I wasn’t going to write about this, and then I was like, “Aw, what the hell, we’re family!” Now I know there are some thing that most people wouldn’t share with anyone else, but I am not one of those people. So here goes an embarrassing moment-
Early in the week I woke up feeling like something wasn’t quite right when I sat down. Let me go a little further so you understand what I’m talking about. Have you ever went #2 and when you were done, it felt like your insides came out, and when you stand up it felt like they go back in super slow? Anyway, when that happens I say it feels like the pink glove is out; as in the lining of my colon. HAHAHA Wait– there’s more. Ok so Wednesday this week I had this sensation. At first I didn’t think too much about it except that it was weird and uncomfortable. The next day I woke up feeling the same way and I began to worry so I felt the need to take a peek. (This is where this story gets funny- keep reading)
I’m thinking I need a shower anyway so I might as well do this thing now. I strip off all of my clothes, climb up on the vanity and bend over. Jason Mraz’s lyrics come flooding from my lips, “I’ve been spending way too long checking my tongue in the mirror and bending over backwards to try to see it clearer- but my breath fogged up the glass…” yeah you know the song. Aaanyway, so I’m bent over trying to see if anything is going on near the backdoor and that’s when it occurred to me that if I fell, I’d fall into the textured wall, scrap the meat off of my face and then die from blunt force trauma to the frontal lobes when I landed face first onto the tiles below. (yes, this is how my brain works- keep reading) Before I got down from the vanity I saw it; a little bluish-purple bump the size of a raisin. At first I almost freaked out thinking it was a tick and how if I didn’t get the head off that its body would regenerate and it would crawl up into my body and eat important things and I’d be on “1000 Ways To Die” and that is not how I want things to end. Lawd knows my friends don’t need another story to tell on me when I die– hahahaha (yes, there’s that many) I get down from the vanity and had a better idea; a make-up mirror. Grabbing the Covergirl face powder I open it and put it between my legs. “What the hell is that?” So I did what any normal person would do in 2015, I Wedmd’ed that bitch. Per the symptom checker its most likely a hemorrhoid but it could be a tick bite, neither of which made me very happy.
I went to Walmart and stood in the aisle where Preparation H is and omg- – I can’t even tell you how awful that was. I’m silly and I like to do crazy things to make other people laugh but I’m really quite shy when it comes to personal stuff (yeah, yeah I know I’m telling you about it but like I said, we’re family, so it’s ok) In this aisle there are too many selections. There’s ointments, creams, gels.. pads, suppositories.. o.m.g. My husband and I are standing there and I say to him, “Do you think it’s ok to go with a generic for something like this?” He died laughing. Then I tell him I don’t even know how to do it– like, did I need to put it on like lotion??? He has been around me way too long… he holds up a pointer finger as to say I need to cram it in with a finger. I turn ghetto when things around me need lightened up; like, Madea ghetto. I blurt out in my best ghetto tone, “The hell? I’m not sticking my finger up my ass!!!!” He laughs. I laugh. He tells me he thinks that there is some sort of applicator to use. I stand there with a look on my face that says, “Uh uh. Nope, not sticking a nipple in my ass. Not Happening.” My husband, trying to be helpful points out the suppositories. What is wrong with this man? First it’s a finger, then a nipple and now a freaking miniature Christmas tree – – – NO!!!!!!!
I went with the generic ointment because it was cheaper and it said, “ointment,” which meant to me it would kill whatever was growing. (Hell, I dunno. I’m new at this old thing.)
Friday I went to the doctor for my back. I had been out two days before digging my daughter’s car out from the snow and apparently pulled meat off of my spine or something. He comes in asking me about what’s going on and I tell him about my back and how my right arm is hurting. As he’s typing I think it might be a good idea to tell him about — you know what. Mistake. He handed me a paper sheet and told me to strip down from the waist; he left.
While he was gone I stripped down to my socks, climbed back on top the exam table and covered myself with the paper sheet. He and his nurse come in and he says, “It’s easier if you lie on your side and pull your knee up towards your belly.” (WTH??? Didn’t I just tell you my back hurt when I twist?) I did what I was told. This man is trying to have a conversation with me about what he’s doing down there. I was thinking to myself, “no shit Sherlock- I can feel what’s going on down there. You have your finger crammed in my no-no square. Do you think I can’t feel that??” I was so embarrassed. Then I heard, ‘thrombosis’ and some other medical terms… He tells me to sit on up and hands me a box of tissues. Said when I was dressed to crack the door and he’d be back in to talk to me. I giggled and did a Beevis & Butthead, “huh huh.. you said crack.” in my mind, but only smiled and said, “ok.”
There I am with paper-thin tissues trying to wipe 2 tons of goo out of my crack. Good grief. What’s up with all the excess lube? And what’s up with the crunchy tissues? I know he’s not broke; he needs to buy some Kleenex Aloe or something for these..delicate situations. Geeze.
He comes back in to tell me I have a 1st stage roid. He also tells me that there’s nothing I can do for it but to put cream on it until it shrinks- however it will never go away completely, this is for life. This man was not making my day better. I sat there for a few seconds before I turned into my usual amusing self, then I said, “Well I guess I’ll call him ‘Gary'” The doc asked me who I was going to call, Gary? I told him I was going to call my roid Gary- that he needed a name since we were going to be best good friends for the rest of our lives. He just blinked at me. As he typed up all the notes I asked him how it got there, because it wasn’t there one day and when I woke up, it was. The doc said it was from straining. I blurted out, “Uh uh. I didn’t strain!! My poops not hard!!” He blinked at me again. He said, “You. were. shov-e-ling. snoooow…” I hate when people talk to me like that. I’m not stupid, you ain’t gotta enunciate and draw words out like I don’t understand English. Dick. Then the doc adds, “Until its the size of an olive we can’t surgically remove it.” I’m thinking, “Wait. What? An olive? This thing can grow to the size of an olive?? Uh uh, Aint nobody got time for olives. I don’t even like olives.” 😨 Now I just blink at him with a wtf look on my face. I guess he tried to make me feel better when he said, “It’s not a big deal, they’ll just go in there and put a band on it and it will fall off in 3 or 4 days.”
I sit there for maybe 3 seconds before my brain filter dislocated. I question, “They (because it apparently takes more than one to change that light bulb) go in my butt and put a rubber-band on my roid- and it will fall off, like a dogs tail… then where the hell does it go? The olive-roid is just in there, like, lost in my body?” Again he blinks at me and tells me there’s nothing to worry about right now and handed me papers to take to the check-out.
Later on I had my husband run to Walmart to pick up my meds. I didn’t want to haha I was too embarrassed. When he came back I opened the bag to find roid cream and a bottle of Fibercon pills. The hell? I snap at him and ask him why he bought me Fibercon pills. I thought he was trying to be funny- it’s sooo something I would do. He tells me he wasn’t being funny it’s what doctor J called in. (o.m.g. I turned 40 and my body has lost it’s damn mind.)
Btw. The back issue… you know, the real reason I went to the doctor… its a strain in the right rhombus. Nothing a muscle relaxer and an anti-inflammatory won’t fix.