Basil Jarrett | Don’t sit on it – your prostate will thank you

SOME DAYS ago, I had to visit a friend at the Tony Thwaites Wing (TTW) of the University Hospital of the West Indies. TTW has always puzzled me. For years, it had sort of developed a reputation as the hospital where rich people go. But the vast majority of persons I’ve visited there over the years were regular joes with a regular 9–5. You know, persons who complained about Kingston traffic, their light bills, the state of the Reggae Boyz and how horrible VAR has been for football. In other words, average people like me with high blood pressure and low bank balances.

One thing I’ll tell you about that hospital though is that from the minute you walk through those glass doors, you’re made to feel like the most important person in the room. From the security guard at the entrance who greeted me like an old friend, to the receptionist who offered a warm smile and a cheerful “Good morning”, everyone behaved as it if they were auditioning for the role of World’s Nicest Human. I work in law enforcement so I wondered for a minute if they thought I was there to arrest someone, hence the pleasantries. I was assured though that it was a genuine and natural part the hospital’s culture and something they prided themselves on. I was impressed.

As I sat in the waiting room flipping through a 2021 issue of People magazine, a poster on the wall caught my eye as it reminded me that September was Prostate Cancer Awareness Month. It was a prostate cancer awareness message but like the hospital’s admin staff, there was something likable and different about it. The headline read, ‘Don’t Sit on These Symptoms’ with a graphic of a man sitting on a word column of various suspicious signs and symptoms of prostate cancer, namely, blood in the urine, weak stream, difficulty urinating, pelvic pain, and issues in the bedroom (yes, those). I don’t know who in TTW’s marketing department came up with that poster, but give the man or woman a raise because it forced me to do a mental checklist of myself to see where I stood – or sat. The poster also reminded that I was somewhat overdue a checkup as it took me down memory lane to the first time I had to do the deed.

Let me be straight up. Nothing prepares you for your first prostate exam. It’s not the small, intimate size of the room, the gentle hum of the air conditioning providing suspenseful background music, or the slightly judgemental poster of a healthy prostate hanging on the wall. No, what gets you is the silence. The awkward silence followed by the slow, deliberate sound of a latex glove being snapped onto a hand that suddenly looks larger than it should be.

GONE IN 10 SECONDS

The doctor was calm and professional as he tried to make light conversation about the weather. The room might have been freezing but I was sweating like a man waiting on DNA results on a daytime talk show. “Just try to relax,” he said gently as he put me in the fetal position. Relax? Relax?! You are about to violate the Geneva Convention and I’m supposed to relax? I suddenly forgot how to breathe or how to count to 10.

I braced. I winced. I tried to think happy thoughts: ackee and saltfish, Liverpool selling Darwin Nunez … anything to take my mind off what was about to happen.

Or rather what had already happened. Because just as quickly as it started, it was over. I had to ask if he was sure he checked everything. After all, I don’t want to have to come back tomorrow to do this again. He chuckled and said everything was fine as he offered me a pamphlet. I declined. I needed a drink.

But that was it. Over in 10 seconds. That’s it. Ten seconds. I’ve had longer sneezes. Those 10 seconds gave me valuable peace of mind (at least for the next year) that was so worth it. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t scar me emotionally, and it didn’t leave me feeling any less of a man. As the doctor ushered me out of the room, and invited in his next victim, I mean patient, I felt a bit of an anti-climax. I had just conquered and slayed this terrible dragon and all I got was a “see you next year”. No congratulations, no post-match interview, not even a lollipop to commemorate my achievement. I bet if I had done it at TTW they’d give me a lollipop.

THE STATS DON’T LIE

But let’s get serious for a second. Prostate cancer is the #1 cancer killer of Jamaican men. One in every eight Jamaican men will be diagnosed with it. And if you’re a Black man, your risk is twice as high compared to men of other races. It sounds a bit cliched but early detection can save your life. A quick check, yes, including the dreaded digital exam or even a simple PSA blood test, can save your life and millions of dollars. The cost of screening is laughably low compared to what you’d spend fighting cancer once it spreads. And that’s assuming you catch it in time, which many men don’t.

Guys, if you’re over 40, or have a family history of prostate cancer, get tested. Please. If you’re nervous, bring a friend for moral support. Maybe afterwards you can both grab a beer and toast to surviving the world’s most important handshake. But don’t sit on this information. I’ve lost too many friends to this dreaded, ugly disease which is ironically so preventable.

So spread the message. Tell a friend. Share the flyer – or this article. Whatever you do to get the word out. Just don’t sit on it.

Major Basil Jarrett is the director of communications at the Major Organised Crime and Anti-Corruption Agency (MOCA) and crisis communications consultant. Follow him on Twitter, Instagram, Threads @IamBasilJarrett and linkedin.com/in/basiljarrett. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com