Let's Get Physical -or- I Hope Mr. Hankey Is Planning To Visit

Today I went to the doctor's office for my bi-annual, yearly complete physical examination. (I try to go every year, but actually end up going about once every two years.)

It always seems that I schedule these physical exams around the major holidays. Two years ago, I had one done on Christmas Eve. This year, two days before Thanksgiving. Sort of a special little holiday gift that I give to myself, I suppose. I do like to treat myself well!

Anyway, the physical itself was pretty uneventful. A bunch of questions, some touching and feeling here and there, some plunking of this and squeezing of that. Of course, I ended up with a female doctor. Not that I mind a lady touching me in those private areas of my body, but I do think that I would enjoy a man's hands down there so much more... oh yeah, touch it, squeeze it... hmmmm, on second thought, maybe it was better that I had a lady doctor.

Back to the physical. As any man gay or straight will tell you, the best part of any physical examination is the prostate exam. You know, the part where the doctor slips on the rubber glove, lubes up and shoves their finger up your butt and wiggles it around searching for your prostate or whatever other interesting things they can find in a man's rectum. Yeah, that one's a blast, all right. Every man's favorite for sure! Ranks right up there with "turn your head and cough."

But wait, hold on... I didn't get the finger test... All I got was a lecture about how to determine if I had any symptoms of an enlarged prostate or not. You know like difficulty peeing, post pee dribbles, etc. Damn it! What a major letdown! I waited in anticipation for two years for my next prostate poke and I get nothing, nothing at all!

Even though I did not get the finger up the hole test, I did get the take-home version of the colorectal cancer test! What the Hell? I kid you not! I got this little envelope filled with colorectal cancer test kit supplies. I have to actually collect samples of my feces with little wooden popsicle sticks and smear the little bits of poo-poo onto a test slide three different times over three different days. And, as if that wasn't humiliating enough, I then have to slip my poopie into an envelope and mail it to my doctor's office. I ACTUALLY HAVE TO MAIL MY POOP TO MY DOCTOR'S OFFICE!

If I didn't think that all of this was so completely hilarious, I am sure that I would be horrifyingly disgusted by it all!