Mommy! Mommy! A strange lady stuck her finger up my bum, and I had to give the Government money to pay her to do it. Then she hired some guy to do it again with a hose – and then I have to learn to deep-throat. I don’t understand. The charges were dismissed, why do I still have to attend the Going To Prison Seminar?
I went to see my female doctor for my regular physical – ‘cause there’s 703 days in a year, right?? Suddenly my annual checkup became an anal checkup. It all started innocently enough. She took my blood pressure – 120/70, which means my heart ain’t thumpin’ hard, and I’ll live long enough to make some people sorry.
“Do you have to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom?” I’m almost 70 – of course. “How many times?” Usually once, occasionally twice. “When it gets to three, contact me, and I’ll start you on meds that you’ll have to take every day for the rest of your life. Is it still rigid when you have to go?” Uhhh…no. “Would you like some Cialis?” That’s like offering a dog a driver’s licence.
I’ve heard about, Turn Your Head And Cough, but around here, it’s, Shuck your shorts and lie on the examining table in a fetal position, facing the wall. Suddenly….WOW – are you right up to the wrist? I don’t think I’m going to get out of this fetal position. She says, “I don’t feel anything unusual.” Lucky you, I do.
She’ll make arrangements with an internist, but first, I have to take tests to prove I’m healthy enough to survive the torture. I asked one, innocent question. Would a little extra adipose, just north of the belt buckle, combined with poor eating posture, prevent the esophagus from emptying into the stomach, causing difficulty swallowing?
The next thing I know, I’ve got $250 worth of stomach pills I don’t need. I’m thankful for a great medical plan, which pays for it. The unexpected benefit is that they’re combo-pills with an added painkiller just short of Hillbilly Heroin. I could sell these on the street. The next time I have a headache (very uncommon) I’ll just crush one up and snort it.
After walking five miles at the Cruise Night, and then setting the daughter up for the Anti-Violence Festival the next day, and hauling her stuff back home, both hips said, “Take the pill! Take the pill!”
So, off to the clinic I went. I had to do a 12 hour fast. I was starting to have food withdrawal symptoms, but I made it. Some sadistic little oriental nurse-wannabe stuck a railway spike in my arm, and sucked out so much blood, I thought they were doing a remake of Helter-Skelter. Then she said, “I need a urine sample. Could you fill this little cup?” Not from over here.
My cholesterol levels are lower than my doctor’s, although I still need to remove that spare tire. Like any other bureaucracy, Ontario’s taxpayer-paid medical coverage can sometimes be head-scratching. The doctor’s visit is paid for. Four blood tests and the urine tests are paid for, but the test that might indicate that I have prostate cancer??? That one I have to pay $30 for! 😕
The wife’s had to endure colonoscopies three times. Except for the finger, I’m still a virgin. At least I’ll have someone to guide me through it – and point and laugh when I go all sucky and whiny. I think I can handle that, even though I’ll have to drink stuff that makes cod-liver oil taste like Haute Cuisine, and ending up so empty that I won’t be able to face into the wind without developing a whistle.
It’s the endoscopy I’m a little worried about. I have a sensitive throat. I could never do gay porn. The wife takes 12/15 pills every morning, including a couple that would choke a horse – into the mouth, a little juice, one big gulp, and they’re all gone. Me? Anything bigger than an aspirin, and I have to distract myself. Oh, look, a chipmunk!….Is the pill gone? Well, it will be by lunch.
I think if it weren’t for all these tests, old folks would live forever. All this embarrassment and stress?? Ah Hell, let’s just die and get it over.