I had to see my vascular surgeon today, because the hemorrhoids my kids gave me during my pregnancies 4.5 & 6.5 years ago are relentless mutherfarkers.
I thought I was gonna just go in for a routine Hemorrhoidectomy. (Which sucks, by the way.)
But ooooohhhhh no.
It just keeps getting better.
Rather than prolong your suspense, let me just tell you..
What My Ass Has Taught Me This Week
1. No matter how casually they work it into conversation, there is no non-wierd way for a stranger and his assistant to suggest you “kneel right over there, take your pants off and bend over”.
2. It is absolutely not necessary to tell someone, while cauterizing a fissure in their asshole, “this may burn a little”.
3. When the surgeon tells you that the scope will be more uncomfortable than the cauterizing, what he means is “Shoving this cold plastic thing in your sore asshole will be really, really unpleasant. Then I’ll light your asshole on fire, but hopefully the frigid scope will counteract the flames a bit. Maybe. Or not.”
4. Everybody walks funny when leaving their appointment at the vascular surgeon’s office.
5. As much as my friend tells me to stop talking about my ass, doing so can gain you lots and lots of new friends who loooooove talking about assholes. And hemorrhoids. And other icky undercarriage issues.
6. When this happens, I WILL call her and tell her “I told you people like hearing about my hemorrhoids!” And man, it feels good to be right.
7. Just because the doctor can be blasé about things like cauterizing your asshole and waiting to see if that heals before doing surgery to fix your flapping hemmy, it doesn’t mean any of this is actually Good News.
8. While it is great to be checked all over to ensure one remains cancer-free when one has a family history of Cancer Shmancer Everywhere, I can’t imagine next month’s Colonoscopy Prep will be Barrel-of-Monkeys fun when I also have an anal fissure and hemmy downtown.
9. When the pharmacist tells me to keep my fancy new tub of prescription ass ointment cool, I’m guaranteed to store it in the wine fridge on top of Husband’s soda. He’s the one who got me pregnant – twice! – which was what led me to this whole messed-up asshole situation. He ought to be reminded of my pain each time he gets thirsty.
10. I have the kind of friends who will schlep my kids around, email/call/text me to check in on my ass, and bring over Sympathy Pastries (plus cookies to bribe my kids to Leave Me Alone). None of them letting the embarrassing TMI nature of what I’m going through keep them from offering to help in any way possible, or telling me that I deserve every one of the new readers I’ve gained this week because of my ass issues.
So despite the fissure in my asshole that may require surgery, the hemmy that still lives and breathes back there that also requires surgery, and the colonoscopy my surgeon wants to throw into that OR visit just because he’ll be digging around down there anyway?
I’m one lucky girl.