Road test: Prostate Check

Being married to a health journalist, I’ve been prodded and poked more times in the past two years than your average Aussie bloke is in a lifetime. I’ve had my blood tested for everything under the sun. I’ve had a small lump cut off my lower eyelid.  I’ve had sinoplasty on my upper palate to reduce snoring. And I’ve had teeth pulled and a snore guard fitted. I still snore, by the way, but the tone has definitely improved.

All this for peace of mind. My wife’s, mainly. Of course, she’d hate to admit it, but I feel great.

It came as a bit of a surprise, though, when she told me it was time to get my prostate checked. After all, I was only 47 and far too young and virile to bother with such nonsense. Besides, the plumbing worked just fine, thank you very much. 

"You’re going to have to get it done when you turn 50 anyway," my wife reminded me. True. But being born in the days of analogue, I was reluctant to enter the digital age.

Still, I knew she was right. No point in putting it off. So I called up my GP of 18 years, Dr Patricia Walton (yes, fellas, my doctor is a woman) and made an appointment for a digital prostate check.

In the lead-up to the examination, I kept thinking of all this weird stuff. Would the doctor be able to get her finger in my bum? How painful would it be? Would she wear a torch on her head? Or a little camera on the end of her finger? Afterwards, would I walk like John Wayne?

And what if I got an erection? How embarrassing would that be? Would my doctor have a cold spoon on hand? Or worse still, what if she thought I was trying to crack on to her? I knew I was being paranoid, but the uneasy feelings lingered.

Nothing to fear but fear itself, I told myself bravely. Millions of men have this test done every year. Besides, there was no easy way out. You can’t exactly send a stunt-bum or a bum-double to these things. It has to be your own bum.