at a routine checkup, a doctor, somewhat bemused, called out, "that's a very visible prostate", only to correct himself much more sullely a second later, "no wait, that's the prostate. so what is...?"

Turned out I had a benign tumor, but this, I only konw now. I went to get it removed before knowing what it was; it was too soft to be pierced before. When I woke up from the narcosis, I overheard nurses talking about me, using a description for my tumor that I then googled: hyper aggressive, death within weeks.

It was four days until the lab results came back; it turned out that whatever I overheard, I didnt actually have. (I still don't know whether they just gossiped without yet knowing, or were talking about someone else.) What I actually had was benign, not aggressive, not likely to ever reappear. (and it hasn't, as far as I know.)

In those four days, however, I didn't have any of the typical near-death grapplings and regrets. I thought, no, I'm doing what I want to do, I live how I want to live, there's nothing much I would change, except doing more of what I like and try to cut out the tedious stuff (more; I already had done that.)