The last time I was in Zagreb, which was more than a month ago, I went for another blood test. A while after the troubles with my bladder, I expected good results (“The Catheter Blues,” January 30, 2019). Actually, I hoped for jubilation of my rejuvenation. The results were horrible, though. My prostate specific antigen or PSA was above ten, but my c-reactive protein or CRP, which tracks inflammations in the body, was above thirty. This was a first, too. Both indicators should be well below five. Stunned, I went to see my urologist in the Croatian capital, who has followed my prostate and bladder troubles from the beginning (“Prostate Biopsy,” January 19, 2018). He examined my urine and established that I was suffering from a bladder inflammation. He prescribed an antibiotic for me, and told me that I should go for a urine test a few weeks after the cure.

Several weeks after finishing the antibiotic cure, I went for a urine test in the Motovun ambulance some ten days ago. And I just learned from our local nurse that there was no trace of the bladder inflammation. The results are nigh perfect, as well. Nevertheless, the local doctor advised me to go for a thorough urine test the next time I go to Zagreb. There is a renowned clinic specializing in urology there, and I already have all the papers I need for the test. I expect to go there in less than a month, and I hope the results will be comforting once again. Still, I cannot but feel annoyed with my fucking bladder. As far as organs go, this one is surely close to the pits.

To begin with, how in the world did my bladder get inflamed? I have experienced nothing of this ilk until this year. Is this a sign that my immunity is gradually waning, and that I will be suffering from inflammations of all sorts in my remaining years? Am I past redemption in my early seventies already? Such questions are crowding my mind lately, I must admit. And I am experiencing growing frustration not only with my own body, but with human biology in general. Lousy design, as I like to put it. The human body appears to have been “designed” for reasonably good performance during the reproductive cycle only. Once the body is past it, many of its parts start misbehaving at an ever-faster rate. In spite of all the medical tricks of recent vintage, the misery is always just a few steps behind the much-admired leaps of science and technology. Which only adds fervor to my discontent with life. Life in general, to be a bit more precise. For all its passing wonders, it ultimately suffers from many a fault and blunder of bungling evolution. Yuckety yuck.