Monday, November 22, 2004

What Not To Wear To a Testicle Examination

About five years ago I felt a small irregularity on my right testicle. Hot Wife was pregnant with Left-Handed Power-Hitting Son at the time and she encouraged me to have my Happy Bag checked by a physician. I acquiesced out of obligation to my manhood and my budding family, not out of a desire to have a man in scrubs put his face in my crotch and handle my balls like a pair of dice at the craps table, which is how I knew the examination would unfold.

After squeezing and juggling and examining my nards for a few minutes, my doctor said he had an almost surefire test for testicular cancer. He pulled a little penlight out of his shirt pocket and told me has was going to shine it against the nodule on my testicle. If something black appeared in the glow of the light, well, that would be bad. Gleefully, no such blackness appeared and I figured that meant I was free to zip up and go about my manly ways in good health.

Sadly, no. The doctor told me he wanted me to have an ultrasound on the groin ornament in question, just to be sure nothing untoward was happening down there. Then he reached out and shook my hand, which was the first time I had ever had a man shake both my money maker and my hand in the span of two minutes.

(Remind me to find a female physician.)

As it turns out, Hot Wife’s godfather is the head of radiology at the hospital where our kids were born. I called him, described my situation and asked if I could come down to his office for a quick ultrasound. No problem, he said.

The next day I arrived at The Godfather’s office dressed in shorts, flip-flops and the loudest Hawaiian shirt I could find. I didn’t know the proper attire for a testicle exam, but I figured it wasn’t too much different from the preferred attire at whorehouses and titty bars and glory holes worldwide. I even stuffed my pocket with one dollar bills, just in case.

This is where the story gets a little twisted.

I have no idea to this day whether the arrangement was the doing of The Godfather, but I was greeted in the waiting room by a very attractive blonde ultrasound technician. She escorted me back to a row of dressing rooms and asked me to change into one of those flattering, open-backed hospital gowns. I did so, but I left the Hawaiian shirt on. Chicks dig that. She then brought me into the ultrasound room, told me she was going to leave the room and would return in five minutes. When she returned, she said, the blankets should be arranged so that only my testicles were exposed (I know: if I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that…).

When I had properly covered my, ahem, “self” and was ready for Nurse Ratchet to return, I felt the spirit of David Lee Roth wash over me.

I hollered out, “I’ve got my pencil! Gimme something to write on, man!”

The nurse returned, smiling. She snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, grabbed a white squirt bottle filled with a warm, clear goo and squirted it all over my package. She then picked up a large ultrasound wand that looked a little like a personal massager and began to move it back and forth across the freshly gooed area. It was paradise.

What does one say to a nurse while she’s, you know, doing that to you down there?

“So,” I said, trying to act all cool in a decidedly uncool situation, “do you always get this frisky on the first date?”

She laughed, which made her arm shake, which made the little wand shake, which felt kind of alright, which made me think I should crack some more jokes.

“It’s funny,” I said, “but this always seems to happen when I wear this shirt. It’s irresistible, isn’t it?”

“That’s not the word I would have used,” she said, smirking.

“What word would you have used then, pray tell,” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Ugly. Unfortunate. Loud. Any of those would work.”

God. Talk about ruining a moment.

As it turned out, the little doohickey on my doohickey was a calcium deposit. Totally harmless. The same, however, cannot be said of my Hawaiian shirt.


At 11:08 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Great, on the day I ask a producer to take a look @ this site & this is the subject you write about! Don't get me wrong, it is very funny & enligtening, but talk about your bad timing?!

At 11:50 AM, Blogger janet said...

I love your blog! It really makes me laugh. Thanks for the free comedy.

At 12:10 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

HAHAHA! At first I read Janet's comment as "I just love your bag!"...Oh Lordy, I crack me up.

At 11:46 AM, Blogger HDawg said...

Home-run, Dawg. Hilarious!
We chicks DO love that...forced by husbands like you to get used to it!!!

At 11:57 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

are there stirrups involved in that exam? i can't remember....

At 1:15 PM, Blogger JoeinVegas said...

Well, you got your female doctor (or nurse, or tech). Was it better than having a male tech tell you the same thing? And didn't she save you from total embarrasement with that remark? So, looks like she knew what she was doing, and you saved yourself that pocket of dollar bills.


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