The results from the poop test came in the other day.

What? Let me explain.

I started the new year with two things that – at least for me – were mildly anxiety-inducing. First, I handed in a stool sample to check if there was any blood in it, which in turn could indicate an elevated risk of cancer in the rear end (and a bit further up the plumbing system).

Then I took a blood test to check the risk of prostate cancer. The time between testing and getting the results was… not exactly fun.

In situations like that, my lively imagination isn’t much of an asset, and since I also have semi-chronic hypochondria, I managed to sink pretty deep into some abyssal thought spirals while I was stuck in that drawn-out “waiting room.”

Prostate cancer is the most common form of cancer among men in Sweden – and the risk increases, like all other crap, with age. Cold facts: if we live long enough, most of us men will get prostate cancer. You don’t die from it as such, but sooner or later, it hits almost all older guys.

Like so many men my age, my prostate sometimes gets a bit sore, and that can in turn affect its neighbor, the bladder, so you feel like you have to pee even if only a few drops have collected there. Around the clock.

Unlike many of my male friends, I have zero problem talking about stuff like this. For me, it gets defused when I say it out loud. And I hope that others who walk around bothered in silence might feel a little less alone if they have similar symptoms.

It’s quite fascinating how much easier women seem to have opening up about their physical, age-related issues.

According to the nurse, whom I eventually had to call myself (symptomatic of Capio) – I had a very low PSA value.
Karolinska Institute informed me via Kivra that they couldn’t see any traces of blood in my stool.

Phew.

Slightly noteworthy, though, was what it said at the very end of the KI message: that I might want to cut back a bit on my consumption of OLW’s “Cheez Cruncherz Hot Chili.” How the hell the lab could see that makes me admire their analytical technique. Maybe they uploaded a photo to ChatGPT?

I’m writing these lines from a simple hotel room on Söder – near Mariatorget, Hornstullpucken, and the gallery strip. It’s thin-walled. So thin-walled that if I’d only understood German better, I could have understood what the woman in the next room was saying between her loud moans. Probably just as well that I can’t.

It’s cold, too. So cold that the kind old guy at reception brought in a small, wheezing space heater. But the bed is comfortable, the breakfast is good, and the location is fantastic.

Feels perfect to have kicked off the year by visiting the capital and meeting old, good friends from my time in Riksgränsen. Also managed a fun shrimp lunch with Per, one of my cousins, at Lisa E in the mother of all food halls.

During the days I’ve been strolling around and photographing Stockholm in a partly beautiful winter outfit – despite the fairly unfriendly photo weather. Steps so far: 53k. And now 1,055 culled images from Stockholm are sitting in the archive.

Clearly time for a book!