Saturday, May 14, 2005

He Touched Me...

Yesterday I went to meet my new doctor with my new health plan, and had my first thorough physical exam in almost twenty years. And the things they check for have changed since then... he didn't look in my ears or my eyes, or check my reflexes or anything like that; but much to my surprise, I did get a prostate exam.

Actually, the whole pelvic-area portion of the exam took me aback. Not only hadn't I expected to be examined "down there" (though why I didn't expect it, I don't know, since "turn your head and cough" is pretty standard), but the truth is that nobody has touched me anywhere near any of those areas for any reason at all in a very very long time. It was distinctly unsettling. And then when he shot a finger up my ass and prodded the old prostate, I kind of freaked out.

I didn't freak out because I'd been penetrated, I've never in my life considered my anus an exit-only aperture; and it didn't hurt at all, in fact it was rather pleasant, if a bit quick. But there was something about the intimacy of having this strange man's finger up my ass that just threw me off kilter; and my prostate felt sort of startled and overstimulated for quite some time afterward, I kept getting tingles and frissons from it, for hours afterward... between these two weirdnesses, I felt deeply discombobulated for the rest of the day.

Oh, and did I mention that my new doctor is very attractive? When I drew him out of the online find-a-physician pages, his ID picture looked kind of goofy, so I wasn't expecting him to look quite so smooth and handsome in person. And he has an accent. I thought he might have one, among the (mostly arbitrary) reasons I chose him was because he was from South Africa, which struck me as kind of exotic; but I've only ever heard black South African accents, which sound typically African, and Johannesburg accents, which sound typically Commonwealth; I didn't realize that the Dutch-African blend in an Afrikaans accent would be so sexy.

Well, anyhow, he referred me to the psych and allergy departments for my two main health problems (my new health plan, which shall remain nameless though you can probably figure it out, is one of those big organizations where everyone specializes and refers patients from one department to another), then he ordered an EKG (to screen for hypertension, which runs in my family) and a whole battery of blood and urine tests (for which I have to fast for twelve hours beforehand because of the cholesterol screening), and will communicate the results of all my tests by mail so I don't have to come back in again (unless something untoward is revealed in the tests).

Another unexpected occurence from this doctor's visit is that I finally found the motivation I needed to go back to the gym and get serious about putting my body back in order... as I sat there on that damned table in my underwear, with a strange and attractive man prodding my fat parts trying to find my various glands, the only thing to look at was this huge wall-mirror across the room. The light was not flattering, either, the way it is in my bedroom and bathroom at home, and so the view was a little too honest for my taste. Then there was another big mirror in the room where I had to sit for forty minutes with my shirt off waiting for the EKG tech to come hook me up, and then I had to have yet another strange man poking at my fat while attaching the little stickers and wires. I'm not sure if that was as unsettling as the prostate exam, but it was close.

The last time I lost a bunch of weight, I had this snapshot that someone took of me where I looked exactly like a half-roasted pig, and whenever I thought of eating sweets or skipping the gym, I'd have a look at that picture; now all I have to do is close my eyes and think about how I'll look in my underwear sitting on a doctor's table... or more importantly, think about how I'll look in no underwear sitting on a bed in some future boyfriend's bedroom. If I want people touching my testicles and poking my prostate (and I think I do), I'd feel a lot better about it if I looked a lot better.

Maybe I'll run down to the gym right now, come to think of it. And take that big bowl of Jelly Bellies and the jar of chocolate cookies to a party I'm attending tomorrow and conveniently "forget" to bring them home.

And of course, I will look to the beefcake here as an inspiration, not just to stimulate my libido but to give me something to aim for... a straight-guy friend of mine who sometimes reads this blog told me that he found my beefcakes very inspirational when he's thinking about eating some cupcakes or skipping a run, so maybe I'll try that too... in my experience, a positive image isn't as motivating as a negative image, but it sure couldn't hurt.

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