You have an appointment at the clinic at Ein Kerem in the morning and a wedding to go to that same evening? That should keep you on your toes. Well, yeah. The appointment at the urology clinic had been scheduled in the distant past (meaning months and months ago), and we were going to show up, come hell or high water. The wedding? Miri-tal and Michael were getting married on Aug. 7 at Lago, the meat restaurant at the Puddle at the new entrance to our fair city. That got scheduled much more recently. The moral of the story? It’s easier to schedule a wedding here in The Land than to book an appointment with your favorite medical specialist.

Even with the light rail in operation only part of the way, getting to the hospital was the easy part. Once you get there? Fortunately, Barbara, from past experience, sort of knows her way around, that we had to go from the new building, where we had come in, through the corridor to the old building and then follow the instructions from the guy at the information desk, up the ramp all the way to the bank of elevators in back, up to the proper floor and good luck finding your way from there… If I had been there on my own, I might still be sitting in the maternity ward awaiting my turn.

The other thing you need to know is that they function on H.S.T. (hospital standard time). You will arrive a10:30 for your 11AM appointment (figuring 30 minutes to figure out where you’re supposed to go and make your way there), knowing full well that you won’t be seen until noon – if you’re lucky. At least, once it’s your turn, they don’t rush you in and out. Dr. Muhamed looked at all the information already in the system, decided it wasn’t detailed enough and started with me from the beginning, asking me about my flow rate in days gone by. At least he was paying attention. Plus, we had brought with us the results from my CT, MRI, and ultrasounds in case anybody was interested. (You have a cyst in your pancreas. It’s probably nothing, but you need to have it checked.)

But let’s get to the nitty-gritty. What’s wrong with me, and how are we going to fix it? I already had a good idea about the first part. Let’s put it this way. Walk on any street in your neighborhood and pick out at random any ten dudes past a certain age. Whether they know it or not, three quarters of them over 70 will have an enlarged prostate, the only question being, how enlarged? If the answer is ‘very enlarged,’ they might be in the waiting room waiting their turn to see the urologist.

Of course, I’m in that category, have been there for decades, until it’s now no longer something to comment about and ignore. My prostate is intruding where it has no business being, which is the probable source of my woes. But before deciding on surgery, there is one more procedure Dr. Muhamed wanted to do.

It’s called a cystoscopy. Do I know what that is? How do I tell him politely that I first underwent this procedure before he was born? I did explain that I’ve had this done several times, the first as an inpatient, staying overnight in Mt. Sinai Hospital (NYC), the most recent in a doctor’s office with no anesthesia (ouch!) In fact, whatever the ‘oscopy’ out there, I’ve probably had it done – at least once. We agreed to do the cystoscopy and take it from there.

We took the time to book an appointment for this procedure, had a light lunch in the food court, and made our way back home. It took a lot longer going back, partly because the haredim were out protesting somewhere along the way. I guess that blocking the streets is neged kulam. (That can’t be right!) Just enough time for a decent nap on the couch and a change of attire before we ordered a cab and headed to the festivities.

We do get down to the Puddle from time to time, assuming somebody is driving. But it’s always to go to the other restaurant, Caffit, which is dairy all the way. Who knew that Lago was big enough to take care of lots of other random folks there for a casual Thursday night out, while allowing our bride and groom to have their wedding and lots of us invited guests to enjoy a festive meal?

If all I had to do was show up and recite one of the seven brachot under the huppah, that would have been one thing. But life quite often veers into the ‘something else.’ Miri-tal’s parents, Zev and Susie, had considered staying with us while they were in The Land – after all, we stay with them the few times we are back in Teaneck – but they figured a month in our spare bedroom might be gilding the lily. But we could accommodate Yaffa, Miri-tal’s sister, for two weeks, which would leave just enough room for Natania, Gil, and Liel to stay over the Shabbat after the wedding. And by extending our table, we could host all of the above for lunch, plus the new bride and groom, and Sam, a friend from back in elementary school, all of whom were invited for kiddush, along with the usual crowd of fressers. We all had good reason to feel part of the action. Michael is Gil’s friend, and Natania has known Miri-tal since the third grade at Yavneh Academy. It was inevitable that the newlyweds would get introduced, although it did take a while for them to get hitched. But who’s in a hurry?

(Someone with more stamina than moi, who can work faster and do more than one thing at a time, could probably have done all the preparation for Shabbat lunch chik-chok on Friday after the wedding. But I know my limitations. I wasn’t getting anything done on Thursday, obviously; Wed. we were getting our hairs cut and our teeth cleaned, so not much time there either; Tues. I was at the shuk in the morning, so after my mid-day nap… By doing a little bit here and a little bit there, I did manage to complete the menu, which featured my versions of gazpacho and pargiot sautéed either in soy sauce or vermouth, with a lot of salads thrown into the mix. At least I didn’t have to worry about the victuals for Fri. night; we were all invited out for sheva brachot. I was, however, put in charge of obtaining two bottles of spirits, ostensibly for the ‘chatan’s tisch,’ but imbibed everywhere except, with my son-in-law dutifully walking around at the meal pouring Scotch for anyone interested.)

What table do they have us sitting at? One unexpected pleasure was being seated at the festive meal next to a friend from Teaneck whom I rarely get to see, now that we’re all living in different places in The Land. We wound up yelling at each other, not because we were arguing, but to make ourselves heard over the music. (It must be a halachic requirement that if you can hear yourself think at a simcha, the music isn’t loud enough.) He asked me something that several other people have inquired about recently. Are you still doing any photography?, whichis a variation on, Are you still doing any plays? Do you want the long answer or the short answer?  Short!

If we were able to go on any extended trips, as we used to, I would definitely bring along my camera; in fact, most of what I’ve done in the last ten years of any interest was when we were in Morocco, Tanzania, Egypt, India, or some other ports of call. Otherwise, I’m in the ‘been there, done that mode,’ and who wants to be in a boring place? (I could probably get that out in one minute in an elevator.) I have a lifetime of assorted random thoughts stored in my brain; let me use the time left to me to share them with whoever is interested or even remotely curious – which should include many of you…