When Prostate Exams Go Wrong
I’ve been silent for over a day about this. I know this isn’t necessarily a forum for such a horrid, sad topic. I don’t mean to bring you all down. But I feel that my soul has been crushed and I’ve been a victim of a brutal crime. It happened right in one of the so-called “nice neighborhoods” in town. I was the victim of someone that I considered a friend. A caring, decent woman that I trusted.
A Physician’s Assistant at Williamstown Medical and I were in the middle of a friendly chat about my health yesterday as part of my annual checkup. Things were going well. I seemed to be in good health. Then my “friend” asked me to turn on my side. The next thing I knew, I was shrieking and hanging from the ceiling tiles, my legs scissoring wildly.
The Physician’s Assistant was casually peeling off a nonlatex exam glove, covered in feces and blood, a small smile on her face. I never even had a chance to strike a provocative pose, to show my ass to best advantage before she drove her bony, probing finger with an unmanicured nail up my hey-nanner-nanner.
By now it must be apparent that I was the victim of a prostate exam, or as we men call it, Horrible Prison Anal Rape and Humiliation. Women and female doctors have laughed at my plight in the past, saying, “Get over it – try being pregnant and see how much you get poked and prodded!” Fellow males however, even those in the medical profession, nod with a sadness in their eyes when they hear about such an outrage.
The tears dried. My sphincter even stopped dribbling fluids into my Underoos, eventually. But it will take a long time before I can produce a manly fart (I think the medical term is “poot,” actually) without fear of filling my drawers. And even longer before I can regain my dignity. Tell me, please – who can I talk to about fixing that?