Spoiler alert. Here comes an example of my warped sense of humor.

“Can you kneel? I want to do a digital examination.”

Those were the words. Within minutes of meeting the man.

How humiliating. How hilarious.

So he brings in a nurse. Primarily to help me. (More humiliation.)

Why kneeling? His words: “So your breeches don’t go down to your ankles.”

I’ve been laughing on and off for over 24 hours since I heard that. Can you just imagine the scene? Wow.

He didn’t even take me to dinner first.

LO freakin’ L.

That was yesterday. The most significant, humiliating, funniest, saddest, honest, and informative doctor visit I’ve had in at least 25 years. (Or maybe in my lifetime.)

He’s a colorectal surgeon. My GI doctor sent me to him to see if he had a possible solution to my chronic GI problems. I had never met him before. He sure knows me now.

After the examination, he left the room while I got redressed. When he came back, he gave me the clearest diagnostic info I have ever heard.

He could have said it in two words. “Mr. Scooler, you’re f—ed.”

He didn’t. He explained it all very clearly instead.

I had never heard the expression “pelvic floor” before. I sure know about it now.

Apparently, the muscles in your pelvic floor control such things as the bladder, the bowels (sorry), and the urethra. The many surgeries, the radiation, the chemo and, yes, the cancer essentially killed those muscles for me.

I should have gotten the hint years ago when my bladder quit and I became the proud owner of a suprapubic catheter.

Yay.

For a bit of a “control freak,” losing control of body functions is a big problem.

Looks like the medical community is outta airspeed and altitude on this one. They’re talking home remedies and physical therapy. I’m not optimistic.

Now, let me be clear about something.

I am a survivor. Colon cancer. Heart failure. Numerous surgeries. Radiation. Chemo. Survived all of it, thanks to the Lord and great Charleston medical care.

At eighty freakin’ seven years old.

The joy that longevity has given me comes with a cost. This is part of the bill.

I’ll admit it. There was some wallowing. Some laughing. Some sobbing. Then I figured I’d better write it all down.

My desire to travel and see new things has been pushed aside by the fear of humiliating myself with “wardrobe malfunctions.”

So, the plan from here? Stay focused. Keep laughing at myself and these absurd situations. And hopefully stay pleasant to be around.

Enuf.