After much concern regarding a health issue, I finally consulted my doctor. Given that it dealt with such a personal subject, I'd been hesitant up to that point to mention anything, but on that day, I finally decided I'd had enough.
The doctor ran a couple tests in house and decided that it wasn't anything associated with my having Type II diabetes. I breathed a sigh of relief on that point, however I wondered what exactly was the cause of my problem. A few more tests were ordered up by my physician and on my way I went.
A couple days later I retrieved an official looking letter from my mailbox. Typed on letterhead from the Saskatchewan College of Physicians, the note informed me that I was to attend an ultrasound appointment, followed up by a Cystoscopy a couple weeks following that. I've had many ultrasounds over the years for a plethora of injuries I've sustained. I knew there was nothing to fret about in regards to that, but by name alone, Cystoscopy sounded invasive and complex. I read on in the letter, which vaguely described the nature of that test. Thank the heaven's for Google, as I looked up the definition of Cystoscopy and was horrified by what I learned. Long story short, the doctor freezes my downstairs area then shoves a camera in through my pee-pee. Ho-ly-f*******ck!
So for a few weeks I had that to look forward to, even going so far as sharing on Twitter that while people would be outside enjoying the hot summer weather, your's truly was going to be in the hospital, legs up in the stirrups and a camera being raked through me like a piston hammering through the cylinder of a small block Chevy.
A couple days later I retrieved an official looking letter from my mailbox. Typed on letterhead from the Saskatchewan College of Physicians, the note informed me that I was to attend an ultrasound appointment, followed up by a Cystoscopy a couple weeks following that. I've had many ultrasounds over the years for a plethora of injuries I've sustained. I knew there was nothing to fret about in regards to that, but by name alone, Cystoscopy sounded invasive and complex. I read on in the letter, which vaguely described the nature of that test. Thank the heaven's for Google, as I looked up the definition of Cystoscopy and was horrified by what I learned. Long story short, the doctor freezes my downstairs area then shoves a camera in through my pee-pee. Ho-ly-f*******ck!
So for a few weeks I had that to look forward to, even going so far as sharing on Twitter that while people would be outside enjoying the hot summer weather, your's truly was going to be in the hospital, legs up in the stirrups and a camera being raked through me like a piston hammering through the cylinder of a small block Chevy.
Today was the big day. I swallowed my pride and all my fears. There was nothing I could do now, but to face the music and deal with this adversity like I do every other roadblock in life. In fact, while I sat "commando" in the waiting room, a thin cotton fabric being the only thing separating "me" from the menagerie of odd looking persons in the room with me, I noted a parade of attractive nurses strolling past. "I wonder if one of them is my nurse." I thought to myself, then realizing how embarrassing it would be, them eyeballing me in my state of vulnerability, or worse, my rising to the occasion. It might be flattering, on some level, but highly inappropriate and embarrassing.
Soon I heard my name being called. The nurse introduced himself as Emanuelle. A him, I thought, this was going to be less embarrassing. Emanuelle appeared to be an African transplant. His accent was thick and I had him repeat his name, as I failed to catch it the first time. He had long hair that was twisted into thin dreadlocks and it was tied back and spilling out from under his nurses cap. It was at this precise moment I realized that I was going to have to write a blog about this.
Mere seconds ago, I was worried about popping wood in front of my nurse, and now I see my nurse is actually a young virile man. A strapping young fella. An African-American young fellow and immediately my thoughts went to the stereotypes of young African-Americans and the incredible girth that they sport, "down there". Although he is likely very professional in his application of medicine, this dude is likely going to snicker when he sees my insignificant appendage. I know the comparison goes without saying, but it's still a bruise to the old ego.
He had me sit on the gurney to wait for the doctor's arrival, who entered the room almost immediately. I'm relieved to see that he's of Asian decent and before any question of his fitness as a physician enters my mind, my self-consciousness wanes away believing that as insignificant as I'm going to be stacked next to the black guy, I gotta be monstrous over the Asian doctor's peanut.
I was instructed to lie back on the gurney while the nurse was going to clean and sanitize my area. Again the thought of an uprising interrupted my usual thoughts. Baseball, I thought. Baseball. The most boring sport on TV, that'll keep me "relaxed". If I thought getting wood in the hands of the female nurse would be embarrassing, it'd go double, triple..., a million times more embarrassing in the hands of a dude.
