Saturday, September 06, 2008

It Really Ought to Happen to Someone Else

When you're a bloke you tend to go through much of your life under the impression that you are indestructible. It's about the time you pass 30 that you start to find out this assumption no longer stacks up as much as one would like it to.

For example; any medical issues relating to the lower gastrointestinal tract are supposed to be solely reserved for the drooling, wrinkly geriatrics in the over 50 age group. The whole concept of something going wrong "down there" is, generally, so far removed from any conscious thought that it might as well not exist.

Which means when such a problem does crop up it can come as a rude shock - in every sense of the word.

Take it from me there is nothing quite as disconcerting as having to undergo a medical procedure that involves a TV camera entering one's body via orifices a TV camera was plainly never meant to go. It's even more disturbing when one finds out after the procedure that the sedation was supposed to have been such that recall of the event should have been impossible.

In my case it wasn't.

And you can take it from me seeing and feeling sections of your lower intestine being biopsied is not something you need, or want, to remember.

BTW the nurses are bloody fantastic but all those fantasies about potential romantic entanglements go right out the window.

It's hard enough looking them in the eye after they've helped ram a camera up you nether regions. Hitting on them is simply right out of the question

Now to finish on a lighter note.

1 comment:

Rob's Blockhead Blog said...

A tale from when I had a similar umm procedure about six year's back:

Went into the hospital. It was a new bed in my room, the nurse told me. "That means no-one's died in it yet." I said. She gave a funny little laugh, then after a bit wheeled me down to the operating room.

the anaesthestist introduced himself, shoved a needle into the back of the left hand. Things started going a bit groggy. I remember thinking 'the bloke doing the op will be along to introduce himself shortly.'

Then there's someone shaking my shoulder. I think 'this will be him' but it isn't. It's the nurse, waking me up to take me back to the room.

She rolls me into the wheelchair. As we go down the corridor I'm protesting loudly (my wife later told me) that I hadn't met the bloke who'd shoved a cable into my innards and 'the least he could do before he goes storming up my freckle is introduce himself.'

A bit later the doc comes to my door, hesitates before coming in, hand extended, saying 'I don't beleive we've been properly introduced....'