Vorpal blades and manxome foes, Part 1 – ’twas brillig

by the Night Writer

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

It was late evening on a late summer’s day and golden light still shone through the windows like a warm embrace. I’d worked late and was eating a belated supper my wife had left in the oven for me when the phone rang.

“John, it’s Dr. P-. How are you doing?”

“Well, I thought I was doing pretty well but since you’re calling me at home late on a weeknight I’m guessing you’re not calling to ask me my ideas on how to solve the Twins’ bullpen issues.”

“Ahhh…heh…no. I’ve been going over your tests from your physical and wanted to share the results with you.”

“Ohhhh-kay.”

Dr. P- proceeded to tell me that my blood pressure was terrific, my cholesterol was so low that it barely registered on the chart, and that my triglycerides were a bit high but not unmanageable.

“Then there’s your PSA,” he said, “do you know what that is?”

“Prostate Specific Antigen,” I said. “My father had prostate cancer so I’m familiar with the PSA test.”

“Ah, your father, yes. Um, well, your PSA level is 8.6, which wouldn’t be high for a man in his 70s, but for someone your age…”

“53.”

“Yes, for someone 53, the PSA should be 3.5 or lower.”

“So….”

“So I’d like to schedule you for a biopsy with a urologist so we can investigate this a bit more and decide if anything needs to be done.”

“Ohhh-kay.”

We discussed further details and I put down the phone. Still sitting at the dinner peninsula in our kitchen I looked out the window into our front yard. Ash, poplar and maple were still glowing in the setting sun, though perhaps the light was a bit darker now. The windows were open and I could hear children, a lawn mower, distant traffic … and the susurrant burbling of a beast sliding through the shrubberies of Eden.