You Want Me To Get A Sigmoid What?

Sometime around my 50th birthday, my wife approached me in the kitchen and said she had made an appointment for me at our family physician's office for a Sigmoidoscopy.  "What, pray tell, is a Sigmoidoscopy?" I asked and she replied "it's a minimally invasive diagnostic procedure that gathers information on intestinal symptoms and looks for the presence of abnormal tissue in the rectum and sigmoid colon."  "Whoa! Wait a minute here." I said, "You just used two words in the English language in the same sentence that's not going to work for me.....'invasive' and 'rectum'.  What possible motive or faint reasoning would I have to want somebody to stick anything up my whazoo, and have to pay for it to boot?"  "Well," the wife said, "there is a lot of history on both sides of your family having cancer and unless you want to go through the hassle of getting a colonoscopy instead, then sigmoidoscopy is the better alternative.  You decide, but you are going to have one or the other." Oh joy, oh rapture - nothing like being married to a registered nurse for over thirty years.  She knows all sorts of ways to torture a person such as myself.  Damn I hate it when she's right!

There I am at the doctor's office in all of my infamous glory, not having much of a clue as to what I'm about to have done to my "lower extremities".  But one thing for certain, it's not gonna be anything I would want to talk about in mixed company or describe to the neighbors that's for damn sure!  The medicine aid took me back to the exam room where she took my blood pressure, checked my pulse, weighed me and then instructed me to take off all my clothes and put on this cheesy, thin, butt less, paper gown and have a seat on the exam table and that Doctor Scott would be in shortly.  You gotta be yankin' my yam Scooter!  Wear a paper gown and sit my big, wrinkled ass on a cold, metal exam table to boot?  This appointment is NOT starting off on a positive note at all!  No sir, not lookin' good for the home team whatsoever.

Well, well, well.  After spending 10-minutes on that ice cold torture exam table shakin' like a dog crappin' peach pits, Doctor Scott and Nurse Ratched make their grand entrance grinning all the while like a jackass eating briers.  Once everyone made eye contact, I started by saying "Say, Scott, we need to talk. What's up with this cheesy paper gown?  Aren't you getting enough in co-pays to afford a laundry service?"  To which Scott replied, "I get paid very well from the insurance company for an office visit and my patients co-pays to afford a laundry service, but I'm trying to keep my over head down in the practice and save money."  I said, "Hate to be the one to pop your bubble there Rockefeller, but this is not my idea of how to save you money and me freeze my big butt off in the process.  There's got to be a comprise somewhere in this discussion."  As per the rules of protocol in any exam room when the doctor is present, he completely ignored my suggestion and proceeded to make ready for my sigmoidoscopy.

While the doctor was preparing his "tools of the trade", which strongly resembled those from the era of the Spanish Inquisition, Nurse Ratched placed her right hand on my knee and the left on my hip and told me "please turn over on your side Jim."  After complying with this request, I felt something long and slender being inserted up my butt, and then all of a sudden I've got this tremendous pain in my abdominal area.  I said "Hey, Scott! What in the Hell are you putting into my stomach?  I feel like I'm about to explode for Christ's sake."  Scott replied, "It's just forced air Jim, nothing to worry about.  The air opens up the anal area to where I can look for possible polyps in your intestines that will need to be removed at a later date.  Don't worry, I won't be much longer."  Well, that's certainly a relief. He won't be much longer. Nothing like having the Hubble Telescope shoved up my ass and then to top it off, having my entire insides being pumped up with enough air to fill every tire on a city bus!  Like my Indian Mother used to say, "Once a doctor finds your asshole, that's the first place they go to every time you see them from then on."

Ok, I've been on my side now for at least 15-mintues with a bicycle pump shoved up my whazoo and whatever modesty I might have had prior to entering the office, is now completely gone...forever!  I haven't had this many strangers looking at my naked ass since I went through Navy bootcamp in 1969.  Finally, Scott said "Alright Jim, we're almost finished here.  Give me a couple of minutes to wrap things up and then you can get dressed."  And that's when I had a great devious thought!!  "Say, Scott, is there anyway you could see fit in say, leaving about a half pound of air up there for me to use later?" I said.  He replied, "Why would you want me to do that?" and I said, "Ya' see, there's some little kid's out in your lobby that are about five or six years old and I thought I could show them how to play 'pull my finger'.  Because you know kid's that age giggle a lot and cannot keep a secret at all.  What do ya' say, half a pound...buddy?"  Nurse Ratched was laughing so hard she couldn't speak and resembled a retarded seal clapping.  Scott escorted me out of the exam room to the lobby where my wife was anxiously waiting for me.  He said, "Jim needs to go home....now.  Don't stop anywhere along the way and be sure to keep a window rolled down...it could be deadly if you don't."  Damn! Another great idea flushed right down the shitter!