Poked and Prodded and Snipped and Clipped
Tomorrow morning is my first doctor's appointment since turning forty. Since my father had prostate cancer, I fear the doctor is going to ask if he can poke around a bit down there.
I know it's the prudent thing to do, and I don't have any issues with the nature of what needs to be done. My concern is that I'll get squeamish and nearly pass out. I have no stomach for medical procedures, which is weird since I've been peripherally involved with health care for 18 years.
I have to turn my head when they draw blood. It's not the sight of the blood itself, but the thought of it being sucked out of my arm into a syringe gives me the sweaty shakes. I'm OK with flu shots, and I've watched my son get most of his vaccinations, so I'm not a complete basket case.
A couple years ago we decided it was time for me to get a vasectomy. I read up on the procedure. I knew what I was in for, but I felt a little queasy about it. I went to the urologist for the initial consultation. He explained things, and I was OK. He handed me some brochures. That was fine. Then he asked me to drop 'em and he started tugging at me in all sorts of ways.
In the right circumstances, with the right person, hey, you betcha', but sitting there in the exam room: not what I had in mind. It felt like he was trying to make gnocchi down there.
This only went on for a few seconds, but it didn't take long before I felt that distant ringing in my ears, like the beginning of Tubular Bells. I started to get clammy and cold, and I was having trouble following what the doctor was saying. Thankfully, he was quickly done, but I had to lie there for a few minutes before I could get it together enough to leave.
Isn't that a wreck? I nearly passed out at the consultation. I had the exact same experience when my wife had amniocentesis. She was fine. I couldn't even look at the ultrasound images.
The vasectomy itself was a breeze. Of course, that was because of the Valium.
Hey . . . maybe I have another one of them squirreled away somewhere for tomorrow!
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2 comments:
You men are such wimps. Every year women go through the same thing during a pap smear -- which, incidentally, involves not just one hole but two AND cold metal instruments scraping away at your insides.
After 40 we also get the 'fun' of having each boob individually shoved in a vise and smashed during our mammogram appointments.
Oh, and then there's that monthly bleeding thing when we get the choice of shoving hard bits of dried cotton up the wazoo or wearing something that vaguely resembles diapers.
Sorry, pal, but now you know why women are considered more the more cruel gender. Look what we have to put up with and still be expected to feel sympathy for you men.
/PMS
Yipe! I know, I know. I hear it from my wife whenever she goes to the crotch doctor. Probably if I had to deal with all that, I wouldn't be so squeamish.
In the end, as it were, all turned out well. Other than the 20 pounds I have to drop, I'm healthy as a horse.
But my arm is a wittle bit achy because they gave me a tetanus shot. And I didn't even get a lollipop.
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