AGING GETS THE FINGER

When the Doctor Becomes Obsessed With Your Butthole

Checkup my ass!!

This statue is in my doctor’s exam room. It applies the lube to his finger, methinks. Very symbolic. Photo by Heather Wilde on Unsplash

Hey Doc! Since I made an appointment for this, doesn’t it technically qualify as date rape?

I thought it a valid question. When my family doctor had looked at my chart two months earlier, he’d noticed I hadn’t had a physical in a few years and just turned 42.

He urged me to make an appointment for a physical.

With a smile.

And a weird expression… like nostalgia looking forward.

Now here I was in exam room three and he was snapping on a latex glove with the enthusiasm of a cocker spaniel who’s been asked if he’s a good boy and wants to go for a ride in the car.

As he got me up onto the exam table, I tried not to think about what was about to happen to my poor virgin leather cheerio.

I thought, ‘I wonder if after this he’ll at least validate my par…’

Yiddee-Yi-Hee-Hoo

It remains the only time in my life I’ve involuntarily yodeled.

Ever since, it seems like every time I see him the glove snaps on, the blue crap gets smeared, I’m asked to go to my happy place, and… THOONG!

Really!

Every freaking time.

But Doc, I came in ‘cuz I think I have strep throat.

THOONG!

Terrible halitosis.

THOONG!

Pink-eye?

THOONG!

Male… pattern… baldness?

THOONG!

My car won’t start.

THOONG!

I think my wife’s having an affair.

THOONG!

Short term memory loss??????

THOONG!

Not short enough!

My doctor as I’m making the final approach. Photo by Sander Sammy on Unsplash

At least the hernia ‘turn your head and cough’ exam — while just as hands on — feels more supportive than invasive.

Now, to be fair, I get it.

If caught early through frequent checkups, prostate cancer is one of the most treatable. So yeah, the doc is only looking out for my best interests.

Naturally.

Part of that oath thing.

I wish there was a better way to be presented with a clean bill of health, though.

One that didn’t involve me feeling like I just lost a prison yard coin toss.

The toss of a single coin is, much like the prostate exam, a crapshoot. Photo by Kanchanara on Unsplash

I don’t think there are even questions about other aspects of my health anymore. My smartwatch picks up an increase in heart rate every time the receptionist says ‘The doctor will see you now.’

The conversation always takes the same turn…

So, still have a prostate?

Yes.

Excellent. Let’s give that little bugger a massage, shall we?

I’ve decided I’m not even going to bother wearing pants to my appointments any longer.

In reality, it probably isn’t too easy for the doctors either.

They have to deal with assholes, and then sometimes poke them in the butt.

So here, to express my, ahem, “appreciation” is a little ode to all doctors who perform this deep dive into medical intimacy.

I call it “Welcome to the Doctor.”

Welcome to the Doctor, he’s checking your prostate again;

Get up on the cot face the wall; if you wanna hold your breath you can.

And you may close your eyes; tuck your head to your knees,

But as he starts to poke and prod you better pray you don’t sneeze!

Oh, Doctor!

Welcome to the Doctor… it’s his specialty.

Welcome to the Doctor; you’re gonna think something’s wrong,

‘Cuz both his finger and the time it takes are both way too damn long!

And you may wonder if he even touched your spleen,

As you walk out of there on stiffened legs, with that awkward forward lean.

Oh, Doctor!

Welcome to the Doctor… so, same time next week?

It’s not actually that often, though at times it feels like it is. Still, it’s often enough that my appointment calendar now simply says:

9:30 a.m. — SC. Finger. Don’t forget.

In all seriousness… every man of a certain ‘vintage’ should start getting this process done. It makes sense, even if your doctor approaches it with a zeal reminiscent of being on a side quest he refuses to abandon.

Because the doctor and his detecting digit might just save you.

You know…

… in the end.