MEN ARE BABIES. Uh, let me rephrase that so as not to lose any male readers.
MOST MEN ARE BABIES. How’s that sound? Well, probably not much better. What about this then…Guys I know will not visit the doctor unless they’re bleeding from an orifice one should never bleed from and/or something is amiss with their Johnson, if you know what I mean. And I think you do.
Anyway, I bring this up because for me summertime is not just about enjoying warm weather. No, it’s also the time when I go for my annual poking, prodding and squishing of body parts in determining the overall health of this old body.What I don’t understand is why so many guys refuse to get checkups, whether annual or every 5 years. What’s that all about? When you compare what we women go through during our yearly visits, men having a gloved finger placed up their butt is a walk in the park if you ask me, which you didn’t. But there you have it.
When women visit a gynecologist (the ultimate pokers) not only do we get the finger, so to speak, but we also get a long metal device, sort of like BBQ tongs with a trigger, inserted into our baby making parts. I can think of a thousand things I’d rather be doing than counting ceiling panels, my feet in stirrups while the doc inserts that Popsicle-cold speculum, followed by an unusually long Q-tip placed into my cervix, where cells are scraped for testing.Now guys, doesn’t a gloved finger up your butt pale in comparison to all that?And it doesn’t end there. I also had a mammogram last week. Again, something men usually don’t need to experience. Hey, I’m just grateful there’s a test for abnormal breast cells. But seriously, is there no other way? One that is less squishy perhaps?
I wonder if this type of contraption would be in use to diagnose similar abnormal cells in, let’s say, testicles. Something tells me the method of detection would not include men willingly placing their family jewels onto a machine that smashes said jewels into dollar-sized pancakes. That would be one empty waiting room. I’m just sayin’.We women stand against a giant metal machine like something NASA would build, while a clear glass plate lowers onto first one breast then the other, squishing them not simply into pancakes but crepes. And believe me, there’s a big difference.
See what I mean?
The technician turns a knob that incrementally lowers the plate, smashing said boob flatter, then flatter some more. All the while she smiles and says, “Feel okay?” I’d prefer to respond, “It feels like my breast is in a flippin’ vise and if you turn that knob one more time I might have to hurt you.” But instead I say “Sure, doin’ great. Thanks for asking.”
Now don’t get me wrong; I realize these tests are a necessary evil to help us stay healthy. I actually don’t mind a little poking, prodding and squishing if it means peace of mind. To me that trumps the following — That only counts when you’re being gossiped about. And not the good kind like, Isn’t she the nicest, sweetest person you ever met? Otherwise it’s a load of crock.
So buck up, you guys; don’t be babies. Get your butt and all your other body parts into the doc’s office. Do it for your family and friends, if not yourself. I’m here to tell you a gloved finger is the least of your worries. Besides, it’ll be over before you can say, “Doctor please, I hardly know you.”
What might happen if you don’t go for that checkup is much scarier, don’t you think?
Last Wednesday I was poked, prodded and squished again, so I couldn’t resist reprinting this posting from 2015.
Did you know there are 7 hobbies that will make you smarter? Neither did I. Guess I’m not that smart. Therefore it might behoove me to bone up on these particular hobbies because, let’s face it, at some point our brain cells start diminishing about as rapidly as Matt Lauer’s hairline.Anytime we learn a new skill or have new experiences, scientists say we create more neuron pathways in our brain, making our grey matter work better and faster. And who doesn’t like being better and faster? No one, that’s who.
Since we aren’t born with a given level of intelligence, we can always improve in the cranial region. My feeling is, the more neurons I have, the longer it takes before Alzheimer’s strangles my memories, devouring precious neurons like I devour chocolate. Not a pretty sight… Continue reading →
You know those commercials advertising drugs with inventive medical names like Farxiga and Otezla? What about the ones they tout but never actually mention what they’re for? What’s that all about? I suppose they want us to guess.
Okay, I’ll play along. Let’s see…a couple is strolling through a flowering field, hand in hand on a beautiful spring-like day. Is this a pill for allergies? Doubt it or wouldn’t they just say so?
Well, he’s looking at her lovingly. Maybe it’s a drug for erectile dysfunction (like we need more of those). Hmm…but she’s also looking at him with a twinkle in her eye, so perhaps they’re pushing a pill that enhances female arousal (now we’re talkin’). Continue reading →
Let it be known you are reading words written by an old person. At least that’s how our government now defines me since I’ve reached the ripe old age to receive Medicare. Send in the marching band, let the trumpets blare.Yours truly is 65!Now don’t get me wrong; I don’t feel an iota different than I did 10 days ago, back when I was 64. But being long in the tooth does have its perks:
I now notice when one is referred to as ma’am (no longer miss), one receives a different sort of attention. The kind that says, “Do you need help with that, ma’am?” And, “Here, let me do that for you, ma’am.” Turns out they’re happy to help. It’s one of the more pleasant aspects of being on the road to decrepitness.
Now don’t get me wrong; I haven’t witnessed a shimmering white image at the foot of my bed in the wee hours of the night. You know I rarely sleep anymore so I’m often awake during prime ghost hours (presumably 2-3 a.m.). Anyway, what self-respecting spirit manifests himself when his intended target is wide awake? Sorta takes the excitement away from scaring me out of a deep slumber, wouldn’t you say?
I’ve named my homebound spirit Winston and I’d love to meet him, if not to simply wring his neck. I imagine, though, it might be difficult to strangle a vaporous white cloud. Still, I’d like to try. The fact is, my annoying heavenly spirit has attempted to get my attention for quite a while before finally succeeding. Well done, Winston.
Turns out my earthly ghost messes with most of my techie gadgets, like Direct TV, computer, cell phone, GPS, portable speakerphone, even my Fitbit. You name it, if it’s electronic, he bewitches it just for yours truly. And to him I say: