'Til The Cows Come Home

Kinda Sorta Maybe On The Mend

Thanks for all of your well wishes about my current state of the bod. I'm about halfway to normal operations and making progress little by little. I have a follow-up appointment with my doctor tomorrow morning and hopefully we'll get word on test results and verify that we're on the right course of treatment. More importantly, I'll find out if I'll be able to drink while we're on vacation. The prescription pamphlets say absolutely not, but I usually tend to disobey them. However, I'm less likely to disobey my doctor if she gives me so much as a stern look. So I shall do as she suggests. It would suck to go all the way to Italy and not be able to have wine, prosecco or grappa.

When I decided I had to have these symptoms checked out and rang the office, my usual doctor was out. But given the list of ailments they wanted to see me immediately, so they got me in with another doctor in the group. I was just grateful that they could accommodate me so quickly. My usual doctor - whom I absolutely adore and trust - is a woman. She's my favorite physician of any I've ever had. I feel completely comfortable with her. It's been a long time since a male doctor has examined me, but given the eventual diagnosis I'm rather happy to have had someone who understood the plumbing on a firsthand basis.

We talked over my medical history and he did a thorough examination. The last thing he needed to do was check my prostate, as that's where he believed the problem to be. He snapped on the rubber glove and took out the industrial size tube of KY. And in went the tip (of his finger, perverts).

"How are we doing so far?" he asked.

"Doing okay," I replied, "Nothing I haven't been able to handle before."

"Well, hold on, because I'm either going to rock your world or make you a very unhappy man," he said with a laugh. In went the rest of the finger in search of its target. And let me just say that even Jack Bauer would have spilled his secrets if he had felt what I did at that moment.

"I'm so sorry, I know this is awful," he tried to apologize.

"It's okay," I said through gritted teeth. "You're just doing your job, I won't hold it against you."

And then he was done. He helped me sit back up and pull up my pants, as I was too winded to do it myself.

"How you doing there?" he asked.

I just nodded and exhaled. He gave me that Comforting Doctor Smile and said, "Maybe we should have just stuck to foreplay."

I think now I have two favorite doctors.

Posted by mak at March 3, 2008 7:09 PM