Next the doctor brought over the device that would he'd be doing the exploratory with. I looked at him and said, "I don't think that's going to fit." He smiled and assured me, "It'll fit. Don't you worry." This caused me to breathe heavily. I laid back and stared at a poster on the ceiling. It was a monkey with the caption "I've gotta learn to relax." The nurse, Emanuelle, knelt down next to my head and pointed up at the poster and said, "Look at the monkey. Take deep breaths and exhale through your mouth."
"Monkey?" I said, "I thought that was a mirror." Emanuelle chuckled and patted me on the shoulder as he rose to his feet. The procedure then began. The freezing went in and ironically burned like a roman candle. It felt like hot lava being pouring into me, a single droplet at a time. The scorching sensation soon dissipated, but not for long.
What I initially believed would be equated to shards of broken glass being etched into my wiener, via the Google explanation, the discomfort associated with the procedure wasn't quite as violent or painful, but it wasn't a joyous experience either.
After all was said and done, the doctor informed me that everything checked out. My bladder and all points in between checked out and appeared healthy. I can now breathe another heavy sigh of relief, but can't help but wonder what the cause of my issues are. The doctor suggested watching my diet. Yay..! A diet already limited by allergies, could soon become even more concentrated. Pretty soon, I'll be sucking nutrients out of a f**king tube, like the astronauts do.
I sat down on the toilet, following the exam, and tried to urinate. The freezing had really taken hold, I couldn't feel anything except something that felt like rusty razor blades. I tried repeatedly, but believe that I'd failed. I got up and looked into the bowl. Something came out, to my surprise. I hope I don't have any "accidents" on the way home, I thought.
Soon I heard my name being called. The nurse introduced himself as Emanuelle. A him, I thought, this was going to be less embarrassing. Emanuelle appeared to be an African transplant. His accent was thick and I had him repeat his name, as I failed to catch it the first time. He had long hair that was twisted into thin dreadlocks and it was tied back and spilling out from under his nurses cap. It was at this precise moment I realized that I was going to have to write a blog about this.
Mere seconds ago, I was worried about popping wood in front of my nurse, and now I see my nurse is actually a young virile man. A strapping young fella. An African-American young fellow and immediately my thoughts went to the stereotypes of young African-Americans and the incredible girth that they sport, "down there". Although he is likely very professional in his application of medicine, this dude is likely going to snicker when he sees my insignificant appendage. I know the comparison goes without saying, but it's still a bruise to the old ego.
He had me sit on the gurney to wait for the doctor's arrival, who entered the room almost immediately. I'm relieved to see that he's of Asian decent and before any question of his fitness as a physician enters my mind, my self-consciousness wanes away believing that as insignificant as I'm going to be stacked next to the black guy, I gotta be monstrous over the Asian doctor's peanut.
I was instructed to lie back on the gurney while the nurse was going to clean and sanitize my area. Again the thought of an uprising interrupted my usual thoughts. Baseball, I thought. Baseball. The most boring sport on TV, that'll keep me "relaxed". If I thought getting wood in the hands of the female nurse would be embarrassing, it'd go double, triple..., a million times more embarrassing in the hands of a dude.
Next the doctor brought over the device that would he'd be doing the exploratory with. I looked at him and said, "I don't think that's going to fit." He smiled and assured me, "It'll fit. Don't you worry." This caused me to breathe heavily. I laid back and stared at a poster on the ceiling. It was a monkey with the caption "I've gotta learn to relax." The nurse, Emanuelle, knelt down next to my head and pointed up at the poster and said, "Look at the monkey. Take deep breaths and exhale through your mouth."
"Monkey?" I said, "I thought that was a mirror." Emanuelle chuckled and patted me on the shoulder as he rose to his feet. The procedure then began. The freezing went in and ironically burned like a roman candle. It felt like hot lava being pouring into me, a single droplet at a time. The scorching sensation soon dissipated, but not for long.
What I initially believed would be equated to shards of broken glass being etched into my wiener, via the Google explanation, the discomfort associated with the procedure wasn't quite as violent or painful, but it wasn't a joyous experience either.
After all was said and done, the doctor informed me that everything checked out. My bladder and all points in between checked out and appeared healthy. I can now breathe another heavy sigh of relief, but can't help but wonder what the cause of my issues are. The doctor suggested watching my diet. Yay..! A diet already limited by allergies, could soon become even more concentrated. Pretty soon, I'll be sucking nutrients out of a f**king tube, like the astronauts do.
I sat down on the toilet, following the exam, and tried to urinate. The freezing had really taken hold, I couldn't feel anything except something that felt like rusty razor blades. I tried repeatedly, but believe that I'd failed. I got up and looked into the bowl. Something came out, to my surprise. I hope I don't have any "accidents" on the way home, I thought.
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