Posts Tagged ‘medicine’


October 7, 2008

Disclaimer:  This is a recollection of events of some 5 years ago.  I can look back on it and laugh now.  But, given the… ummm… “festivities” in my life of late, I wouldn’t want folks to think that life was piling on.

With apologies to you women who have to be prodded every year by your gyno, having your prostate probed is not in the least fun.  I’m guessing that the doctor is none too thrilled about the prospect either.  But, I am “of an age” where occasional prostate checks are de rigueur.

My doc has a sense of humor, thankfully and unfortunately.  Before every examination, of any kind, he always takes time to ask how my life has been going and just chat a bit.  Before that particular exam, we did the same.  I happened to mention that I had a very important presentation to my senior leadership that afternoon.  Later in the exam, it was time for the ol’ prostate to get checked and the doc was getting gloved and lubed up.  Just before diving in, he mentioned, “You know when you get in front of your bosses this afternoon, you’re going to remember that I had my finger up your butt.”

…ahh, the power of suggestion…

Yep, stumbled over a part of the presentation when that mental seed he planted sprouted gloriously in my mind while looking at the sea of faces staring at me…

Anyway, Doc decided that I needed a colonoscopy.  That’s where they stick a garden hose up your butt with an industrial sized flashlight and SLR camera duct taped to it in order to peek around what’s up there. W-a-a-a-y up there.

A scheduled procedure in the doc’s office, the worst part was the preparation.  Since they’re going up there, they don’t want any… ummm… unprocessed refuse blocking the way.  So the day before, they start you on some ‘colon blow’ medicine that, at first, isn’t so bad.

Then it gets worse.

Then it gets awfully worse.

While they warn you not to stay too far away from a toilet, what they should tell you is “plan on residing near permanently on the toilet for 12 to 24 hours”.  Even when it seems there can be nothing left, out comes more.  And it felt explosive enough to be alternate method to launch satellites.  Of course, even using the softest of soft bathroom tissue, things get rather rough and sore from overuse.


Comes the next day and the actual procedure.  Although anxious, I’m exhausted from being up most of the night having a deeply personal and close relationship with my toilet.  I am actually looking forward to being sedated.

I transitioned from waiting room to dressing room to standby room (where they do last minute prep… like sedation [yay!!]… before going into the procedure room).  In the standby room, my nurse for the procedure comes in the private room… and, wouldn’t ya know it, she’s a member of my church… who I saw every Sunday… and who was going to help with a procedure to ravage my butt… and I’ll have to look her in the eye every Sunday knowing that.

I guess they expect that to happen every now and again, though.  She offered up, since we were acquainted with each other that she could easily arrange another nurse (they tag team the procedures) to take me as a patient.

Already sedated, but knowing this was her job, I rallied my last wisps of logic and humor, given the procedure to be done… and I said:

“Nope, not necessary.  You be the professional nurse; I’ll be the professional asshole.”

P.S.  Yep, results were “all clear” and okay for another 10 years…


August 4, 2008

Still feeling the need to avoid thinking about the Divorce going on, so – –

A recent post of a fellow blogger reminded me of the caring sensitivity of those in the medical profession. And that reminded me of my experience with epididimitis. Those who have had it are likely cringing right now.

How did the GnuKid learn of this one and how will you learn? Well, kiddies, pull up a spot on the rug, set a spell, and hear my sad tale…

Thursday I got home from work and had a seat at the computer to catch up on e-mail. A strange ache started developing on the right side of my gut at the belt line. I repositioned myself in the chair, granting me temporary relief. But the ache came back and bordered on pain. In the back of GnuKid’s mind the shadowy specter of appendicitis starting whispering at the Worry Lobe of my brain. In the next hour, the pain increased and radiated downward.

It was time to go to the hospital.

Arriving at the emergency room, I felt very lucky to get back to a bed after only 15 minutes or so. Directed to undress and put on the famously fashionable hospital gown, I for the first time noticed that my ball sack was swollen. Now, that’s just not right. It’s usually the guy right next door to the ol’ scrotum that gets swollen.

I reached down and tentatively touched the swelling, only to stop immediately…it hurt.

The nurse comes back to ask if I’m in pain, since I was occasionally moaning (and not in that good way I like). Damn straight, lady, it hurts. She says she’ll ask the doctor for some pain medication.

The doctor shows up just a few minutes later…and she was a slammin’ hottie woman doc of the female persuasion. I’d say “Yee-HA!”, but things hurt too much for me to do more than just notice. She asked for the history, I told her. Her first inclination was the appendix as well, so she starts poking around my abdomen. And…the abdomen doesn’t hurt nearly so bad as before.

However, “the boys” down south in scrotumville are fussing at me something fierce. I let her know that and she pulls up my gown. Oh, dear God, yes, I would clearly have loved for this to have been a “Dear Penthouse: I never thought this would happen to me…” moment. But no. She immediately commented on the apparent swelling.

Okay, so here I am in pain from something that’s causing inflammation and swelling…so what does the lady doc do? Uh-huh…s-q-u-e-e-z-e… Holy Mother of Perpetual Needles Under the Fingernails! Damn, that hurt! Trying to be manly (HA!), I just clenched my teeth. Any other time, I would have been thanking the heavens to have a woman willingly handling my boy parts. But, not this time…

She was either a slow learner or in competition for the “Madame De Sade 2006” award, because she again… s-l-o-w-l-y… s-q-u-e-e-z-e-d. Fuck that “manly” shit… I hollered out that it hurt like a mother… (yeah, I maintained a modicum of decorum by not using the full—and correct for the circumstances—term ‘motherfucker’).

The good thing was I got some really good pain medication (yes, I still have a few… no, you can’t have any), so don’t remember much more about the evening / early morning.

After an ultrasound, they determined I was suffering from something called epididimitis (you were wondering when the hell I was going to get to that, weren’t you?). Us guys have a tube running around our balls called the epididymis…and mine was inflamed. Tests were negative for the bacterial causes: STDs (HA!! Not likely… that requires I’d actually been having sex… and not by myself!) and Urinary Tract Infection, so they marked it up to Prostatitis… the ol’ prostate just getting crabby with me.

Anti-inflammatory drugs ‘cured’ the inflammation, but I’m not sure even time can cure the memory.

So, be safe out there, kids… and watch the boy parts…