I received a letter from the hospital, a little while back.
“You’re getting on a bit, now“, it said, “and, as such, we’d like to stick a camera up your bum… if that’s alright.”
OK, I may have paraphrased it a bit there, but in essence, that is what it said. “We want to stick a fuckin’ great big camera, with “Property of the BBC” written all over it, up your arsehole… so we can check for bowel cancer.”
Well, I wasn’t having any of it, I can tell you.
That’s until several mates of a similar age, made me see sense: it was for my own good.
Apparently.
So yesterday, I wandered up to the hospital and, somewhat apprehensively, pressed the buzzer on the door marked “Endoscopy”.
This was after I had “prepared” my lower bowel for inspection. Have you ever tried to give yourself an enema? Not the most enjoyable or dignified experience, that’s for sure!
Back at the hospital, after a bit of form-filling and having an ID tag fitted to my wrist – they didn’t want to stick the camera up the wrong backside! – I stripped off and put on a hospital gown and a pair of baggy shorts with a hole at the back… a hole at the back for obvious reasons.
The doctor introduced himself and his team – there were five of them – and they set about getting on with the procedure.
“I’m just going to put some lubricant in that area”, he said, reaching over with his gloved hand. He didn’t fuck about! No wooing or advising me that I might want to bite on something: he was straight up there! Yoinks!
I’d barely got my breath back when… up went the camera!
A TV monitor was placed in front of me and the doctor helpfully explained what was what, as he pushed the snakelike camera further into me. To be honest, it didn’t really interest me much, seeing my own insides like that. “Can’t you put Loose Women on… or something?”, I asked.
Apparently, not.
I closed my eyes and hoped it would be over soon.
After what felt like an hour, but was probably only ten minutes of prodding and pushing and me continually feeling like I was shitting myself (but wasn’t), the doctor pulled it all out and gave me a clean bill of health in the botty department. Yay!
And, following today’s news, I now need to go and get something else checked out.
Who knew that getting older could be so much fun!
‘and not to mention the involuntary farting for a couple of hours after.
I quite enjoyed watching the monitor. My one took over 20 mins as they had to go a lot further into the depths of Alan to see why I was getting a pain in the lower stomach. Nothing found apart from a sharp bend in one of my pipes but by passing the camera past the bend which resulted in me taken lots of gas and air seemed to straighten it out a bit.
I think the camera must have cured my problem because after that no more stomach pains.
Yes, let’s not mention the involuntary farting.
Oh! I had a similar letter recently. All it asked me to do was to shit on a stick and send it off in the post. Your experience sounds much more… challenging than mine.
I thought it was illegal to send shit through the post.
I think I get that option next time round.
Thank goodness.
I wonder if royalty get the same letters as we do.
I’m sure the Royal Rectum (not just Prince Andrew) gets treated with a bit more finesse.
Here in France it is the Frenchie who begs his doctor to have a camera shoved up their rectal pasageway. That’s if the camera can get past all the enemas that the French think cure everything from a sore throat to St Vitus Dance.
I bet that was a painful drive home.
Not so much< Dave.
Today, however…
Hahahaha! I can’t believe they didn’t put loose women on! Why do they think that looking at what they’re doing is of interest? Like at the opticians when they try to discuss the back of your eye which looks like an orange ping pong ball and right puts you off your dinner.
I know, right?
If I HAD known, I’d have taken my Kindle or a magazine with me.
Oh dear, that sounds dreadfully uncomfortable, you have my sympathy.
I’d rather have your inflatable pile cushion, TA. 🙂
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