As Cher would say, "Snap Out Of It!"

My former boss recently found he has prostate cancer. I sent him a note and quoted the Beatles, "Anytime at all, all you gotta do is call, and I'll be there."* I meant it when I wrote it.

This Monday afternoon he's having a consultation and another round of tests at a Loop hospital and asked if I'd meet him afterward. He wants to have a drink, unwind and talk about it before he goes home. I said yes. I meant it when I said it.

But now I'm apprehensive. This is getting all too real for me. To be honest, I don't want to go. I don't even want it to be happening.

First of all, it's his prostate. What do I know about prostates? I've talked about every bloody aspect of uterine fibroids without so much as a shiver, so it's not that I'm squeamish. It's just that it's the male reproductive system this time.

Secondly, it's cancer. I know it's non-aggressive, and I realize that since it was discovered when he was over 50, he's more likely to die of something else. But I reject him even having cancer! He and his wife have always been a very well matched couple, and now that their daughter has grown up successfully and gone, he's seemed so satisfied with his marriage and his life. I simply do not want him to have cancer. Not him, not now. No.

So I'm uncomfortable, sad and scared.

I know how this sounds: "me, me, me," and "I, I, I." I'm a selfish little beast, aren't I? HE is the one who is ill! And it would be even more monstrously selfish if I let him see how rattled this has left me.

So I'm mentally cracking myself across the face and admonishing myself to "Snap out of it!"

*Yes, it is SO the Beatles. I hate that a generation will think it was written for a bank ATM commercial!