Double Whammy (Warning: Graphic)

Before we get started, let me just tell you now, this is GRAPHIC. Like butt doctor graphic.  So, if you can’t handle the gross hilarity that I’m about to share with you, don’t read any further. Please.  I don’t want to hear complaints later. Ok. You have been warned.

A prized picture hung in Dr. Butt’s exam room.

Let’s digress back to September, shall we?

Dr. Asshole switched me to Cyclosporine. I was prescribed 350mg a day. Since Cyclo only comes in 100mg radioactive capsules delivered by secret agent men draped in PPE (personal protective equipment), I had to take 300mg one day, then 400mg the next to average out to 350mg daily.  Yeah, just imagine how many times I’ve had to explain that to people and get the blank stare back…. like I’m speaking Greek. No, Latin.  hahahaha

Well, the Cyclo immediately gave me explosive diarrhea. Images of Van Wilder and Dumb and Dumber should enter your mind for proper visual aid. No exaggeration. Full out agonizing honesty.  It felt like molten hot lava every time I went to the toilet. And that’s IF I made it to the toilet.  There was blood. There was acid. There was this rancid smell that I can only describe as rotten Chinese food.  And the acid in the diarrhea felt like rubbing Icy Hot or Red Rectum Revenge Hot Sauce directly on my butthole.  It’s a real hot sauce – look it up.

Then three gigantic, swollen quarter sized hemorrhoids magically appeared. It was so painful, that in order to sit, I had to rotate from butt cheek to butt cheek, soak in the hot tub every night to ease the burning, aching feeling.  People, I now have new respect for men and their testicles. I am constantly getting onto my husband for scratching or “rearranging” himself.  Never again.  Totally understand now. Just add red and inflamed to a man’s testicles and you know my pain.

Around December, after most of the irritated swelling eased a bit, I went to the bathroom and low and behold, there was blood. A lot of blood actually. Then there was a kerplunk sound, and I noticed a small fleshy bit in the toilet.  I went to Terry and said, “You gotta see this. I need a witness. Come look”  Yes, people. We honestly share everything.  E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.  Sure enough, one of my hemorrhoids had fallen off and into the toilet.

In January, I started having chest pain.  Just below the xhiphoid process, around the ribs and into the center of my back. My stomach was nauseous and I could only eat a few bites of food before getting sick.  We did the lab work for Pancreatitis.

Dr. Asshole decided to send me to a Colon Rectal Surgeon. So he called Dr. Hospital and they arranged the referral. A week later, I got the paperwork in the mail. In the paperwork were pre appointment instructions.  Enema.

I had to reschedule the appointment twice. Once due to being in the hospital and once due to two other appointments conflicting with the date and time. Yes, I’m a busy busy woman.

So this morning arrived. The day of my butt appointment. One hour prior, I had to administer the “Enema.”  I’m ashamed to say this, but I am so swollen in my mid section that I can’t reach my booty, so I had to enlist the assistance of my devoted husband, St. Terry. Well Terry was only too damned eager to assist. Neither of us had ever done this before…I’ve never even used a douche, but I read the directions carefully and instructed St. Terry as we went along.

Step #1. Remove blue protective shield before inserting. (Yeah, otherwise, it’s just tee-iny vibrator with no battery power inserted in the wrong hole).

Step #2. With steady pressure, gently insert enema tip into rectum with a slight side to side movement, with the tip pointing towards the navel (just like a floppy, cold penis).

Step #3. Do not force the enema tip into rectum as this may cause injury. (That is NOT going to happen. My rectal muscles contracted and that bad boy stopped mid-insert. Terry couldn’t make it go a hair further. Meanwhile, my teeth were locked tight in a death grip on the tee-iny fake penis tip halfway inserted into my behind).

Step #4. Squeeze bottle until nearly all fluid is gone. (Uh, gone where?)  It is not necessary to empty the bottle completely, as it contains more fluid than necessary. (Meanwhile, Terry is back there squeezing the bottle like he’s stoking a fire.)

Step #5. Remove tip from rectum and maintain position until urge to evacuate is strong, which is usually 1 to 5 minutes. (First off, Terry is trying to pull the “Tip” out and my rectal muscles have a death grip on the thing.  He’s tugging. I’m tugging. When he finally gets the thing out, I’m struggling to keep the “fluid” inside.  And let me tell you… FIVE MINUTES?  Uh, no way in hell. My eyes are clinched shut, my teeth are gritted together like I’m trying to dead lift 1,000 lbs. I immediately hobble towards the toilet, slamming the door in St. Terry’s face while I collapse on the toilet seat. For the next half hour, I found things that were lost in the Smithsonian Institute for nearly a century.)

An hour later, we were sitting in the Butt Doctor’s Lair.

I’m glad I don’t have any pride left, otherwise, this next part would have made me relocate to Botswana or Nepal, anything, just so I don’t risk running into the Butt Doctor in public.

Of course, I had to undress from the waist down and put on a barely there surgical gown which was way too small and my hind end hung out of the back. At least my front side was covered.  I don’t even know why I wore panties. A few minutes later the doctor enters and we do our social banter.

Then came the exam.

He made me lay back on the table and roll over onto my left side so my big butt was right in his face. I mean right in his face.  He instructed me to pull my knees up to my chest. Yeah, like that’s going to be easy. He used a gel to loosen me up. I don’t think I need to be anymore descriptive there, do I?  Then he inserted a finger.  My sphincter muscle locked up tighter than Fort Knox. And the gel was cold at first, then burned like HELL.  When he pulled out, I thought it was over…..uh, nope. Wrong again. My mistake.  The nurse hands him a loooooonnnnnnngggggg ass tube (no pun intended) with a rubber tip on the end. (Here we go again with the floppy cold penis contraption) He inserted it into my butt.  If that wasn’t bad enough, the nurse turned on this nozzle across the room and my rectum, bowels and abdomen filled up like the Hindenburg (equivalent to the GoodYear blimp).

Omgoodness.

The nurse turned off the air hose attached to my butthole. (Nothing like paying a $50 co pay for air up the ass. I could have done that at the 7/11 down the street) and the doctor pulled out the hose. He proceeded to insert his finger again and move it around. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOUR ABDOMEN, BOWELS AND RECTUM ARE FULL OF AIR AND IT GETS POKED AT?

I farted right in his face.

I didn’t poot, toot, pass wind, or flatulate.  No. I cut one, farted, ripped one up and down, side to side. And I didn’t just fart once. Not even twice. I farted repeatedly and in front of the Doctor, Nurse and Terry, who was sitting silent as the grave in the corner.

I don’t know what he smelled, but I’m now scheduled for a colonoscopy and a gastro-intestinal endoscopy as soon as possible.