Guys, mostly— old guys. And one woman. Wheelchairs. Walkers. Sons dutifully guiding their fathers to stiff seats in the waiting room.
All the questionnaires, the doctors, the nurses were overly concerned with pee. Can you pee? Does it start and stop? They’re asking about my “stream?” Any trouble emptying your bladder? How often do you get up in the middle of the night? Oh, and while you’re waiting for the doctor pee in this cup. Right there in the exam room, over the toilet they had sticking out of the wall.
Of course, I don’t have a pee problem but that didn’t stop them from asking. It was a routine consultation but I kept imaging myself getting roto-rootered like my father-in-law got back when he lived with us. He had trouble with pee. Swelling, stones, something painful. Doctors fixed it by going up through his wiener, I’m pretty sure. Their idea of minimally invasive is different than mine.
So nothing happened this visit but I’ve always got next time, whenever that is, to look forward to.