The Sobering Surgeon

Week 2 of my recovery from surgery, required visit number 2 to the surgeon so he could check on the status of my recovery from his handiwork.

He was impressed with how much movement I had in my arm.

As he checked the wound to decide if the staples would be coming out or not he made a point to fill my wife and I in on how close I was to not being around at all.

The injury came within 4-5 millimeters of one of the main arteries.

The width of the band on this ring is approximately 5 millimeters.

He said he was able to place his index finger on the artery and feel my pulse pumping the blood.

4 millimeters deeper and I would of had zero chance of making it to the hospital or otherwise.


Once again, he stated that someone was looking out for me.

Before he left, he said I was healing well….

And that I should be treated to champagne for still being alive.

“You hear that, honey??? He said I should get champagne….and he’s a Doctor… he must be right!”

I did get about 15 staples removed. Which leaves about 35 or so to go.

As far as the champagne goes, I plan on staying sober until I die…..not until I almost die.

I was treated to the champagne of fountain drinks though.


It’s Dr. Pepper…just what the Dr. ordered.

Life sometimes takes scary turns.

Be grateful for every moment.


The 1 Finger Wave

Doctor Helga Knuckles, M.D, was her name….and inflicting pain, for her pleasure, was her game.

Ok…so that probably wasn’t her name and maybe she didn’t actually like to inflict pain…but the shame I felt after leaving her office will have a long lasting effect.

Lately, I have been hearing from the people around me-

“You look sick”

“Have you lost weight? You really look way skinny”

“Do you feel alright? Cuz you don’t look alright.”


“I’m not sick. I haven’t lost weight. I feel fine. I look how I have always looked.” Is my standard “cover all questions” reply.

The loved ones that surround me have been particularly relentless this year. So I put up my last line of defense.

“If I go get a physical from the Doctor will you be happy?”……….

Wrong defensive strategy. It resulted in the offense going in for the kill. Before I had the chance to explain my motives, an appointment was made. There was no getting out of it.

I was promptly awoken at 8 am, in order to arrive at my 9 am appointment.
The wait time was about an hour, due to the abundance of drug testing appointments that came in. They get priority over anything else… problem I can just sit out here with the sickies and await my turn.

I finally get called back and placed into the exam room to await the Doc.

I am sitting on the exam table, with the fabulous paper covering, when SHE waltzes in, and began the questioning…..I supplied the answering of said questions-

Her-Do you smoke?
Me- Only when I’m on fire.

Me- ok yes I smoke.

Her-how much alcohol do you drink?
Me-none in the last six years…plenty before that…if you’ve got time I’ve got some great stories…

Her-no Thanks. How about drug use.
Me-no thanks but you go ahead if you feel like it…..

Me- none in the last six years …but…

Her- yeah yeah plenty before that and no I don’t want to hear any stories.
Me- you saw that coming, huh?

Her-ya think? Any pre existing conditions of any sort….I mean besides making a mockery of everything?
Me-Touché. Heart conditions on my Mothers side and prostate cancer on my Fathers side. It killed both he and his Father.

Her- ok. Lets get on with the exam.
Me- Booyah.

She started with the stethoscope, then the ear/nose check thingie. Next one more question-

“You have a deviated septum. That’s usually one of 2 things, cocaine abuse or nasal spray abuse”

My reply-

“She don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t lie…..cocaine. That’s Eric Clapton”

Her reply-

“I knew before I asked. Because of your predisposition to heart problems, I am going to give you an EKG then we will run some blood work. Put this gown on, it will make things easier.”

“Do I get to keep my Auqaman Underoos on or do need to be alfresco?”

“Just take your shirt off, water boy, that will be fine.”

EKG done. Blood work is next. Luckily I have veins that make a heroin addict cry, so getting this part done was not a problem.

Next was the fun part….for her.

She walks in, pulling a fresh pair of rubber gloves on…wearing a sinister grin and holding a tube of some kind of lubricant.

That’s when I noticed the knuckles.

Professional wrestlers had more petite knuckles than her.

I gulped in fear of what was next.

She stated, “Drop your pants and lay on the table, on your side, facing that wall. This will only take a minute.”

“Ummm….what?” I quietly uttered


I did as I was told and received what my Father referred to as “the 1 finger wave” from the female Doctor.

Ohh the shame. She wouldn’t even nibble on my ear before she went 3 knuckle deep into my backside…..just dove in as if the green lights just went off at the drag strip.

I think I blacked out.

The next thing I remember is the rubber glove snapping off her hand. And her oh so kind words,

“We’re done cowboy. Get dressed. We will call you with the results.”

And she just sashayed out and on to the next victim.

I wasn’t even offered a “thank you for letting me tickle your prostate lollipop” or anything.

It’s been 12 hours and I am still wiping lube out of my crack. What did she use 10W 40 and a turkey baster?

I really need to quit being such a smart ass with figures of authority.