Question: What is more excruciatingly painful than warm, dense fecal matter scraping across exposed and bleeding muscle fibers, as it makes its way to the sea?
Answer: Nothing that I've ever felt! (although that time they fished the bladder-bound tube up my urethra came a close second... Mommy!)
Well, I was in the market for a skilled proctologist / rectal surgeon. Dr Larson came with high recommendations, so I booked an appointment with him. Things weren't too bad at this point.
Upon initial introductions, I found him to be a mild mannered gentleman, with a calm demeanor, and a penchant for buggery. Well, strike the buggery comment. He was the wise, kind, older uncle you had as a child.
I tell ya, rolling over on the exam table, and letting him spread apart my cheeks brought me back to my childhood thanksgivings. I could almost smell mom's liver pate stuffing with gorgonzola. Oh wait... that's me!
After the exam, Dr Larson gave me two options. The first being surgery, and the second, being a numbing ointment, which was meant to promote healing. I chose the latter. My mistake.
Let me tell you about 'finger cots'. They are little condoms for your fingers. No, not as thick as a rubber thimble the accountants used to use, but thin, like sheepskin, but they are latex.
As I endured the two weeks of safe sex with my fore-finger, as it was slathered with the ointment, my problem down below was worsening. So much so, that I imposed myself on a strict liquid diet, in order to minimize the traffic.
Imagine an impish Leprechaun holding a lit match to your dumpster slot, and every time you turn around to backhand him, he disappears, only to reappear behind you doing it all over again. Now imagine he has the stamina to keep that up for 2... 3... or 12 hours at a time.
That's right about when I came down with a case of Tourrettes. I yelled out with every burning or stabbing sensation. Pretty sure I came up with new grammatical combinations.That's the kind of stuff the neighbor kids will be talking about for years to come.
Anyways, I met with the doctor again, and upon his second invasive exam, he noticed the exposed muscle fibers, and commented on how painful my potty time must be.
This time, I opted for the 'sew & scope'. We scheduled a surgery date, which gave me six days to take care of my arrangements. I secured a ride to and from the hospital, updated my will, and completed my pre-op paperwork with the hospital staff.
The day before surgery... hours before I started my final preparations, I get a call from the surgeon's office. Seems that Mrs Larson failed to inform the staff that the good doctor would be on an airplane jetting off somewhere, at the exact same time as my scheduled surgery. We would have to reschedule.
I puckered.
It would be six more days until Doctor Larson's skilled digits would be fishing a threaded needle through various areas of my rectum. Yes, six more days of the Ensure liquid diet. Six grueling days of trying to ebb the flow of solid waste.
I made it to day five, before erupting. Oh, and how I erupted! It was a current of explicatives and the excrement. Oh, but this time I was ready. Comfort came in the form of three Tylenol PM, two NyQuil and a pint of Guinness.
I made it to surgery, and am alive to tell the tale. They packed me pretty good that day, which gave me the opportunity to un-pack myself. How many of you can say the same?
That was seven weeks ago, and although I'm still seeing the doctor every couple of weeks to promote total healing, I'd call this a success. read more
