I hate doctors. If a genie ever granted me a wish, I'd ask to never have to go to a doctor again. But then the genie would probably kill me, fulfilling my wish in an ironic, Twilight Zone manner. So with that in mind, I gave in and scheduled a very rare appointment for a physical.
So there I was, waiting an hour and a half for my first doctor's appointment in quite awhile. This was a new doctor, not the crazy fat dude I used to go to. They finally call me in and I get my height and weight (I'm 10 pounds overweight), my blood pressure (perfect), my breathing listened to (healthy lungs), my reflexes checked (I love that part), my pulses checked (I'm not a zombie), and.... the dreaded testicle grab n' squeeze.
This is without a doubt Man's greatest source of stress - going to Doctor Happy Hands. The doc told me that most guys don't go for the full check-up, and I couldn't figure out why until he told me to pull my drawers down. Then I remembered why I hadn't made a doctor's appointment in years.
Let's clarify for the girls reading this. You see, guys can get hard over anything. Seeing a pretty girl on the street, thinking about seeing a pretty girl on the street, and even thinking about seeing an ugly girl on the street can trigger Mr. Winky to stand up and say hi. A man can fill out his pants just by thinking of NOTHING. In fact, what triggers boners is one of quantum physics' greatest mysteries. (Next to dark matter and gluons.) But scientists have come up with the following two thereoms regarding inopportune wood:
1. The Blackboard Effect: A guy will get hard just before being called on to answer a question on the blackboard.
2. The Vibration Effect: A guy will get hard by any force, direct or indirect, that effects his nether-regions. Thus, the brushing of his pants against the shlong while walking; the vibrations of a moving car or train; a heavy gust of wind; or thinking of any of these things.
And so, Man's greatest fear is getting hard in the doctor's office. It is the most embarrassing, mortifying, horrifying thing that can happen to a guy. If by any chance you have an erection, the doctor looks down, you look down, and it's just expected that you kill yourself on the spot. The doctor will leave you alone in the room, giving you around 10 minutes to find the means to end your life.
No, not all of us men are gay. Remember: boners are for the most part uncontrollable. Thinking about NOT WANTING a boner can give you a boner. Having some old guy's hand on your nuts while he checks you for ahernia can give you a boner. You don't want it, you REALLY don't want it, but you still fear its occurrence. The fear eats at you, driving you mad, until in a fit of desperation, you cancel the appointment, or if you're already there, escape out a window.
Unfortunately, things happened so fast, I didn't get a chance to hurl myself out onto the street. He was already standing in front of me, cracking his knuckles, blocking my escape. Now there's another piece to the puzzle I forgot to tell you. Even if you're able to stay small throughout the exam, you can't be TOO small. Like, you don't want to hail the Mr. Softy truck. Do you really want this old doctor to take a look at your sad shmeckle and chuckle in that superior doctor way? Do you really want to hear, "Ah, don't
worry kid, you're still growing." HELL NO! It's not as embarrassing as greeting the doc with a 10-gun penis salute, but it's still disturbing having to be really small in front of another guy, who's obviously mentally going to compare.
Essentially, the man has to do a juggling act. He needs to be big without being hard. Elongated but not thick and pulsating. What you want is an elephant nose dangling between your legs. But how do you get to that stage without getting hard? Do you start out soft and slowly work your way to semi-hard, or do you start off hard and work your way down? If the former,
will it continue to the point of no return? If the latter, will it shrink in time?
I sighed and pulled down my boxers. I closed my eyes and tried Zen. Some guys tell you to imagine Rosey O'Donnell naked, but you know, that doesn't always work. You need to meditate on death, emptiness, depression, violence in the world, the Mets slump, why cheese gets moldy so quickly...
I looked down. I was soft but not ultra-soft. In fact, I couldn't have asked for a better size/shape to my shmeckle. I looked up at the doctor who gave an approving nod. I did it. I passed the most important part of the physical!
I turned and coughed. "Uh oh, don't like the feel of that," said the Doc.
"Huh?"
"I'm going to have to grab and twist your nuts a bit while rubbing your shaft, son. This won't hurt. In fact, it's quite pleasurable."
Okay, that part didn't happen. But this next part DID happen: THE SHOT. I had told the doctor I wanted him to test for the works: blood sugar, cholestrol, calcium, potassium, diabetes, HIV, hypoglycemia, glucoma, Epstein-Barr, mononucleosis, et al. Why? BECAUSE I HATE SHOTS! I only wanted to do this ONCE and get it over with. Tell me I'm perfectly okay and don't stick me again for the rest of my life. So I gave him the green light. Take my blood, get it over with, and let me the hell out of here.
