a little awkwardness
March 17, 2009
A few years ago, I had some peeing issues. I was neither afraid to pee, nor afraid NOT to pee, but rather, I peed a lot. Well, actually, not a lot, but often. And NOT a lot.
And it hurt a little.
You think I’m sharing too much now? Wait a minute.
After a few weeks of hoping these symptoms would go away, Kim convinced me to go see the doctor. Fine. I went. I’m not afraid of doctors.
Couple of downsides here. First, seeing the doctor for what is probably a prostate issue means a quick prostate exam. Wheee.
And, as if that isn’t enough of a downside, my doctor is a woman. Which generally isn’t a problem, but turned out to be a bit awkward in this case.
I enter the room, I wait the usual amount of time, and in she comes (wait for it). We talk prostate for a few minutes, and then she says “okay, I think you know, I need to see, well, FEEL how your prostate is doing.”
I turn around and lean over the table. And she dons the glove.
The door opens and in comes another woman. “When I do these procedures, I have my assistant come in, to avoid any awkwardness.”
Seriously? THIS is how you avoid awkwardness? By having her OPEN THE DOOR and come in AFTER I’m leaning against the table.
But wait, it hasn’t gotten really awkward yet.
She does the test, mercifully quickly, and immediately discards the glove, as she should. I turn around. She’s still sitting on her little stool, and now I’m standing in front of her, my pants around my ankles, and my shirt hanging JUST low enough to prevent some REAL awkwardness. Her assistant was still standing there.
And she starts to tell me about my prostate. As she tells me that it’s only slightly enlarged, probably a tiny infection, and an anti-biotic will clear it up, she hands me a tissue. Because, you know, my ASS IS STILL COVERED IN LUBRICATION.
And she keeps talking. And I’m standing there holding the tissue, like I’m supposed to clean my ass while she talks to me, with her assistant standing right there.
I clutch the tissue, and simply pull my pants up, probably ruining the rest of my day. But what, I’m going to wipe my ass with the tissue she just handed me, while she sits in her box seat, and her assistant stands there in the bleachers? And if I did, what would I even DO with the tissue?
And now? Now I AM afraid of doctors. I haven’t been back. Probably never will. Next time it’ll be serious, and I’ll die.
I don’t care. Not going back.