So last night I arrived home to discover my wife watching a television show in which a man was talking about smegma. He was talking in a rather animated fashion, as if this were a infomercial and he was explaining an exciting new system under which high quality smegma could be delivered directly to YOU, the consumer, cutting out the smegma middle-man.
Life has been different since we got the DVR.
Anyway, it turns out the guy was Dr. something — Dr. Bob, or Dr. Dr., or whatever — and this was an Oprah show on men's health that the wife had DVRed and was now watching. She had not, as it turned out, specifically sought out a smegma-related show, which I confirmed by a cautious and concerned review of the DVR search logs. Oprah had this doctor — who was wearing scrubs, and I believe a stethoscope, possibly because Oprah's producers had misplaced the sign reading "DOCTOR!" to hang around his neck — was talking to a studio full of men, while Oprah was holding court in a separate studio with a large group of women, presumably their wives. The men asked a series of male health related questions, many involving their genitals, which Dr. Dr. answered in a manner so enthusiastic and animated that one suspects he has been grinding up all his vendor samples and furiously inhaling them directly before television appearances.
When he asked whether any men experienced erectile dysfunction, the mens' shoulders slumped as if broken by steel bars as they thrust their hands downwards towards the floor, some visibly grasping their chairs, lest their hands involuntarily raise through some spasm.
Anyway, at one point the Doc discussed colonoscopies, repeating the advice I've heard before that men should have them after 40 or possibly earlier if there is a family history of colon cancer. I'm not 40 yet, but my paternal grandmother had colon cancer at one point. My doc has mentioned before that I should probably do it sooner rather than later. As we watched the show, my wife — already irritated by Dr. Dr.'s suggestion that more sex would keep me alive longer — started in on me about how I need someone to play Fantastic Voyage with my ass.
So I guess I'm going to do it.
Fortunately, some bloggers I consider kindred spirits are paving the way for me. Ella at Star Spangled Haggis marches towards the indignity with some good scatalogical one-liners. And she links to Bill Harris' reassuring description.
So I'm thinking it's going to be worse for the people doing it to me than it is for me. That's what I try to achieve with all my medical interactions.
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