There comes a time in the life of almost every older man when he must meet the urologist.  It’s a ritual of passage. My nurse-practitioner told me I’d go when I couldn’t stand it anymore.

Tonight is my time. My Uncle Harry says you know you are getting older when you meet the urologist, who is, in my mind, a mystical power.

It began as a mild cancer scare in urine test and has devolved downward, into a search and rescue operation for what my doctor calls “my plumbing.”

I had a generally positive attitude about health care and aging, my doctors have taken great care of me, they are not something to squawk about for me, but something to be thankful for.

My heart has been renovated and is happy and strong. Time for the next chapter in my medical odyssey.

I don’t have cancer, but I have some other things. They are quite treatable.

“I see it this way,” said my doctor, who is both genial and confident, “I’m a plumber and I’m going to make sure your plumbing is okay, and if not, to fix it.”

His confidence is infectious. He promises me it will be weird but fun. I can’t wait to see what he considers fun.

Fair enough. I think no man, however forward-looking, wants to be examined in this way that I will be tonight,  but I hope to be healthy and productive for a good while yet.

My doctors are the ticket to that, and I accept that every inch of me has been probed and examined, and my primary care doctor says that after this, I’ll have some peace from health care.

I know too many nurses, although I love almost all of them.

It’s a fair price to pay. Maria is coming with me – she’ll be in the waiting room – and drive me home.

Plumbing is important to us all.

Tomorrow I’ll pick up our Thanksgiving dinner from Jean’s Place and pay them $300 for the Thanksgiving lunch they are getting tomorrow.

The Mansion is giving the residents another one on Thursday.

I was invited to come and wave through the window. I’ll be there, our first Covid-19 Thanksgiving, and hopefully, the last. Still, I have much to be thankful about.

Maria and I are staying at home on Thursday, a day of walking reading, talking, being. taking pictures, hanging out with the animals. I’m on an Ann Cleave jag.

I will be in touch tomorrow, I’m sure, and I wish you a premature Happy Holiday. I’ll do it again over the next couple of days.