As men get older, say older than 50, and certainly older than 60, peeing can, more and more, become a case of less and less. This is not to say that 60 is old. It’s just that when you’re 60, or 64 say, anything less than 64 is by definition, younger, and consequently 64 is by definition, older. But I digress. My point is that I don’t pee like I used to. This is not to say that I pee less than I used to, in fact I pee far more than I used to. It’s just that I pee far less than I used to, on a per pee basis.
My doctor has explained that this is caused by a condition called Benign Prostatic Hyperplasia or BPH. In layman’s terms, your prostate gland swells up as if you had cancer, but you don’t; or you hope you don’t, it can be hard to tell. They can do a test called the PSA test, or Prostate Specific Antigen test, but it’s often inconclusive. And supposedly, even if you do have prostate cancer but are old, which I am definitely not, even if not definitely young, the cancer can grow so slowly that you will probably die from something else first, a comforting thought. But my point is that I don’t pee like I used to.
There was a time, granted many years ago, when I won peeing contests in the boy’s room at Essex Junction Junior High. For those of you who may not have been boys, or attended Junior High School, the classic contest involved two or more boys peeing, starting out directly in front of a urinal then moving slowly back, in sync, until one or more could no longer “make the distance,” or ran out of pee. The last man (or in this case, boy) standing (or in this case, peeing) and still making the distance, was the winner. I’m proud to say (if a little embarrassed) that I won far more often than not. But, of course, I don’t pee like I used to.
Except on rare occasion. For some reason, every now and then, and I have no idea why, I can pee like a fifth grader (or seventh grader, if you need to be precise). The rare occasion is usually about 4:00 am, on my third or fourth trip to the bathroom in any given night and it always takes me by surprise. I’ll approach the John with the usual trepidation, anticipating a hesitant start and paltry flow, only to be surprised by a rapid commencement and flow approaching that of the good old days of bathroom victories. I do not deny, these rare moments are cherished and I must admit that at times, I may have reveled. Enjoying the easy and powerful flow of days gone by and triumphs garnered, I might even have succumb to the inclination that boys (and many men) have of talking to their instruments of flow (and other pleasure). I might even had said (or at least thought), “You go big guy, show ‘em how it’s done.”