Tuesday, February 01, 2005

In Through The Out Door

My mother is a nurse, and for most of my youth her specialty was something called gastroenterology. In what was then quite a trailblazing medical field, her work involved sticking long, bendable probes --- most fitted with a tiny camera on the tip --- down people’s throats or up their assholes. These procedures gave doctors the power to see into the stomach, esophagus, colon, rectum and god-knows-what-else of the poor sons of bitches who had to endure the indignity of having their guts examined and the nightmarish possibility that someone mistakenly stuck the ass probe into their throat. Sometimes the doctors saw malignant polyps. Sometimes they saw esophageal erosion. And sometimes, presumably, they saw the as-yet-undigested remains of someone’s Denver omelet.

When the hospital where my mother worked expanded, we were invited to attend an open house, complete with syrupy red fruit punch and cookies plastered with colored sprinkles. My mother proudly gave us a tour of the unit in which she worked, and at some point I noticed a series of clear plastic jars sitting on a ledge near the window. I asked what they were and my mother told me matter-of-factly that they were foreign objects “rescued” from the bodies of patients over the years. The objects included:

• A yellow toothbrush
• A political campaign button
• A salami
• A quarter
• Enough produce to make a healthy salad (and with the aforementioned salami, we’d have the makings of an Anal Antipasti)
• A snow globe from the Swiss Alps
• A midget named Carl

Given that there would be children present, I assume the hospital brass made the wise decision to hide what I’m certain was an impressive stash of dildos, vibrators, butt plugs and sundry beaded accessories yanked from the poopers of sexual deviants who had waddled into the ER asking to speak to a nonjudgmental doctor. Still, I learned a valuable lesson that day and I’m moderately proud to report that I have never engaged in any manner of sexual hijinx that even remotely threatened to land me on a hospital gurney answering the question, “So, Mr. Evans, how exactly did the Louisville Slugger become lodged in your rectum?”

That said, there was one occasion when a foreign object did become stuck in my person. I was about six. I was playing in our front yard, by myself, and I found this really cool rock. It was tan, flecked with black dots and about the size of an unshelled almond. I remember inspecting it, admiring it. And then, for some reason I can’t explain, I was compelled to slide the stone into my right nostril. Don’t ask me why.

What followed were 15 of the most horrifying minutes of my life. As soon as the rock went in, I tried to get it out. I plugged my left nostril and exhaled forcefully, trying in vain to propel the rock from my nose. I put my finger on the top of my nose and ran it down the side of my right nostril, trying to slide the rock from the hole. I shook my head violently from side to side. But the rock wouldn’t budge.

I became panic-stricken, certain that the only way to dislodge the rock would be to slice my nose open. Furthermore, if my sister came out and saw me like this, she’d laugh harder than I did when our mom puked in her face. In my young life, there had never been a more horrifying moment than this.

I honestly don’t remember how I did it, but I finally extracted the rock from my nose. When I did, I exhaled a sigh of great relief and then chucked that little rock down the street as far as I could (lest it end up on display somewhere like a toothbrush or a shit-stained carrot). Then I ran inside and watched Bullwinkle.

8 Comments:

At 2:32 PM, Blogger LadyBug said...

"Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my rectum!"
"Again?"

 
At 6:43 PM, Blogger deb in sf said...

Hey, is that the one that hit Lisa, across the street, in the eye?

 
At 7:25 PM, Blogger alyssa j said...

when i was really little i stuck a raisin up my nose and my mom had to do the push-it-down from the outside thing. it does work sometimes. :)

 
At 9:18 PM, Blogger The Macek Collective said...

Would you kindly ask your mom if she knows of any way that I can get my fucking snow globe back?

 
At 1:12 PM, Blogger JoeinVegas said...

Glad the storey went on about the rock in your nose. I am trying really really hard not to imagine insertion other places. Especially snow globes. Besides, if you shake a snow globe, would the snow still fall if no one sees it?

 
At 5:04 PM, Blogger Im A Foto Nut said...

Hey, what's wrong with the people in this world. Where I grew up, that hole was ment for "exits only." (I'm still laughing about "Hey Rockie..."

 
At 12:31 PM, Blogger Harry said...

Screw those webbed-toed pictures. Where are the ones of the globe, or Carl?

 
At 11:25 AM, Blogger Michael Moore said...

My mother also works in gastroenterology. At least she has never spoken lovingly of clients that are "so much like you... it would be amazing if you'd date" after saying that he had some sort of sexually transmitted disease IN HIS ASS.

Oh, and the comment about the snowglobe made me laugh. alot.

 

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