I'm pretty sure my father, George Alderson, died of bone cancer. That's a nasty disease originating from prostate cancer. It especially targets some men who have high testosterone levels. George was a Marine who served at the tail end of World War II, most likely in the Pacific theater. He most probably suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD (see Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and had a lot of difficulty holding down a job.
Back in 2011, I was diagnosed with a large prostate. It was intact, but diagnosed as 9 out of 10 on the Gleason Scale.
Fortunately, one of my parishioners urged me to see a urologist. The urologist gave me a number of choices. I chose to have a radical prostatectomy. Then, (in 2013) after I became the pastor of 4 parishes, one of the people entering the church was a really smart lady by the name of Lisa Brandel, who recommended I again see a urologist. I did so. The urologist strongly recommended I get a prescription for hormone blockers to ensure that my PSA (prostate specific antigen) count was as close to zero as possible. The urologist I had before was no longer available, so I saw one she recommended.
One of the side effects of that medicine was having hot flashes, like women have. That inspired me to write a song, sung to the tune of Irving Berlin's Heat Wave. See, in particular, the 1933 version, sung by Ethel Waters, Ethel Waters - Heat Wave (1933).
I'm having a hot flash, a hormonal hot flash.
My temperature's rising. It's very surprising.
I certainly can't ban fans.
I'm having a heat rush. My face is in full flush.
I'm breaking a sweat now. I finally get how
a woman can need hand fans.
Gee! My anatomy used to be so free of this anomaly!
But here comes a hot flash, another bad hot flash.
I'm not criticizing! No longer surprising
a woman would ban a man's hands!
I'm getting a heat rash. I need a cold wet splash!
I don't need a cold beer. That just wouldn't help here!
I need a new plan: immense fans!
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