Trust me when I declare that I am not competing for sympathy against folks suffering from cancer, blocked arteries, diabetes or other serious ailments.

I do nonetheless think that my body is out to get me.

And not just with the chronic aches, pains and wrinkles that accompany normal aging. No, my body perpetrates fiendishly clever assaults on my comfort and dignity. (Misery loves company, so you may be yelling, “Too much information!” as this essay assaults your own comfort and dignity.)

I am most keenly aware of the wee-wee complications. I can sleep through the night (thank you very m...