Friday, February 05, 2010

Giving the finger.

Today I became a man. I finally fulfilled that right of passage that changes a guy from a young-adult into an actual adult.

Today I had my first prostate exam.

If there’s any way to strip away a man’s final shred of youth, that’s it.

I was pretty sure that prostate exams were something men started getting in their mid-thirties. Being 28, I thought nothing of it last month when my doctor scheduled me for my physical. That was until he said, “Be prepared. When I do your examination, I’ll be examining everything.”

Unfortunately, I don’t really know how you prepare for that kind of exam. Perhaps there are some special stretches, but I was a little wary to look it up online. That’s not exactly something I’d like to see pop up with a Google image result.

I arrived at my appointment this morning hoping to get it over with as soon as possible. The doctor’s assistant let me into a private examination room, but the doc was still busy with another patient. I waited playing Tetris on my iPhone to pass the time. I had to switch to Solitaire after realizing the unfortunate similarity between my upcoming predicament and trying to fit a four-long piece down a skinny one-column opening.

A half hour later, the doctor finally walked in and started asking me some medical questions. If I had any allergies. What was my family medical history. Was I on any medication. The standard stuff. Pretty much what I expected. He finished filling out his forms and had me sit down on the paper-covered examination table.

He put his stethoscope to my chest. As I breathed in deeply, he asked, “So, are you seeing anyone right now?”

Not quite the medical questions he was asking earlier. It seemed he was trying to make some smalltalk. I guess if barbers do it while cutting your hair, doctors can do it while examining your body.

“No,” I replied as I exhaled. “Not currently seeing anyone.”

He moved the stethoscope down to my abdomen. “How long has it been since you’ve been in a relationship?”

I continued my deep breathing. “It’s been awhile.”

“Did you break up with her or did she break up with you?” he asked as he shifted to my right side.

I was starting to feel a bit awkward. Who knew “examining everything” included a relationship probe?

“She broke up with me,” I answered.

“Don’t worry, you’re a catch,” the doctor said as he moved behind me and put his stethoscope on my back. “You just have to make yourself more appealing to the ladies.”

Things had suddenly shifted from hair stylist small-talk to what a mother says to her son when she’s worried he’s going to die alone.

He pressed his hands around my back and abdomen.

“You’re kind of a casual guy. But you dress too casually. You need to wear clothes that are more stylish.”

He started feeling under my neck.

“Your hair is too short. You need a more sophisticated hairstyle. That’s what girls like.”

He poked at my armpits.

“Don’t go running after the girls. That makes you look desperate. You have to let them chase you.”

All I could do was smile awkwardly and reply with an occasional, “Yeah,” to his out-of-place love life advice.

He had me stand up and pull my pants and underwear down.

“You’re a nice guy, maybe too nice.”

He clutched each of my testicles and examined them.

“The young ladies are more into the bad boys.”

He had me lean over.

“You have to be more confident. Then the women will want you.”

And he stuck his finger in my ass.

I’m sure he was just trying to get me to relax with what he considered harmless conversation, but even my mom doesn’t give me that bad of a relationship barrage. Instead of easing the discomfort, it ended up compounding the pain tenfold.

That finger might as well have been a fist.

When the examination was over and I was getting ready to leave, the doctor said to me, “If you just listen to what I say, I bet you’ll have found that special someone by the time you come back.”

That is of course, if I go back.

I wonder if there are any mute doctors out there.