This is a story about my feet, my teeth, my bladder and my father’s garment.  

My father had it all. Back pain, hernia pain, foot pain. And there were some nights when the hot water bottle, the universal healthcare of the ’50s, just wouldn’t do. The nights of grunts, the nights of groans.  

“Did you wear your garment today?” my mother would say. 

My father wore a “garment.” I don’t know what the garment was. I don’t know what the garment did. But I knew he wore a garment. 

“No,” my father said. When he was in pain, he was a man of few words. 

“I told you to wear your garment. Why didn’t you wear your garment? That’s why we got you a garment.” 

This was all foreign to me then. I just couldn’t relate. And then a strange thing happened. I got old.  

I have become a used car. My tires are balding. My backseat cushions are flat. And my GPS is always pointing south.  

It started with my feet. Once a source of strength, a pillar of podiatry, they’ve become flatter and wider. I am now a double E. Go find that size at Thom McAn. And because I’m now more comfortable in spongy athletic shoes, because I now wear them with suits, my high school has asked me to return my “Best-Dressed Male” award.  

So, the feet went first, the knees went second. Too much basketball, too many rebounds. I know what you’re thinking. Why not get knee replacement surgery like everyone else over 60? Well, I have chondromalacia. That’s where my kneecap gets grizzled into sharp edges. And those sharp edges rub against the surrounding muscles and tendons, which hurts like hell. 

And there’s the rub. You see, total knee replacement surgery really isn’t total knee replacement surgery. That’s because it replaces everything but the kneecap, the grizzled kneecap that’s the source of my pain and problems. So, I live with it. That and a big bottle of Aleve.  

Did I tell you about my three root canals? You know how much root canals hurt. Yeah, turns out I didn’t need them. After the third root canal didn’t fix the pain, I went from the dentist to the neurologist.  

He said there was nothing wrong with my teeth. The pain I was feeling came from something called peripheral neuralgia. It’s severe nerve pain that can refer into your teeth. I looked it up when I got home. Web MD said, “Peripheral neuralgia is often considered the worst pain known to man.” Oh, great. I think I’ll start banging my fingers with a sledgehammer to compare.   

And then there’s the bathroom. I had prostate surgery a few years back to clear a path, so to speak. So, my problem isn’t that I can’t go. Oh, I can go plenty. Especially in the middle of the night.  

My problem is that I just can’t go on demand. I have renamed the bathroom the waiting room, because that’s what I do now when someone asks me for a sample. I stand in front of the privy and wait. And wait. Waiting is the hardest part.  

My urologist tells me what I have is common in “men your age.” I hate that expression. He says it’s a “shy bladder.” Quite a precise medical term.  

In layman’s terms, it means I have trouble performing the function under certain conditions. Like when anyone else is in the men’s room or when I’m asked to leave a sample. Those efforts usually end with someone banging on the door and yelling, “Are you alright in there?” 

And I’ve tried everything for it. I think about a babbling brook, a mighty ocean, a sea of love. Nothing works. And so, as a last resort, I’ve started to sing in the bathroom. At least it puts a smile on my face. 

“Trickle, trickle, splish, splash, Tell me how long will this rain last?”