Disclaimer: This is a personal story that deals with a trip to the doctor. While it is funny, some might still find it offensive, as it deals with areas of a delicate nature. While I have done my best not to use crude or crass terminology, and generally have tried to use code words for most everything, do not read on if you are offended by such things. This is meant to be a blog where I share stories with my friends, and I know that most of my friends would find this to be an amusing story. But if you have happened upon my blog by accident or by purposeful stalking of me, please refrain from reading if you don’t like stories that deal with such things.
To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure I would share this story until I hit “post”. Wifie has suggested it is far too humiliating to share with the rest of the world, and others have shared the sentiment. However, every single person who has heard this story has cried with laughter. So I am typing it up. If you’re reading this, then it means I decided to post it too.
It all started with a routine physical. Just like every man on earth, I went into the appointment with a list of all my failings and shortcomings (in the area of health only) carefully crafted by my wife. She knew that I would pronounce myself “fit as a fiddle” and not get the attention I needed. So I brought the list. And I shared it with Doc. And he asked me some pointed questions. Then, he put me on notice. “You’ll need to see a proctologist.”
To be honest, I had no idea what that meant. I thought of the word “proctor”, and wondered if I would be taking a test in front of a doctor. Oh, it was a test alright. Just not what I envisioned.
If you are currently as ignorant as I was, the proctologist can be summed up with the description “the butt doctor”. I’m sure they would describe the significance of their chosen profession with more detail than I am giving it. But (no pun intended) the reality is, you go to see them, and they check out your business in the rear.
Apparently, my business out back was important. Real important. Like, so important that my normal doc told me to get in as soon as possible. Something was awry, and we needed someone with expertise to delve into my inner secrets. So I made my appointment with due haste, and soon thereafter I was driving to Southfield to “old” Providence Hospital to have the business scoped out. Those of you who have been to old Providence know that it is not the type of place you want to go for an issue such as this. Might as well go into a back alley somewhere and drop trou. Nonetheless, I made my way into the belly of the hospital, and that’s when things started to go horribly wrong.
I knew I was in trouble when saw that I was the youngest person in the waiting room by at least 40 years. Apparently, 20-somethings don’t make many trips to the booty doc. When my turn came, I was glad to leave the musty room behind. It was the last time I was glad for a long, long time.
A nurse ushered me into a sinister looking examination room, with a table of doom in the center. Knowing what this table portended, I sat down in the corner and tried to avoid looking at it. Minutes clicked by. My resolve weakened.
What was I doing there anyway? I was 26, not 66! Surely I was fine! I didn’t need someone prodding around in my nether regions to tell me that! I was just about to stand up when the whispering knock of a doctor at the door sounded. Why do doctors knock that way? Probably because they know their patients will act with aggression if they pound loudly at the door.
In walked the back door inspector, flanked by two student doctors. What the what?!?! A three person team to check me out? Again, I nearly fled. The smug-faced student doctors gave me a look of disdain. Soon my secrets would be laid bare, while they maintained their dignity. I hated them immediately, especially the young woman, who was openly sneering at me. Meeting her eyes, I knew I had the power to stay. I would show those children how a real man handles adversity. I would reveal my secrets to all in the room.
The doctor talked over my issues with me. I told him I had no worries, and that the meeting was silly, but he said it was best to be on the safe side. I agreed, and he asked the lady doc to leave the room. She seemed to be glaring at me as she left, and I gave her a winning smile – point, D-Rock. Then, the doctor asked me to drop my trousers and kneel on the table.
Now, women say that the gynecologist’s table is the most humiliating position a woman can be put in. That might be true for womenfolk. But the proctologist’s table is, in this man’s humble opinion, much worse. At least women are facing their perpetrator. At the Proc, you are forced to drop your pants, then kneel, and then have your rear cranked up into the air while your head drops towards the floor. You can’t see anything except shoes, moving into position as the doctors prepare to do their worst. To top it off, I heard the door open again. In slipped lady doc, rejoining the team. Good God, what had I gotten myself into? Shiny white cheeks in the air, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. A second later, my eyes shot open as I heard jelly squirting out of a bottle. “Now this might hurt a bit, but try to relax,” said the evil little man with a medical degree.
Then, it happened. You know what I’m talking about. The probing had begun. It seemed an eternity. And the doctor saw fit to give me a play-by-play as he reorganized my innards. “Now, I’m going to turn to the right. I’m going to stop here for a moment. Please try to relax – it will hurt less!”
Try to relax??? You’re doing unspeakable things to me! You relax, you…. AAAAHHHH!!! “Sorry, I’m going left now…”
Then, a strange moment… He asked, “how was your b.m. today?” How could he just look at my rear and know that I had done my business today? Especially since, at my wife’s demand, I had purchased baby wipes and done a thorough job polishing the region, since “you don’t want to be embarrassed.” But this guy KNEW. I chalked it up to the fact that he had probably looked at thousands of back doors in his time, and could just tell. I explained that everything was just fine. Then, he said the words no one wants to hear. “I’m going to need to go a little deeper, and I need to crank this up a bit. I’m sorry.”
At this point, I didn’t care if another 5 doctors walked in, or that my goodies were on display. I wanted it to end. When would it end? My head hung in shame. I had been defeated. There was no struggle left in me. Do as you will, Doc, do as you will. I couldn’t fight anymore.
I honestly don’t remember much more about the appointment. A haze had settled around me. I do remember glancing up at the television in the waiting room as I walked out, and watching Joel Zumaya of the Tigers throwing fireballs past the Yankees in the 2006 playoffs. I could have cared less. Outside, the sky seemed just a little greyer than it had been when I went in. I felt like I had walked in an innocent boy, and come out a husk of a man.
I called the wifie, who happened to be in Mississippi at the time, and we discussed the loss of my innocence. She thought it was funny. She laughed… and laughed. The gall of that woman. If not for her I would have never been forced to go in the first place.
I mentioned to her that the doc had somehow known that I had used the bathroom that day. She chided me for not using baby wipes… but I had! She wondered if I had been thorough enough, but I assure you, I polished that baby up like it was a $500 pair of shoes. She laughed at me some more and said I must have done something wrong.
The comment kept bothering me all the way home… how did he know I had gone to the bathroom? It was a long ride with a sore cushion. When I got home, I simply had to know. Was something amiss out yonder? So I went in the bathroom, and did what all of us have done at some point in our life… I took a peak in the mirror.
I forgot to mention, I had opened a brand new case of baby wipes to polish up. And that brand new case of baby wipes had been soaking wet. And I felt all squishy as I went to leave the bathroom. So I had turned around and used some dry paper to get rid of that squishy feeling. And so, I had dropped my trousers in front of the doctor and two students and only the good Lord knows who else…
With multiple pieces of toilet paper stuck all over my backside, in every spot where the wet wipes had been too wet… That’s how he knew… that’s how he knew.
I’m never going to the proctologist ever again.