“Hello Dr. R, how you doing?”
“Good Alan, what can I do for you?”
“Usual please, take three vials of blood and send me home with no worries!”
“Well I see you turned 50, and with all the history in your family I think it’s time you had a colonoscopy”
Sitting without movement or facial expression and clenching both bum cheeks tightly in order to mentally protect my virginity, I reply, stuttering of course,
“Mmmm, well, uh, OK, I suppose…”
After listening to a ten minute diatribe on the benefits of this necessary procedure, I left his surgery with great intentions and nothing but respect for the decision I had just taken. I was going to ensure that excitement prevailed as I called the number my doctor had given me and nothing, I mean nothing, was going to get in the way of that little tube being stuck up my arse in order to confirm I was cancer free. I mean no disrespect to anyone out there who has been through this crude and disgusting process, but shit happens, and supposedly it was about to happen to me. I decided immediately to go to WebMd and check out the whole experience on the net, something I would later regret. There was even a youtube video showing exactly what was going to happen on that dreaded day of decapitation, beautifully narrated by the same guy who does Hells Kitchen and Deadliest catch, and by the time I was finished watching, oh how I was longing for three weeks in the Baring sea, instead of three minutes with a fucking camera up my bum! Isn’t is amazing that when you get to 50, your doctor seems always to be standing behind you and not in front of you? There is no longer any interest in your penis, only your rectum! So, I’m entrenched in this video experience when my phone rings,
“Dr. R here, I have some news for you”
“You do?” And immediately I’m thinking that he’s called to cancel my colonoscopy for another ten years due to some new medical breakthrough published in the New England Journal of Medicine that very same day.
“Your blood work came back, and it shows that you might have a stone in your kidney”
Well fuck me over twice and blow me off! A twofor! Arse issues and a stone in the kidney! Whoo hoo, my lucky day!
“How do you know that?”
“Blood in your urine”
“I can’t see any” I said hopefully.
“Well it’s microscopic, but it’s there, and you need an Xray and you need it tomorrow, or today if possible”
“How do they cure kidney stones?” Well, I was curious.
“They stick a tube into your penis, and it goes right up into your kidney, they scrape out the excess calcium, you keep the tube in for two days, then you come back, take a deep breath and they pull the tube out!”
By the time his description of my pending doom was over, my hands were cupping my penis and testicles, my face was white as a sheet and I wanted to shit my pants, on the spot!. No need for the pre colonoscopy liquids, I was about to satisfy that experience on my own dime!
“Is there any other way to get rid of these stones?” I was shaking like a leaf.
“Not really, but you can ask your urologist if he has any suggestions”
Well thank the Lord he is a HE and not a she, I thought. Can you imagine the joy a SHE would have had penetrating that tiny wee hole in my penis? With the way my luck was swinging, SHE could have ended up being a masochistic witch on a hunt for the greatest pain ever inflicted to a Scotsman with stones and a seeping arse hole!
Conversation over, it was back to the internet. I was determined to find another way out of my new found joyful state. I Googled and WebMd’d for hours and hours, and low and behold, the answer came to me, like a flash, some 6 hours later. What if I just got a coat hanger, unwound it, stuck it inside my dick and hoped for the best? What’s the worst that could possibly happen? And yet, I had this nagging thought, ‘what if there was no stone, and no need for a colonoscopy or penis intrusion?’ I realize the two are completely unrelated, but one always has to think on the brighter side of life? Right?
Next day arrived, after another sleepless night, off to the Xray machine facility I went. It didn’t take long for a picture of both kidneys to be taken, and then another inquisitive conversation pursued.
“What do you think?” I asked the technician, with a smile and a lot of false hope.
“Can’t tell you. Sorry!”
“I’m not a doctor”
I had to stop and think this one through. Here I was, in front of man who does nothing but take pictures of kidneys all day, every day, for the past ten years, and he can’t tell me the prognosis because he’s not a doctor? At that point I didn’t need a doctor to tell me the situation, I needed him, anyone, someone, just to take a wee peek at the Xray and see if there was any sign of a little white dot in any part of either kidney! Not rocket science, not too much to ask, and not a big deal in my humble opinion! He refused, and even the offer of bribery, (Nike clothing and shoes can go a long way to getting you from point A to point B, especially when said shoes or clothing come into your world for free), would alter his stance. Off I went, tail between legs, very closed legs at that moment in time, upstairs to meet with the doctor, who’s name was, no word of a lie, Dr. Calm!
To be continued later ………..