Tomorrow I have a nuclear stress test at 7:00 a.m. (to satisfy my absolutely useless cardiologist, whom I've come to hate) and a go-see with my internist (whom I still like) at 3:45 p.m. It is my HOPE that both of them will immediately sign off on my upcoming surgery.
If, God willing, they do then a week from tomorrow I'll arrive at Mt. Sinai hospital here in Manhattan at 10:00 a.m. for a radical prostectomy performed by Dr. David Samadi, using the da Vinci surgical robot.
I can't think of anyone, among my male friends, better suited to this than me. Sex has become nothing but a bitter memory of how I routinely sold myself short over the years.
God has actually done me a big favor.