Don't Try This At Home

Dead Men Don't Have Sex

By Bob on September 1, 2010 6:20 AM

You ever have one of those dreams where everybody's starring at you and you don't know why? Then you look in a mirror and say WTF?! I'm NEKKID!?

 

Well, internets I'm having that dream right now - except it ISN'T A DREAM.

 

You probably think of me as this goofy old bastard great guy with a cool high-tech blog. Well, that's all true. But, it's only part of the story. Here for the very first time, I'm going to reveal two things you don't know about me:

 

1)     I'm also super good looking, and

2)     I know what it's like to fight CANCER

 

OK, number one is total bullshit. Number two is absolutely TRUE. Here's the story.

 

I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2003. And since I'm in a business that's pretty much based on IMAGE - I opted to tell only family and a few friends that I had cancer. That is, until now (CSI music goes CHA-Chung!).

 

When I got the BIG C the doctors recommended a radical prostatectomy. For those of you keeping score at home, "radical" means they removed my prostate and some surrounding tissue in a 3 ½ hour operation.

 

Crazy shit happens while you're under anesthesia. Me? I dreamed my surgeon was Martin freakin' Sheen in Apocalypse Now. He was travelling up the river of my insides and terminating that cancer sumbitch with extreme prejudice. Ratta-Tat-Tat...KER POW!

 

Then the drugs wore off.

 

I spent the next year teaching my body to do a whole lot of things it forgot during my surgery. Gross stuff like retraining my bladder. Sex stuff (I'd tell you here but Charlotte will kill me and I'm not strong enough to keep Cole from gouging out his eyes with an ice pick). It wasn't easy. But, I came through it.

 

The whole time I was enduring this hellish nightmare experience I kept thinking, "Dude, why isn't there some book that'll tell me what's coming next?"

 

What I needed was the book every Boomer read when they were starting their families - What to Expect When You're Expecting. Except, it needed to be for guys fighting prostate cancer.

 

I searched the universe (OK, maybe just Barnes & Noble, but you get the idea) for this book and The Universe responded with a loud, NO DICE, BOB. So, I told the Universe to suck it. And I promised myself that - if I survived prostate cancer - I'd write my own damned book for the next guy.

 

You know what Internets? That's exactly what I DID.

 

Within two hours of hearing I had CANCER I started a journal (only teenage girls have diaries) and recorded the entire experience for a solid year - from diagnosis, to surgery, through rehabilitation. I used the journal as the basis for my book, Dead Men Don't Have Sex. A Guy's Guide to Surviving Prostate Cancer.

 

It's a non-fiction (who would make this up?) book illustrated with excerpts from my diary, so the practical tips are influenced with a personal perspective. It's an honest, irreverent and sometimes laugh-your-ass-off look at my journey down the rabbit hole that is prostate cancer.

 

Dead Men... is the book I needed the day I was diagnosed. Now it's available from The Boomer Brief, Amazon.com and yes, even Barnes & Noble.

 

I hope none of you ever need Dead Men...but since the disease is diagnosed every three minutes - and is the number two cancer killer among American men -- the odds are pretty good you'll run into someone who could use it.

 

OK, that's as nekkid as I'm going to get for now. But don't worry. I've got plenty of embarrassing stories left.

 

Like...what it's like to try and convince the folks at the Today Show to do a story on your book...or, my continuing fight with British Petroleum...or, the chupacabra that's effing up my morning walk through the neighborhood...or that Jackson Browne concert where the guy behind me sang EVERY effing song...they're all coming, I promise.

 

One more thing while I'm standing here NEKKID. If you tell me I've got a mole that "should be checked out" I'm going to Kick. Your. Ass.

 

Melanoma Memories isn't the title of my next book.

 

I'm thinking a better title might be The Colleyville Chupacabra That Ate British Petroleum or something like that.

 

Boomer Brief Bonus

Ever wonder what it's like to be diagnosed with cancer? (No Bob, why would we?) Here's an excerpt from my book that'll tell you. I wrote this journal entry two hours after I was diagnosed with the Big C.

 

Chapter 1

Getting the news - then what?

Day 1

"You've got cancer."

Dr. Price said it in a very matter-of-fact tone. No sugarcoated, "I have some bad news for you..." Nothing to wash it down. Bad news, served straight up without a garnish.

I could hear Charlotte choking back tears. I couldn't look at her. I suppressed a strong urge to vomit. We spent the next five minutes discussing the Gleason Grading Scale, success rates, surgery, and what happens "after." Then we stumbled out into the bright, fluorescent-lit hallway and walked like zombies toward the bank of gunmetal gray elevators.

The doors slammed shut behind us with a metallic clank, like the sound of prison cell. She cried softly and hugged me so tightly it gave me the impression she was afraid I might float away. My body felt like lead. I wasn't going anywhere.

"It'll be OK," I said.

I didn't know who I was trying to convince.

**

Reprinted with permission from Dead Men Don't Have Sex. A Guy's Guide to Surviving Prostate Cancer. All rights reserved.

 

 

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