I promised myself that I'd do two things in my 40th year of life:
1) Run another marathon fast enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon
2) Get a physical
I jumped right on #1 and checked that baby off the to-do list last October, but I procrastinated on #2. I'm not crazy about going to the doctor under the best of circumstances (whatever those are), but things get particularly dicey when a man turns 40. That's when doctors start rummaging around in your butt. Ugh.
I'm not really a butt guy. I mean, I enjoy the view of a shapely one, and I find satisfaction in taking a big dump, but that's about it. I don't really use it as a means to entertain myself. Mostly it's just something that I'm forced to endure, and clean.
Plus, when it comes to the act of one person inserting something into another person, I like to be the inserter and not the insertee. I like doing the pitching, as they say.
But, it was time, for a check-up. I told my wife and she heartily recommended her doctor, who she described as a very nice lady. My father overheard this recommendation and shook his head in disagreement.
Dad: Oh, no. You don't want to see a female doctor. Not for THIS. No.
Wife: Oh, yes you do. Think 'small hands'
Those were both compelling arguments. In the end, the tiebreaker was convenience. I knew my wife's doctor would take our insurance, so I just made an appointment there for this afternoon. Beforehand, I sat around at the lunch table with my co-workers and we brainstormed jokes for the rectal exam.
Pablo: You should bring a pack of cigarettes with you, then try to light one up when the exam is over.
Me: That's not bad, but I was thinking I'd just stick stuff up my butt to make it more like a treasure hunt for her.
Pablo: Yeah, put a red flag up there. Then, after she finds it, you can ask her if she saw any red flags!
Me: Ooh, that's good. How about I insert one of those ridiculously long and colorful magician's scarves in my butt? She'll keep pulling and pulling! (*making hilarious magician's pulling motion*)
So many good ideas. So little time. In the end (no pun intended), I marched out of work with my fellow 40 year-old coworkers grimacing in sympathetic anticipation. Today was going to be the day when I found out if I was a catcher.
I got to the doctor's office and sat down with the nice lady. She started off by explaining that she was going to ask me a bunch of questions about my health and history and then we'd do a physical exam.
After a semi-extensive interview, the doc said, "Well, you seem pretty healthy, and you're only 40 years old, so there just doesn't seem to be any reason for me to stick my finger in your rectum and try to find cancer. The odds of me actually finding anything are so slim, it's just not worth the discomfort. Let's schedule that for a few years down the road, when you're 45."
I couldn't agree fast enough. I got slightly concerned when she checked me for testicular cancer and confided, "I've never found cancer in anyone this way", but whatever.
So, no more doctors for the next 5 years! My butt just unclenched.