Well it was time for me to go in for the annual tune up and lube job.  I actually had the appointment scheduled about 2 months ago, but the doctor canceled due to a death in his family.  I never asked him, if he was that person's doctor.  Some questions, you don't want to know the answer to.

I don't understand doctors, and I do not understand the mysteries of the human body.  I see myself as like a pick-up truck.  I know where the gas goes. I know where the exhaust comes out.  I know if the tires are bad.  If I find myself doing the green-apple quickstep to the bathroom, I can generally narrow it down to a few things, but you can never be terribly sure.

So, when we were going over my medical history, and I forgot to mention I had tubes in my ears when I was 3, I didn't quite understand the sudden agitation for letting out an important detail.  Like I take my truck into Jiffy Lube for an oil change, I'm not sure why the grocery cart dinging my door at the grocery store is important.

Some of the questions, I get....Do I smoke? No.  Do I drink?  I told him beer tops off my food pyramid.  He says, you need to change your diet.  4 years of medical school for that advice? Thanks.  We then talked about 10 minutes about my broken arm when I was 8. 

Seriously, I'm at the doctor for 3 basic reasons.   One, is the blood flowing through my arteries the consistency of toxic sludge?  Two, do I have cancer? Three, when is Mrs. Commissioner going to start spending more time with the pool boy?  That's it.  That's all I want to know. 

We talk about my broken arm.  Then with no transition he tells me to stand up and drop my drawers.  I turn left and cough, then he tells me to turn around, lay face down on the table and smile.  He then inserted his arm up my rectum to his elbow.  He takes off his rubber gloves, tells me to pull my pants up and wash my hands.  He then leaves.

Why did he tell me to wash my hands?  My hands had a death grip on the examination table...wash my hands?  While I'm contemplating that instruction, he disappeared.  Gone.  I never figured out if I had toxic sludge flowing through my veins.  I still don't know if I have cancer, and I'm not sure if I should worry that Chad the pool guy hand-delivered an invoice to my house tonight? (Seriously, Chad the pool-guy hand-delivered an invoice to my house today).

To shamefully quote KGB from Rounders, "I feel so unsatisfied."