The word is that having your colon checked by a proctologist is the worse thing in the world. Medically speaking, of course. It doesn’t compare to being run over by a train. Not by a long shot. The train kills you. Well, being probed by a proctologist is a piece of cake compared to being probed by a urinologist. The proctologist at least has the grace to put you out first. Otherwise you would die from shock. Wouldn’t matter what was found then.

“No, we don’t use an anesthetic. You’ll feel a little uncomfortable but not any real pain. We’ll do it the end of next week”, the urinologist tells you.

Great! Now you have a week and a half to worry about it; to let your imagination run wild. No, that’s not true. Your imagination can’t compare to what really happens. You just think that until it does. You drive downtown to the main office with your wife, in case you can’t drive afterwards. There’s a comforting thought. Your wife, who isn’t having anything done to her, says you’re using the “can’t find it” as a delaying tactic. Yea, you are.

The first thing you notice in the office is that all the staff are women. You know that they know why you’re there. You also know that they know this can’t happen to a woman. They have their own probe testing but not this one. The nurse comes to get you with a big smile on her face as if she enjoys what’s about to happen to you.

“First, go in there and give me a urine sample- if you can”, she says oh so sweetly.

If I can? That’ll be the day I can’t fill a three ounce dixie cup. The day I can’t I’ll give up peeing. Hmm, that ought to be enough to test. You take it down to the room she had pointed out to you. She comes in and gets the sample and, is that a smirk?, and says the doctor will be right with you. Right.

You go over and look at the rubber models of prostates. The first one looks horrible. It gives you the heebie-jeebies. That one is a model of a normal prostate. The others give you something to have a nightmare about that night. You look at the monitor and follow the line down to where the probe must go on. You look on the table and see a long cylinder. That can’t be the probe. What’s that needle? It looks to be long enough to reach your lungs.

The doctor says that is the probe and that needle won’t be anywhere near your lung. He tells you to disrobe from the waist down, lay on the gurney, lay on your side, pull your knees up to your chest and get comfortable. Relax as much as you can. Just as you relax, he unrelaxes you with the probe. Not going to hurt? It sure feels like hurt as the tears form in your eyes.

Well, actually it doesn’t hurt compared to the pain when he twists the probe. There’s pain, real pain. Now the tears are forming a bucket brigade. Then, just as you start to relax again, he turns it again. You lose count but not consciousness. That isn’t fair. You should be unconscious for this. Everytime.

(Note: you should have this done after age fifty. It can save your life. You just should be drunk at the time.)