To the ordinary Brit urine literally flows through mainstream culture. The vernacular is awash with references to this yellow fluid. Do you think I’m taking the piss? Look outside it’s almost certainly pissing down. But don’t piss about or your performance will inevitably be piss-poor. Better to celebrate and get pissed than to get pissed off.
But as a mature man I would urge fellow chaps to give pee a much greater prominence, especially when it comes to matters of health. The frequency, amount, and appearance of our piss can provide a vital clue to our wellbeing. In this short meander I’d like to concentrate on two prominent conditions: Type 2 diabetes and prostate posers – I have a close affinity with both.
In 2008, or thereabouts, I became aware that my sleep pattern was being interrupted by the frequent need to pee, combined with being awoken by my own snoring. I was officially a lard-arse and tipped the scales at a whopping 18 and a bit stone. Being 6’2” and broad, I was able to carry it reasonably well, although my face seamlessly blended into my neck and my double chin could have been sold as an occasional sofa at DFS. Being a practicing hypochondriac, I ambled off to the doctor’s for a check-up. Type 2 diabetic! Surely there had to be a mistake. Some years later, the planets finally aligned and I successfully reversed the condition. Peeing was the trigger point.
I am lucky enough to have access to an ongoing screening process, since a lasting legacy of my significant weight loss was a small relic: a gallstone. Recently the annual event rolled round and I eagerly removed my upper clothing, laid on the bench and felt the ice-cold gel as my ultrasound commenced. Beforehand I had, as usual, downed a bucket-load of water as this assists in observing any abnormalities. The good news: the errant stone had naturally dissolved. The not so welcome news was mention of my prostate. My cerebral connections spontaneously arced to a word that is synonymous with this poorly understood organ: cancer. The reassuring words that there could be another explanation were simply lost in the mental cyclone.
I checked the symptoms of the worst case scenario – double-checked, and checked once again – and pee was central. In recent years I had joked about never missing the opportunity to pass a public convenience without checking in and pointing Percy at the porcelain. Had I once again failed to listen to the rhythmic roar of my hot stream? Had I become deaf to the dribble?
After a telephone consultation with my GP, I was informed that men over 50 can request a prostate specific antigen (PSA) test, even if they do not have symptoms. Although my boyish good looks belie my true age, I am above this threshold and a simple blood test followed. Within a couple of days my results were in; I was comfortably within the normal range. I wasn’t facing the big C.
Relief is an understatement and the acknowledgement of suffering from benign prostate enlargement – common in guys over 50 – didn’t raise any additional alarms as it’s not usually a serious threat to health.
The moral of the story?
Men – be on the piss. If your peeing practice changes, get it checked out. The earlier any potential problems are addressed, the better the chances of a remedy.
But before I piss off, I leave you with an astute observation from comedian Frank Carson:
What’s the difference between a Rottweiler and a poodle peeing on your leg?
You let the Rottweiler finish.
© Ian Kirke 2024
@ iankirke.bsky.social
Title photograph by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash