mynutsitch.com

I should start off by saying I hate doctors.  Well, not really doctors, but going to their offices.  Where they work.

Or pretend to work.  Whatever.
Up until last Tuesday I hadn’t been to a doctor in about 2 years.  Why?  Because that guy fuckin’ creeped me out.  Like balls-fully-retracted, someone-please-pull-the-fire-alarm, please-let-my-cell-ring-with-news-that-someone-died-so-I-can-leave creepy.  He was all touchy feely and talked in a Mr Rogersesque kind of voice.  And his eyes….oh god.  I could just tell that if I were 20 years younger he would have been pulling the ol’ “whoops!  looks like we’re out of tongue depressors again.  silly me.  this’ll have to do…*zip*” trick.

I wouldn’t go to that guy’s office again if my only other alternative was to have an old fashioned mercury thermometer inserted into my dick hole and then had my dong repeatedly bludgeoned with the blunt end of a rusty hatchet.

Before that guy?  It had been at least another 5 years (maybe more).

Why?  We covered that earlier, dumbass…I hate going to doctors.

But I finally did it again because there was some stuff bothering me.  Boring stuff that I can’t make funny so I’ll leave it out.  (OK, fine…I’m fatigued a lot, can’t focus on things, no motivation, trouble keeping any sort of normal sleep schedule…that stuff.  Most likely (self diagnosis alert!) depression related, but I guess the first step is to eliminate physical stuff.)

So I go, nervous as hell, and it’s actually alright.  No major wait, the guy was really nice and actually listened to me, and he didn’t try and touch my no-no spots.  (yeah, mom, I listened!)

We talked for quite a while about stuff and then he told me 2 things I didn’t want to hear.  He told me he wanted me to go do one of those overnight sleep studies to make sure I don’t have a sleep disorder.  That blows.  Yeah, it’s totally going to be a normal night’s sleep when I have 83 wires attached to my body and shit.  Awesome.  I was kinda expecting this one.

And he wanted to draw blood to check for anything weird.  Being as how I’m not a complete idiot, I pretty much knew this would be happening too.

But I fucking HATE having blood taken.

I’m not entirely sure why, I just do.

It’s not a needle thing.  I have no issues with shots or anything…except those unnecessarily humongous stainless steel medieval torture devices with fully enclosed finger grips that dentists use…seriously, what the fuck?!?!

It’s also not a blood thing.  I get dinged up all the time and it’s not an issue.  I bleed so much that I often get mistaken for being an emo kid with nonfunctional tear ducts.

But it’s been years.  Maybe it’ll be alright.  I’m a big boy now.  That’s what mommy said just a couple days ago, anyway.

So I go downstairs and it was perfectly fine.  She stuck the needle in.  And it was in.

And then she’s twisting and wiggling it around.  OK, not quite so fine.  I start to feel a little nauseous.

So she tries again.  Same arm.  OK…it’s back in.  And….she’s wiggling it again.  For another 20 seconds or so, with no success.

This is really not that much fun.

“Let’s try the other arm” she says.

“Let me just take that and shove it in your eye” I think, instead opting to mumble “durrrr…ok.”

So she goes for the left arm.  Sticks it in.  Wiggles it around.  Says something that sorta resembled a lame joke.  I don’t know.  Wait!  She found it!

I think.

All I remember is saying “I feel a little…lightheaded”

I don’t know how long I was out, but it was enough time for 2 more nurses to show up and act like they were helping.  Shoving ice packs on my colorless face and doing everything possible to make me feel the maximum amount of retardedness possible at that particular moment.  That is, as soon as I figured out what was going on.

In an attempt to regain some slight amount of dignity, I was up and on my feet in about 20 seconds and managed not to fall over, repeatedly proclaiming “I’m fine, I’m fine.  No, really.  I just forgot to eat breakfast.” in the most convincing voice I could muster considering I barely knew where I was.

The kicker?

“Well, we’re going to have to try again.  I had to abort.”

“Abort?  ABORT?!?!  I’ll abort YOU, you fucking bitch!  You stabbed me 3 times and got NOTHING?” I thought as I spat out a resigned “OK.”

My 4th stabbing of the morning went much more smoothly (oddly, a different nurse that time).  Ready to just get the hell out of there, I gathered my stuff and headed for the door as quickly as possible when I heard a voice.

“Hey, sir?  You forgot something.”

I turned.

“Your penis and testicles fell off.  We put them in this bag for you.  You should be getting your new vagina in the mail within 6-8 weeks and you can just call for your appointment to have it installed.”

I really fucking hate that voice in my head sometimes.