Chronic Snarkopolist: My Pooper Paparazzi
Hello cats! I am so excited to be back with you! I just got back from visiting the poop-shoot doc. We were discussing the big “slice-em dice-em day.” That’s right. I’m going in for the big surgery of rectalia doom. Oy.
Meanwhile – I just want to tell you that he works with all women doctors and surgeons. And on the days when THEY are working the lobby is full of all the sorts of people you would EXPECT to find at a colorectal surgeon doctor’s office. I mostly see older people here with canes and oxygen tanks. And then there is the occasional huffy middle-aged person defensively waiting to explain least you think they had too much accidental anal sex and didn’t drink their prune juice properly. And once I saw a peppy looking prep-school girl in her uniform and her mother. Who knows why she was there? She looked way too happy to be in that office. You also see a few people like me – tight faced, in obvious pain- sitting on the FLUFFIEST CHAIRS POSSIBLE.
But on the day when only Dr. Mchotterson is working (he’s the cute young guy) – ONLY younger women are there. I swear! The entire place looks like it is packed out for a gynecological exam and being outfitted for the latest in baby-maker birth control devices. Wait a minute! Seriously- did that attractive coiffed woman just take out her handbag and spritz her derriere with rose scented spray and a face wipe because she is up next?
Have I been in too much pain these last few visited to really understand what has been going on with Dr. Mchotterson? All the women are shifting in their seats excitedly (or uncomfortably- I cannot quite tell as I too am hovering on my left side quite in pain), putting on lipstick. This is clearly date night for them.
Suddenly I hear slow jazz and Barry White’s voice. The receptionist hand’s each of us flowers with the clipboards – Dr. Mchotterson is doing it up right. The flowers are just pens actually- so we don’t steal them- they all go in a pot to look like a bouquet. But each woman squeals a little- like chocolates are next. Then champagne… then exotic dancers? Meow! It is OUR DAY with THE Mchotterson!
I’m a trained sociologist- so I slump on my left side, wincing, and go into no judgment zoo watching mode. More women primp. They are all young enough to be of childbearing age. I’ve never seen this many women at the colorectal surgeons before – and I am an old hand at this. I’ve never noticed the doctor. He was a cast off for me three months ago because the woman surgeon was waitlisted Doc Mchotterson had an earlier opening.
I did not WANT a man diving into my sweet spot- but I took it because desperate times breed desperate Melissa’s. At the time the receptionist tried to convince me too, “No really- you’ll LOVE Dr. Mchotterson EVERYONE DOES.” And she emphasized it like she was promising something – like a happy ending or giving me a sales pitch in a singsong voice. I thought it was because he was a man and she HAD to convince me. I never thought it was because maybe the receptionist also had a crush on him too! I never paid attention – because once again – this isn’t my first go around and I’ve done this bum-hole thing before. I’m all work no play down there when it comes to my doctoring (this can be negotiated if we’re actually dating … but I digress). I don’t pay attention to cute doctors (except my neurologist- but these are stories for later – meow!). Meanwhile – I am ALL anal business and NOT Mchotterson monkey business.
Today I am even bringing him PICTURES of my fissure from my last colonoscopy COLOR PICTURES. I signed it in gold ink to make them look more legit. My little pucker-upper has paparazzi now. And Dr. Mchotterson is going to think that I have a crush on him. WELL I NEVER! I don’t. I didn’t even want him. I do say- if I’m going to give you PICTURES of that area – you really REALLY need to be more excited to see me. Underneath I write: “Doc Mchotterson, please do not post these to the Internet unless you put my paypal address on it too and charge at least $9.99 per hit. Here is my link, love, Melissa.”
Hey- a girl’s gotta pay medical bills somehow. Maybe someone out there has fissure fetishes?
Now I feel slightly angry even. Mortified that he might think I am there to get my flirt on instead of get my pooper fixed up. In fact, I have several surgeries this month thank-you-very-much. He is not even my only surgeon! My dance card is FULL. I have a chronic-sickness-life! I am too busy for him! He’d better not think I sliced up my arse just to have HIS attention like all these other women. I only took a shower because I thought it the decent thing to do- like changing underwear or brushing one’s teeth.
It was NOT anything special. I mean – to think he might think I was attempting to get his pathetic affection like all these other wanton strumpets. Now I am TRAINED NOT TO JUDGE PEOPLE mind you– but really- those women are pathetic –throwing yourself at a doctor like that just because he’s really fucking hot. I do say! The glittery parfum powder on my ass post shower was just to catch excess moisture “down there”. I mean – I have a thing about hygiene. DO NOT JUDGE.
He is cute (in the most professional way possible mind you). Have I mentioned that? I haven’t had sex in what seems like decades. Maybe even a century. As I bent over his table and he felt me up I realized that the only physical touch I ever get is from doctors and massage therapists – and I pay for it. If I am paying them- they are MY WHORES. Dr. Mchotterson is my whore! He is finger fucking my ass and I am paying for the unpleasantly painful privilege. So I babble incoherently the entire time to take my mind off it. Because if I shut up and be quite I might realize there is a man with his gloved hand up my ass and I might yell either – “Please make my hurting ass stop now” or, “I need more skin contact – look me in the eyes when you and tell me you love me.” Who knows? Instead I babbled – truly incoherently. Because that is what I do when I am uncomfortable and someone cute is fondling my pink bits.
And it was the best sex I’ve had in weeks-months-years. And it was terribly painful and horrible and clinical and humiliating I cried a little and begged him to stop, bled a bit, might have called him a few names, and a nurse watched like an Olympic judge the entire time. And like I said – best sex I had in ages.
Our surgery is slated for the first full week in July. I’m nervous about it too. And sadly, after that there will be no reason to see him. Really though – I am terrified of the surgery – so much so that I attempted to NOT have it for about six months but all the specialists agree that NOT having it is NOT an option. And I even freaked out and cried in his office – so not only have I (not ) flirted (much)I have acted like an ass in front of Dr. Mchotterson. Oh dear. Perhaps I should wait till AFTER the surgery to hypenate my name to his? Yes? You think telling him that medical school ruined his ability to have an emotional connection was overboard? I hope he doesn’t take it out on my ass because he is going to be elbows deep in it soon.
So my dears – what is happening in your world? Any doctors crush worthy? Any docs or healthcare providers being horrific and treating you badly? Are you being under-treated? How are you feeling? How is life working for you?
How are you staying sane? I want to hear your world too! What’s your haps? Anything humiliating ever happen to you? Anything fabulous happen? Have you ever cried in front of your doc? How are you handling your shit? I want to know! Dish!
I’ll be seeing you next week! Same time same place! Kisses!
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