eightblack

About 10-years ago, I lived in Nebraska. Loved every minute of the place.

There was at the time, only 2 Aussies in the whole state. Which is not surprising. It's not like you see full page ads in all of the Australian major newspapers advertising "Life on the Prairie".

In addition, it's also probably not the first holiday destination on most Australians "bucket list".

Anyway, the other Aussie was a girl. At least I think she was a girl. She worked in a place, which really was called "The Aussie Pub". Except there was nothing Australian about it, apart from the fact that someone had stolen a Fosters sign and hung it in the dingy window.

Right then. What were we talking about?

Oh that's right, Nebraska.

Apparently, when I get sick, my heartless wife reckons I don't suffer in silence.

This one particular time I couldn't get rid of a very persistent cough. Everytime I did cough, it sounded like I was bringing up a lung.

She Who Must Be Obeyed made an appointment at the clinic and must have instructed the receptionist to give me a complete medical. She however, conveniently neglected to tell me of this fact.

I drive myself off to the medical rooms and announce to the rather large receptionist that I didn't have very long to live and was there a Priest on the premises. I told her that yes in fact, I was dying. Could she please ensure that my ride on mower went to a good home…

"Useless male…" I heard her mutter under her breath.

About 5-minutes of waiting and another man-hating woman arrives.

"Mr Eightblack, please follow me" she snaps.
"Yes indeed" I reply
"Please go into this exam room, and remove all your clothes and pee into this cup" she commands. "And put this robe on. Someone will be along shortly"
"I'll do no such thing", I curtly reply
"What!" she says incredulously
I said, "Look lady, I'm here to see someone about a cough. I'm not getting naked and wearing a bedsheet. Besides, we just met. Normally, I like to have dinner first, perhaps share a cheeky chablis. Make small talk. That sort of thing".

She was not amused.

Clearly she had had a personality bypass at birth. Or something like that. And what was even clearer is that she wasn't going to back down.

I finally relented, provided the DNA sample and put on the robe. Just to annoy them, i put it on backwards and tied the strings at the front. Moments later, some junior person came into to collect my pee sample.

"Miss, I'll need that back when you're done with it", I said firmly
She looked at me with a sense of nervousness.

"Excuse me?" she said
"Yes I'll need that back. It's very valuable" I responded

She shook her head, and left the room. Rather quickly.

Now I started to get a little nervous. Less than half an hour ago, I was sitting in the safety of my own home, watching yet another informercial about the benefits of the Ab Ripper 2000, and generally minding my own business enjoying life in the midwest.

Fast forward 30-minutes later and there I am, naked as a jaybird, in a very large and imposing medical clinic, in a country where no one really understands what the medical profession does all day. Except get rich. And sue each other.

And the last time I looked, I didn't need to be in my birthday suit to have someone look down my throat with a flashlight.

The exam room was standard size and had a wash basin to one side. The wall was littered with posters from local attorneys offices and rather large posters of some guy called Tom Osborne. Allegedly, some sort of football legend.

Then I saw it. It was sitting on the ledge above the basin. All alone. In big letters across the jar, it said "Medical lubricant". Not to be taken orally. I thought to myself, what on earth is that doing here?

I started to fidget.

Then there was a knock on the door. A rather large doctor with a round moon face came in. He had one of those high fructose corn syrup induced smiles - like he just ate all the left over donuts in the break room and drank a half gallon of Mountain Dew.

We shook hands and he introduced himself. So far so good I thought.

"What seems to be the problem?" he calmly enquired
"Nothing" I said bluntly
"My wife is having a bad day and decided to take it out on me" I continued
"Really" he says
"Yes. Look, all I have is a sore throat"

"It says here I'm supposed to give you a full medical exam" the Doctor proffered

"But Doc, I don't need a full medical exam. I feel fine. I really do. Just give me some antibiotics and a medical prescription for dope and I'll be on my way"

He ignores my comment, without so much of a smile.

I tell myself that these Cornhusker people need to get out more. To live a little. Or to take up drinking something a little bit stronger than Bud Light.

He says, "Look, it wont take long. Better to be safe than sorry"

I felt like telling the large man in the white coat that he didn't exactly look the picture of health himself and maybe he should take his own advice and give himself a full medical.

So we go through the routine. Touch your toes. Check your reflexes. Cough twice. You guys reading this will understand. All quite harmless. Slightly uncomfortable. But harmless nonetheless.

Then he says,
"Right, we might just have a quick check of your prostate"
"My what?" I say
"Your prostate" he says rather calmly

Now at this point - I was in my early thirties. I had no idea what a prostate was.

He says just lie on your side on the table and face the wall.

I thought, mmm, strange. Must be a new way of checking for sore throats

Regrettably, I do what I am told. (It will never happen again)

The next part happened in a blur. The first hint of something going terribly wrong was when I heard the sound of latex. As in the glove kind. As in being put on by a man.

Then I smell lubricant. As in petroleum jelly type lubricant.

Suffice to say, what happened from this point had nothing to do with examining my sore throat.

I felt like I had been invaded by Martians. I screamed in terror as I felt hands in a part of my body where…you get the idea.

"WHAT THE…?????" I yelled. At the top of my lungs.

It was no good. I was writhing about on the exam table like a stuck pig. The language and screaming was guttural. Medievil in fact.

I was yelling out "Lord Jesus, help me, Lord have mercy on my soul. Lord, there's a 250 pound Nebraskan man with latex gloves on, a tub of KY jelly and a miners helmet with flashlight on his head. He think's he's looking for gold.

"Help me Lord. Help me. Someone call 9-1-1"

Or something like that.

It was truly the most horrific experience of my adult life.

Thankfully, the ordeal was over in less than 5-minutes. I couldn't speak. I was in a complete state of shock.

The doctor pretends like nothing has happened, rips the gloves off and proceeds to scribble on a notepad.

If he's writing down his phone number and asks me out on a date, I'm going to belt him in the head I say to myself.

I was told to get dressed, which i did in record time. The doctor bids me farewell and says the test results will be mailed to me. I felt like saying you can frame them for all I care, I'll never set foot in this mad house again.

As I walk out of the clinic, personal lubricant was running down my left leg, I was walking like i just got off a camel and my left eye-brow was twitching.

As soon as I got into the car, I called my wife. The yelling began in earnest. In my haste to hurl insults at her for making me a human guinea pig - I should have realized that she had put her phone on speaker, so that her entire office could hear.

There were howls of laughter at the other end…

I hung up in disgust.

The point of this rather long winded tale of terror is this...

Colonius, I would rather go through another prostate exam than do the MR that you are proposing. You are definitely insane. Are you really that nuts? You do realize that you're doing this on UA? In December.

A 47,000 EQM mileage run can only end in tears…not even I would contemplate it.

I will pray for your soul. You silly man