, whatever he’s in the ER, I’ll call you back.

Laying in bed, my mind starts racing because, you know, I’m neurotic and I have no information to go on so I start thinking the worst. So, my dad’s in the hospital and probably has three hours to live and I’m going to have to give the eulogy because I just KNOW they are going to ask ME to say something or write something because that’s what I do and I haven’t prepared a speech yet, what am I going to say, I’m going to start crying if I have to talk at the wake or the funeral with his coffin there, I hope it’s not an ugly coffin but God I should start thinking of something touching and yet witty and oh God it’s too sad, I can’t stop crying here laying in my bed, I can’t believe my father is DEAD.

Phone Call #4

Laura: HELLO!?

Jem: Dad’s in the hospital.

Laura: I know. Why do YOU know?

Jem: Because mom called me.

Laura: WHY DIDN’T MOM CALL ME TO TELL ME DAD’S DYING!?! WHY DID SHE CALL YOU?!

Jem: Dad’s dying?

Laura: DAD’S DYING!?!??!?! I KNEW IT!

Jem: Uh. He’s just peeing blood.

Laura: WHAT?!

Jem: It’s normal or something but mom’s being shady.

Laura: She’s totally hiding something from us, especially me. Why wouldn’t she call me!? Does she think I would overreact because I AM TOTALLY NOT OVERREACTING!!!!!!! *wiping tears out of my eyes* BECAUSE I AM THE EPITOME OF KEEPING MY SHIT TOGETHER RIGHT NOW!

Jem: Right. Sounds like it. I have to go. Later.

I proceeded to lay in bed getting hysterical for a few more minutes and just I was about to go find paper to write down my eulogy speech, I fell asleep and started snoring until the phone rang around 12:30 am.

Phone Call #5

Mom: Hi Laura! It’s mom! Dad’s in the hospital but it’s fine.

Me: I know! Deb called me! Jem called me! Everyone knows! What! Am confused!

Mom: He probably got an infection from the biopsy, we’re waiting to see a doctor.

Me: Okay, okay, just if he’s going to die, hold the phone up to his ear.

I fell back asleep for two seconds and then:

Phone Call #6

Deb: DAD IS FINE. I repeat, DAD IS FINE.

Me: Yeah. Mom called.

Deb: OKAY BYE.

Falling asleep, falling asleep, oh so tired oh so tir…

Phone Call #7

Jem: DAD IS OKAY!

Me: I KNOW! MOM JUST TOLD ME!

Jem: I thought mom didn’t tell you anything!?

*SNOREEEEEEEE*

By morning, everything was good. Dad was hanging around town with his totally hip bag of pee around his knee and explaining to me over the phone everything that happened.

Phone Call #8

Dad: I totally get what you females go through. That was probably the worst pain of my whole life.

Me: Sucks, right?

Dad: Lawra, when they whipped out that catheter, I thought…oh Gawd, I don’t know. It was HORRIBLE. Just HORRIBLE.

Me: I’m so sorry dad!

Dad: It’s okay what are ya gonna do, right? I just feel like…what women feel like in childbirth maybe? I don’t know. You know, of course.

Me: Well, not childbirth but UTI’s SUCK.

Dad: I know. But everything is okay.

Me: I’m glad. I just…freaked out. No one told me, Deb just said you were in the hospital so I just thought the worst.

Dad: Lawra. This is not my heart. This is just my penis.

Me: Totally.

Dad saw a urologist the following day and was told that everything was alright but that he still had to wait until Thursday for his biopsy results. I had nearly forgotten about the whole point of it when the phone rang today.

Phone Call #8

Dad: Lawra!! It’s your dad!

Me: Hey dad! Oh! It’s Thursday! How are you?!

Dad: Well. I got the results. And…it’s not good.

*SILENCE*

Dad (as if he’s the doctor, talking to someone else): Lawra, your dad has prostate cancer.

*SILENCE*

Dad: It’s caught very early and I am sitting down with the docta next week to tawk about options. I have four.

Me: Four is a nice number.

Dad: I think radiation is good but I dunno. I’m having Paul research it and then we’ll tawk about it.

Me: Okay. So. Paul knows.

Dad: Yeah. I’m cawllin all of you in birth order.

Me: Oh! Very smart.

Dad: Are you okay? Everything is fine!

*Mom (in the background): EVERYTHING IS NOT FINE! DON’T TELL HER THAT!*

Dad: Well, it’s TREATABLE. This is treatable.

*SILENCE*

Dad: Lawra? Are you okay?

Me: I haven’t had a baby yet.

Dad: I’m not going anywhere! I’m still gonna walk you down the aisle and go to the christening and that type-a thing.

Me: Dad, a wedding and a christening are two different things.

Dad: You know what I mean. I’ll be around.

Me: Well, I seem to be taking my sweet time with those things.

Dad: Well, I’m just gonna have to live longer then.

Me: Please do that.

Dad: I will. I have to cawl the next child now.

Me: Okay, dad.

Dad: I love you very much and I’ll see you soon.

Me: Bye, dad.

At my father’s age, 1 in 6 men are diagnosed with prostate cancer, a disease, when caught early, that is easily treatable and has very high success rates. I’m feeling very positive about all of this and feeling so very grateful that my family has health insurance and that my father is maniacal diligent about taking care of his health. It also helps that I have three amazing siblings and a mother that call to keep me posted and call to see how *I’m* doing.

I’m feeling grateful about my own health insurance too, not really because I think anything’s wrong with me but moreso because it gives me an opportunity to call my dad to talk. And that’s the thing, I just love talking to my dad. And when I tell him how low my blood pressure is, even over the phone, I can tell his entire face lights up, the same way it does when I tell him how much I saved with coupons at the grocery store. He’ll shake his head and mutter an astonished, “No kiddin!” and break into a smile and oh my God, it is just the cutest damn face in the whole wide world.