Posts Tagged ‘rectal spelunking’

Drop Trou

February 2, 2012

It’s time once again for my annual prostate exam.

Being “mumblety-five”, I am required to submit myself (phrasing of that written on purpose) to check the tenderness and size of my prostate gland, which is up the butt a couple inches.  This exam is the first line of defense in checking for prostate cancer.

Besides being the big “C” word, which has potentially lethal results, this form of cancer can also cause sexual dysfunction.  Therefore, being in no hurry to (a) die, (b) stop having sex, (c) there is no ‘c’, and (d) all of the above, I gladly submit to this invasive and a tad humiliating examination*.

Unfortunately, I no longer have the petite and cute doc from the last exam I posted about.  Rather, this is a big, burly doc with calloused hands and dirt under his nails.  Even better?  He was being shadowed by a resident who was watching with great interest.  The doc asked routine questions about my health, focusing on key warning symptoms for prostate issues.

Then, with scientific detachment – – “Okay, drop your trousers and bend over the exam table.”

ramming speed!


A preparatory shot of whisky?  A manly wink with a ‘three-pat’ on the shoulder?  Flowers?

Nope, none of that.  Just his “drop trou'” while the latex glove goes on with an ominous ~snap~.  And then the lube tube is (thank god, generously) accessed.  Finally, without a howdy do or a “deep breath and brace”, he dug right in.  Yes, with the resident still watching (hey, at least he didn’t ask for a turn).

Feeling around in my butt for all of 10 seconds (seeming to be 10 minutes), Doc finally said, “That feels fine.”

In a sudden OCD-like rush of concern for my health, I reiterated redundantly, “So it felt good?”

A wry look and a rebuke from the doc, “We never say ‘it feels good’ when doing a rectal exam.”

Point taken.

So, until next year.

…at which time I will bring my own whisky…


*And, yes, a tip of the hat to my female readers who scoff, deservedly, at us guys waiting until our 40s to regularly have this exam whilst you have been having docs poke around your lady parts…sometimes with heavy machinery…since you hit puberty.  So, guys?  Shut up and take it like a man.  And annually at that!

That Time Of Year

April 29, 2009

### WARNING:  Guy Medical Stuff Talked About Here ###

On reaching a certain tender age (usually mid to late 40s), men finally start to personally experience invasive medical examinations.  It is, admittedly, not nearly as invasive as those our female counterparts have been enduring annually since puberty.

This being the prostate exam.

Supposed to be done annually by my doc, it involves manually probing the prostate to feel for swelling or bumps (as well as other stuff, one of which led to my first [and only, so far] colonoscopy.  Now, it just so happens that the prostate is buried a few inches up our butt.  So, obviously, to achieve the ‘hands on’ experience, the doc must insert his finger up there.

Due to an “event”*, my doc is taking a vacation from the practice.  While there is still an MD-type doc on call, the daily patient care is now done by a nurse practitioner**.  This nurse practitioner happens to be a female.

We had a brief discussion on my comfort*** with her doing the exam, especially considering this was the first I met her.  The chat included my “you be the professional health care provider, I’ll be the professional asshole” line from that first colonoscopy.

Now, I have to mention that this nurse practitioner was on the petite side.  I also note that she is a hottie, emphasized to me when she leaned over the exam table, looking back at me over her shoulder, to demonstrate how she wanted me to position myself for the exam.  Ummm…wow…

…but I digress…

Taking my position, I dropped my pants and boxers to my ankles.  As expected and is usual, there was a bit of discomfort when she started the exam.

But then I was surprised by a second, more determined assault.

And further astonished by yet a third, accompanied by her actually grunting with effort, while seeming to dig wildly.

[By this time, I’m picturing her, with a resolute look on her face, jumping up before ‘diving in’, to provide just that much more leverage and…ahem…thrust.]

Finally, after even another onslaught of a probing finger, she declared victory and directed me to pull my pants back up.

I was tempted to ask her for a cigarette…

By way of apology for what she knew was, in American football parlance, “unnecessary roughness”, she allowed as how she needed to feel the entire prostate gland.  But, with her small hands, proportional to her petite figure, and short fingers, she found it difficult to get to the far side of said gland without the added exertion.  Even with that effort , she said she still couldn’t quite get far enough up there, despite me feeling like she was making way for her to park her car or something.  But, enough so that she declared me…well, my prostate… normal.

But, despite all the ‘fun’****, it was for the good purpose of making sure I was healthy.  So, guys?  Get out there and get your prostate checked!  (especially if you can find a hot female doc or nurse practitioner!)

…and bring your cigarettes.


*Let your mind go wild, I’m not saying…

**Though still able to prescribe medications and do just about everything an MD can do, they’re still considered “doc-lite” by some.  Or “nurse on steroids”.  Or “almost a doc”.  Me?  Don’t care, as long as they’re capable…like this one.

***Ha!  “Comfort” – – – A seeming oxymoron considering what a rectal exam is.

**** Okay, I do admit to a just a very slight bit of titillation at the whole thing in retrospect—good looking woman and all…  Kinky?  Yeah.  I can live with that.


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…