Bottoms Up (or Medical Dilemmas) by Maggie Millus

I hate doctor visits.  Doctors always have to find a hole to put something in, especially gynecologists, obstetricians and proctologists. They always want to look somewhere you don’t want them to.  They have an affinity for dark cavities and have to stick their fingers into everything.  Heaven help you if your problem is serious.


I don’t take my spouse with me to the doctor’s.  Not now.  Not ever.  Why?  For one thing, I’m afraid he’ll worry, as in worry about trust funds, funeral costs, and how long he should wait before marrying the next wife.  All situations he can avoid if I stay alive.  Besides, I like surprises, especially when I am the cause of them.  And what woman wants her husband there during a gynecological exam?  Why have him watch while you “open wide” and grunt  “ugggahhhh!”  I don’t watch him cough and besides there might be certain delicate, I say delicate because they are so personal, issues that I might want to discuss only with my doctor, like skin tags.


Skin tag togetherness...

Skin tag togetherness…

There are a number of conditions that we are supposed to discuss with our doctors.  Like memory loss. “Memory loss?”  I say to the doctor.  “I don’t remember forgetting anything…”  And then there are sexual problems.  I’m inhibited. I’m not going to tell him anything.  Although I might complain that the Cialis commercial is complicating my life:  it’s hard to lug two bath tubs onto the beach.  Those claw legs get stuck in the sand every time.  And if things are so great between that ad- featured couple, why are they in two different tubs?  On the other hand I could imagine the difficulties of two in the same tub…at least at my house.  “You are squashing me…”, “Get your elbow out of my navel!”…. And so it goes.


We’re supposed to tell the doctor how much and often we drink.  Boy, I’d like to tell him why I drink.  If he had my relatives…He’d understand, he’d drink too.  This brings us to family problems. Doctors are supposed to know about them too. What if you’ve been married a long time.  How do you say, “I can’t stand the old coot anymore…He’s driven me to drink!”


On the other hand, if you are lucky – or unlucky- maybe your doctor will just “know” by looking at you. One nostril bigger than the other?  He knows you have fidgety fingers and you like to dig around a lot.    Leaving a trail behind you?   Incontinence and  bladder issues.  Squirming and hanging from the back of a chair like a monkey? Some kind of hypertensive, attention deficit disorder.  Can’t count to 10?  Well, you figure it out.  I’m sure the doctor already has.


I know there are worse medical situations.  I worry about them all the time.  What if I was in surgery and  next thing I know I’m flat along the ceiling, watching the whole “theatre” as they call it.  An out of body experience.  I watch the doctors below me. Who’s that poor soul on the table? Whoops!  It’s me.  That’s a whole lot of intestine they have there. Hey look, my beating heart.. Hey, wait a minute.  DON’T DO THAT!  NOOOOO… OOOps! The robot slipped!


The ultimate medical problem is being dead.  I read that you see a bright light when you die.  I can just imagine:  Oh, look!   I see a light at the end of a very long tunnel.  I’m almost at the end of the tunnel. I see old friends.  I see some “not so friends.”  What’s he doing here?  Hope my mother’s not here…How am I going to explain this one?  This certainly wasn’t in the game plan…




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