Word for the Day: “Embarrassment.”

Do you still remember what that means? I don’t. And you can throw out “Privacy,” too.

Does anyone have a dictionary?

That’s because everybody here has had someone, most likely wearing a white coat, trespass on their “private property.” Or been close to someone who has.

Since DH’s (Dear Husband’s) diagnosis, I have become completely “disinhibited.” I talk about prostate cancer all the time, and because it hits below the belt, I have no choice but to talk about intimate things or shut up.

A guy in another group referred to PC as a “sexual cancer,” and I think he’s dead on. Good word. It explains why it is so hard to discuss PC with anybody who is not a member of this club!

So I have talked with guys (and gals) here about everything, including EF (erectile function), ED (erectile dysfunction), and TX (treatment), for the above. You get so used to talking this way, that it encroaches on other parts of your life. It’s like you go up to your elderly neighbor and say, “How’s ‘Mister Pokey?'” instead of “How are you?”

I am a movie lover, and one of my favorite lines is from the movie, “Kinsey,” about the sex researcher. Kinsey becomes so fanatical about collecting data about people’s sex lives, that he almost “loses it.” Perspective. Uses his own father as a research subject. Specifically, he sits down across the table from his old, crusty, puritanical father and says:

“Dad, how old were you the first time you masturbated?”

I am afraid I might become like that. So I have to be careful not to mix business with pleasure.

One specialty of mine is “penile rehabilitation.” That means that I urge men who’ve had RP to have their sexual function evaluated by an expert in “Sexual Medicine” (in plain language, an ED specialist), after about 2 months. Just to see how things are going, and if any therapies might help. Good hospitals do this as a matter of course.

Another area I have some expertise in is “priapism.” That’s just a fancy name for an erection that won’t go away.

I watch a lot of TV, because I like true crime shows like “Forensic Files”. When you see all that murder and mayhem, it makes you feel better about your own situation. And it does so sharpen the mind — because you have to take these little clues, pieces of a puzzle, and put them together to find out “whodunit”.

Naturally, if I’m watching TV, I’m going to see a lot of Viagra commercials. And Cialis and Levitra. It doesn’t matter if you’re watching Romper Room or the World Series. If you were a martian come to earth you would think the biggest problems facing civilization are: (a) erectile dysfunction, and (b) restless legs syndrome.

Before three years ago, when DH and I would see a Viagra commercial, we would giggle or make wisecracks. Like at the end, when they say, “If you have an erection that lasts 4 hours or more, you should go to the emergency room,” DH would say something like, “Better go to an orgy instead.”

Of course, you never in your wildest dreams imagine that *you* will be the person to have to present yourself in the ER with a perpetual hard-on. But we have — almost — been in that situation.

With injectable ED drugs like Trimix, it takes time to get the dosage right. So if you take too much, which is common, you can easily end up with a 4-hour erection. I will never forget our experience with this.

One night, after we’d had some hanky-panky, DH was jumping in and out of the shower, looking distressed. He finally confessed to me that his erection just wouldn’t go away, and he felt sore. I realized he must be in a lot of pain, because he’s not a complainer.

So I panicked and raced to the drugstore to get him some Sudafed. Ran so fast I nearly got run over. (Too bad it didn’t work.)

In the meantime, DH was sitting up in bed with his eyes closed, “nursing” his manhood between two ice packs. It was a sight to behold.

Then I turned on the TV and looked for an “on-demand” movie we might order, so that DH could distract himself.

Well, I thought I hit the jackpot: Time-Warner was offering “Mrs. Henderson Presents,” an Australian movie. Just what DH loves. Problem was, when we turned it on, we realized they were speaking British English, not Austrylyan, and we couldn’t understand a word they were saying. And there were no subtitles.

So we turned up the volume to 50, and we sat there asking each other the whole time, “What did he say?” and “Did you hear that?” It seems that the English upper classes cannot be bothered to open their mouths when they speak.

“Mrs. Henderson Presents” is a very strange movie, but that’s not why I will always remember it — it was the context. In any case, the film did the job, let us pass the time, and diverted DH from his discomfort.

It also had a couple of funny lines in it. In one scene a theatre manager and his assistant are auditioning women for a X-rated “nudie revue”.

The contestants file by, and then a particular woman comes on stage. The assistant blurts out excitedly, “She’s the one. Just right.”

The manager responds, “No. Because her nipples don’t look British”.

We finished the movie, and it was around 2:30 a.m. I realized he’d had that erection for 3 1/2 hours, and it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. God help me, I thought, unless there’s a miracle in the next 30 minutes, we will have to go the emergency room and announce to the whole world what his problem is.

In other words, die of embarrassment.

Then we had a fight, because he said the erection was gone and I said, “No it’s not. So I called my doctor (because he refused to call his) at 2:45 a.m., and in a panic asked him, “How do you ‘define’ an erection?” Silly, but that’s law-school talk.

He laughed. Said, “Are you putting me on? Define an erection?”

So I told him I was not calling him at that hour to make jokes. Explained that we had a “he says, she says” situation. Then I quickly terminated the conversation. Didn’t want to be in the doghouse with *my* doctor.

Anyway, I started to get dressed, and I advised DH that the only ER I was going to was NY Hospital, even though it’s not the closest. St. Luke’s is a zoo.

End of story: When it was 3 hours and 55 minutes, he called me over and said, “Look, it’s gone.”

And lo and behold, there it was. Deflated.

So I said to him, “Did you do something? Stick a pin in it?”

He swore that he hadn’t done anything.

So there’s probably a psychological element involved.

Anyway, because of my experiences (and others’) with embarrassment resulting from a PC diagnosis, I decided to post the following joke. Enjoy.


An 86 year old man walked into a crowded waiting room and approached the desk.

The receptionist said, “Yes sir, what are you seeing the doctor for today?”

“There’s something wrong with my dick,” he replied.

The receptionist became irritated and said, “You shouldn’t come into a crowded waiting room and say things like that.”

“Why not? You asked me what was wrong and I told you,” he said.

The receptionist replied, “Now you’ve caused some embarrassment in this room full of people. You should have said there is something wrong with your ear or something and discussed the problem further with the doctor in private.”

The man replied, “you shouldn’t ask people questions in a room full of strangers if the answers could embarrass anyone.”

The man walked out, waited several minutes, and then re-entered.

The receptionist smiled smugly and asked, “Yes?”

“There’s something wrong with my ear,” he stated.

The receptionist nodded approvingly and smiled, knowing he had taken her advice. “And what is wrong with your ear sir?”

“I can’t piss out of it,” he replied.

The waiting room erupted in laughter.


After I told DH this joke, I said, “Imagine if we ended up having to go to the hospital that time when you had priapism?” Now that would be embarrassing!

He said, “No it wouldn’t. I would have just said, “Ma’am, my ear has been erect for 4 hours.” Or “Ma’am, my ear has been standing at attention for 4 hours.”

Then we sat and had fun thinking up alternatives.