This was my first trip to the docs and I had no idea what was to come.
Now one of the problems with men is that whilst we may claim that we are dying when nothing is really wrong with us, when something is seriously wrong we are often completely oblivious. Looking back I should have taken the fact that she was actually listening to what I was saying a little more seriously, she hadn’t once said “take two of these twice a day and ring if there’s a problem”. I had no idea what was to come. The chat went on for about twenty minutes and then she told me to go into the adjacent room because she needed to examine me. Still not a clue! The examination room was small and painted in that NHS off-white that makes you feel like you are inside an egg. I hopped onto the bed and waited. Dr. Ballinger came in and asked me to pull down my trousers. Not a Scooby! I lay back and she felt my stomach, she umm’ed and ahh’ed a bit. Then she uttered the words that I would come to hear a lot more and would come to dread. “Could you roll onto your left side, pull down your underwear and pull your knees up towards your chest”. Then at last my brain decided to join the party and inform me of what was about to happen. “I’m just going to examine the inside of your back port.” Back Port? Back fucking port. I thought this was going to be another tummy tickling session, so what is all this Back Port business? The only words that sprang to my mind as I watched her lube her fingers were; “shouldn’t we at least do dinner first, or a show?” I whimpered whilst looking over my right shoulder. As she approached with a wry smile, (she probably didn’t have a wry smile at all), I was a tad concerned. I had stopped looking at her and was completely focused on what looked like an abnormally long index finger, like a distant relation of E.T.’s but without the light on the end. My mind was screaming MORE LUBE! And then she did a Captain Kirk and “Boldly Went”!