A couple of months ago, Theresa received a letter that called her to a jury selection pool. The pool is being selected for a very public murder trial in our state.
People who are selected for this jury will have to travel to north-central Pennsylvania every Sunday night, and stay until Friday. They will have to do that every week for what will probably be a 3 month trial.
I assumed the worst. I assumed that she would be selected, and be gone from home for 3 months. To make a long story short, she was interviewed in the courtroom for about 2 minutes, and then she was dismissed.
A few weeks ago, I started passing blood. “Passing blood” means that my urine was bright red. I’m a healthcare provider, so I remember from my education that urine is supposed to be yellow, not red. Yellow good, red bad.
I had a physician appointment, and then a urologist appointment, then a CAT scan and a cystoscopy. “Cystoscopy” is a fancy word for sticking a TV camera someplace that a TV camera was never designed to go.
And to make a long story short, I’m relieved (really relieved!) to report that I’m clean. The CAT scan and cystoscopy ruled out cancer in my liver, kidneys, bladder, ureters and prostate.
What I’m not so relieved to report is what the urologist said to me at the end of our last appointment. I asked him why I started bleeding, and he said that “it is a normal part of the aging process”.
Ouch. I do not want to participate in the aging process. No one asked me if this was a process that I wanted to be a part of.
I worry a lot. Those of you who know me well know that that is part of my personality. I rarely think about what the best outcome could possibly be. I usually think about the worst possibly outcome. One of my friends calls that “catastrophizing”.
The good news about worrying is that I sweat a lot of details, both at home and at work. We get a lot of stuff done, because I worry about a lot of stuff. But I spend a lot of time worrying about my wife living 150 miles away for 3 months, and having prostate cancer. Mainly I worry about things that never happen. If worrying was an art, my art would be hanging in museums all around the world.