Summary

The narrative recounts the author's humorous and mortifying experience with hemorrhoids, culminating in an unexpected revelation at a house party.

Abstract

The author, Mike, shares a personal anecdote about the unexpected onset of hemorrhoids at a young age of 22, an issue he initially knew nothing about. His embarrassment and discomfort are palpable as he describes the condition as sentient, bloodthirsty entities waging war within his body. The story peaks when a medicated Tucks pad, intended for his condition, falls out of his shorts at a house party, leading to a comical scene where his friends pass it around, clueless about its purpose. Despite the embarrassment, Mike finds solidarity in the shared laughter and resumes his battle against the hemorrhoids with renewed vigor after the party.

Opinions

The author initially feigns ignorance about the hemorrhoids to his friend Chip, adding a layer of humor to the situation.
Mike personifies his hemorrhoids as mischievous gnomes with a strategic plan for dominance, reflecting his discomfort and bewilderment.
The author views the hemorrhoids as a formidable opponent, describing the condition as a battle of attrition and attributing a level of sentience to it.
Mike's internal dialogue reveals a deep sense of shame and self-consciousness about his condition, which he perceives as another incurable nuisance in his life.
The author finds the situation where his friends unknowingly handle his Tucks pad both amusing and unifying, providing a moment of levity in his struggle.
Despite the ongoing discomfort, Mike's narrative ends on a note of resilience and determination to continue fighting his condition.

The Sentient Hemorrhoids

…blood thirsty and ready for battle

I was at a house party one summer evening when I noticed my friend Chip looking quizzically at something in the palm of his hand. He’d just picked it up off the floor and now he was inspecting the thing by turning it over and poking at it cautiously with his pointer finger, as if it might come alive and attack him at any moment. “What is this thing?” he asked me. “Just what in the hell is this thing?”

A small crowd gathered around us, and we peered curiously at the mystery object in Chip’s palm. I recognized it immediately but played dumb. Mimicking his confused expression I said, “I haven’t the slightest clue dude. No idea…”

***

I explained the symptoms to my mother and she diagnosed me pretty quickly. “Oh, you have piles Mike,” she told me.

Piles of what, I wondered?

The word sent shivers up my spine. Piles. I didn’t know what that was, but it had the distinct sound of something I should be deeply ashamed of. Internally I was already practicing the speech I feared I might have to give to some future girlfriend before we decided to get serious. “Look, in the spirit of transparency there’s a few things you need to know about me. I have poor credit, a spotty work history, and I have these…well, piles.”

The whole thing kind of crept up on me, like these things tend to do. One day I was walking around just fine, experiencing no discomfort at all, and the next I was shuffling around in agony, feeling as if a half-dozen hot coals had been shoved up my rectum.

Piles. Just what were they anyway? I imagined a crew of mischievous little gnomes dicing up jalapenos and stacking them neatly at my anal opening, while the boss gnome cracked the whip. “Let’s go Dinky, pick up the pace. We need at least two more piles to cover this opening here!”

“Hemorrhoids, Mike,” my mother explained to me. “Piles are hemorrhoids.”

But I was only 22 years old. How could I possibly have hemorrhoids? My hair was already thinning out a little, so this latest bit of news felt particularly cruel. I was already neurotic enough, and the last thing I needed to grapple with was another incurable nuisance.

The discomfort was so great that I finally took to just shoving Tucks medicated pads up my ass in the hope that the piles would quickly wilt under the constant assault of witch hazel and citric acid. It became part of my routine in the morning: shower, brush teeth, apply deodorant, insert Tucks pad into asshole, eat breakfast, off to work…

When it became tedious I had to remind myself it was good, noble work I was doing. This was a battle of attrition, and I could not relent. I couldn’t help but think that these piles possessed a certain sentience, and their arrival in my asshole and stubborn refusal to die represented an attempt at dominance. They’d set up camp in a very strategic position, and if I listened closely I could hear them beating their battle drums to rally the troops. “Lads, listen up! Remember, death is but a moment in time, but cowardice is a lifetime of affliction! Tonight we rest, but tomorrow we battle! Fight bravely lads! You must fight bravely!”

***

I watched in great amusement as Chip held the Tucks pad up to his face in order to inspect it closer. Then he explored the texture by rubbing it in a circular fashion with his thumb and forefinger. “Anyone know what this thing is?”

I was wearing shorts that night, and at some point, unbeknownst to me, the Tucks pad had fallen out of my ass and landed on the floor where Chip had eventually discovered it.

“Let me see that thing,” my friend Rob said, snatching it out of Chip’s hand. He regarded it curiously while running it between his fingers. “Is it like a band aid, or a piece of gauze or something?”

Rob then handed it over to a friend named Brian. Brian gripped both sides of it tightly and began pulling and tugging, as if he were testing for durability. “No idea what this thing is…” Then he wadded it up into a ball and tossed it casually back to Chip.

For the next five minutes the guys tossed my Tucks pad around the room like a football while debating where we were gonna go that night. Everyone in that room handled it at least once, poked at it, twirled it through their fingers, or scrunched it up in their palm before tossing it to the next guy.

I never said a word.

A temporary detente was called between me, my hemorrhoids, and the gnomes in my ass, as we all collectively giggled at the scene taking place before us. We all set our drums, swords, and shields down and united under the common banner of laughter.

My ass was on fire so I went home early that night and took an epsom salt bath. When I was finished I dried off and placed a fresh Tucks pad in my ass. And then I removed my sword from its scabbard and lept over a stone wall and charged towards the enemy with great fury. The war was back on…

***

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