I rolled up my right sleeve and told him, "Look, I hate needles, so gentle is the key." He looked down at my arm, "Oh, you got great veins, Adam. This won't hurt at all. It should take about five seconds and all you'll feel is a pinch."
Jackie the Jokeman once said that the two most common lies are "It won't hurt a bit" and "Really, I was only trying to help the sheep over the fence and it fell on me." I don't know about the latter (or maybe I'll just pretend I don't), but I certainly learned the former yesterday. I closed my eyes and try to find that Zen place again. I felt the slight prick... and the doctor grunted. "Huughh.. not coming out, ay?" Then I felt the needle jaggedly working its way up the vein. I gritted my teeth and looked really fucking
hard for that Zen place. The needle started moving around, oh my god, it really was not a pleasant feeling. And it lasted for at least five minutes. It was an eternity. Finally the doctor quickly jerked out the needle and slammed down some cotton to catch the spurting blood. The withdrawal was even more painful than when it was ruthlessly exploring my vein. I gave out a little scream - another no-no in the doctor's office, and I got the usual retaliation:
"Ah, you're a sensitive one, ay?" Then he said, "Your skin is so pale, it looks like your veins are right at the surface, but actually they're hard to get to. I had to really dig in there. Plus your blood didn't want to leave your body! Now how about that, a ha ha ha!"
"Are we done?" I felt really woozy.
"Yes, but don't worry if your arm bruises. I had to do some work in there and a lot of blood went onto your tissue. It'll be black and blue for awhile."
I went to lift my backpack and my arm didn't oblige. My arm was completely stiff.
"And use your other arm for the next few days. You're not going to be able to move the right one for awhile."
Great, I thought, this has to happen to my masturbation hand.
Before I left, I went over the blood test to confirm he'll check for eveything. "Oh no," he said, "I don't do HIV. But I know a really great doctor in the area who's a blood specialist. I'll have my secretary call and see if they could take you now."
The secretary called for me, and there was an opening right away. I went around the corner to the blood specialist. I told her I wanted an HIV test. "You have the test where you just rub the gums with cotton, right?" I asked hopefully. "Oh no," she said. "Now roll down your sleeve."
I rolled down my left sleeve and her assistant prepared the arm. "Listen," I said, "I got weak veins. And my blood doesn't like needles. So just be gentle." I closed my eyes, and tried to find my inner Zen thingy again.
I felt a prick... and a murmer came from the assistant. I sat there for awhile. The doctor started talking to me with a sense of urgency, as if she's trying to distract me from something horrible that's about to happen:
"So an HIV test... Are you getting married?"
My teeth were gritting so my answers came out in gasps. "No... just... being safe..."
That seemed to piss her off. "Oh, so you're just fooling around with your girfriend? Typical guy. Lead her along, have your way with her, and then never marry her."
"Look, it's... not like.... that. AHHH!!!" The needle was moving around, tearing at the vein, going in deeper and deeper, feeling as if it was covered with barbs. The assistant cursed under her breath.
The doctor ran up to me and started squeezing on my arm, trying to push the blood out. It was killing me, but she kept trying to talk to me. I answered because, well, Zen wasn't happening.
"So do you love her?" she asked, while trying to squeeze out my blood.
"I love her a lot." I gasped a few times. "But I gotta see if we can live together first..."
The doctor snarled, "You ever live with a sister?"
"Yeah...?"
"Did you get into fights with her? Couldn't live with her sometimes?"
"Yeah...?"
"But you still love her. It's the same thing. If you love your girlfriend and you're going to fool around with her like this, you should marry her."
I was starting to black out. The assistant asked the doctor something, and the doctor replied in the negative. The needle kept going up and down my arm, and finally, thankfully, it was pulled out.
"Okay, Adam. We got enough blood. The problem is that the needle is very small and your blood clotted it, so no blood was being collected. We were going to use a bigger needle to open up your vein more, but I think we got enough."
I smiled weakly. My endorphins had kicked in and I suddenly felt peaceful and sleepy. "So when do I call for the results?"
"Promise me you'll marry her and I'll give you the results over the phone on Friday so you can have a fun weekend. If you don't give me your promise, you have to come in sometime next week, so you'll be worried all weekend."
"I'll call you on Friday." I went to pick up my bag with my left hand, and my arm didn't have the strength. I tried with my right hand, and it was the same thing. The assistant saw my struggle and put the bag on my back. I walked to my night class feeling as stiff as Frankenstein, and swearing to myself that from now on - NO MORE DOCTORS! |
