RECTALLY SPEAKING

The Man With The Troublesome Hemorrhoid

I’m taking the hemorrhoid commercial way too far

Everyone knew Herman’s secret when he entered the doctor’s waiting room. All those pained expressions on their faces. They were feeling his misery as well as theirs.

Herman found a seat, placed his tushy pillow on the chair, and gingerly sat down. He knew that his job had exacerbated his hemorrhoids. He was a city bus driver and was on his ass for eight hours a day, plus overtime. He thought about changing to a less sedentary profession, but the benefits were good, and he hoped to retire in fifteen years.

“How did you find out about this place?” burped the man with GERD.

“My proctologist, “ said Herman. “I’m desperate, so I’ll try anything.”

“I wish I could stop burping. It’s driving me up the wall. I’ve tried TUMS, bicarbonate of soda, and flat Ginger Ale. Nothing works.”

A woman across from Herman said. “I know what it feels like, too. After I had my first child, I developed hemorrhoids. Still have them. But my doctor said I now have fibroids and have to remove my uterus and another organ, which I can’t remember right now.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

Herman didn’t like people knowing about his rectal problem. Yet, he welcomed their empathy and was sympathetic to their health concerns. But he’d rather talk about the weather or sports instead of sitting in a strange office where everyone was obsessed with their diseases.

And what about HIPPA, individual privacy? Who told everyone about my hemorrhoids?

“Hot compresses sometimes work,” said the man with gout, who had to wear special socks and buy extra-wide toeless shoes. “I still feel like my feet are on fire.”

“Sorry to hear about that,” said Herman.

“My wife has hemorrhoids, too,” said the gout-ridden man. “We argue about which ailment is more painful. Trust me; I’d take hemorrhoids any day of the week.”

An older woman named Rosemary Hibiscus walked into the room. Instantly, people identified her as the woman with long-term constipation. She looked sickly and anxious, hoping that she’d do a Number 2 soon. Passing gas would even be a relief.

The woman with the lockjaw mumbled with her mouth shut. “Have you ever tried prune juice? It tastes awful, but it packs a punch.”

The constipated woman responded with a strained expression. “I’ve tried everything. I get plenty of fiber and roughage and drink gallons of Ensure. The doctor can’t figure it out. He thinks I might be impacted, but my stomach doesn’t feel bloated. He tried cleaning out my bowels, but I’m enema-resistant.

Suddenly, the man with painful gout screamed. A four-hundred-pound ex-football player with cataracts accidentally stepped on his swollen right foot. Tears streamed down his eyes, and he cried in agony. It took him at least thirty minutes to recover. He put his gout-ridden foot up on a chair, wiped the sweat from his face with a hanky, and asked, “Can someone get me a drink of water? I can’t make it to the water cooler.”

Herman retrieved a cup of water for the man with painful gout. He surveyed the room and realized that his hemorrhoid was not as bad as some other conditions. Compared to them, he could function, and perhaps if he got a fluffier tushy cushion, he could manage the hemorrhoids without medical attention.

The man with the painful hemorrhoid left the office.

“I’m glad somebody dared to get out of this place,” said the woman with long-term constipation.

“He seemed like a nice guy,” burped the man with GERD.

“I hope he finds some relief,” mumbled the woman with lockjaw.

“I think he’ll be sorry for leaving,” said the man with painful gout. “I hear this doctor is one of the best.”

“He’ll be back,” said the woman with fibroids. “They always do.”

A nurse appeared from a door. “Will the man with the painful erection please come this way? The doctor’s ready.”

The waiting room was silent except for a chorus of moans and burps.

© 2023 Mark Tulin

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