June 6th

Today I went to the doctor.

Nobody likes the physical examination but it's been 5 years since my last one and my wife nearly begged me to go since she's observed this angry-looking red spot on my shoulder near the neck. So I've decided to have the complete physical exam, even the proctoscope. If you don't know what that is, it's a rectal exam for cancer, hemmorhoids, etc. that utilizes a short metal tube outfitted with a viewing scope which is inserted into the rectum.

My doctor is a personable fellow. He likes to canoe, so we have that in common. He was a medic in Viet Nam, so he's seen everything. On this day we exchange plesantries, discussing canoe trips in the North Woods. Then we get down to business. He asks me about each item that is answered "yes" instead of the appropriate "no" on the personal medical history questionairre that I've filled out prior to the exam.

Then we get to the spot on my back. "This spot on your back looks like basal cell cancer. I think you should see a dermatologist." He tells me there are five in town and goes thru the list. I choose Dr. Burn because I figure that's a good name for a dermatologist. "I'll set up the appointment for you at the end of the exam".

I mention that Arnold Palmer has requested that I have my prostate checked and he assures me that it will be part of the process. "Great", I mockingly respond. After the EKG the nurse wheels in the proctoscope. It's a diabolical looking machine. I've had the exam before and in memory I can still feel the pain of the gas pressure it creates. See when the doctor inserts the metal tube thru which he views the rectum, it's a little tight and dark in there. So the instrument is outfitted with a light. To solve the tight problem it's outfitted with an air injector. It fills the intestine with air, causing it to distend so the view is better. It's the patient's responsibility to hold the gas in until the exam is over. I've never been good at holding the gas in, in fact, it's a family trait to let it go, but I'm going to do the best I can, because I want him to see if I have any problems.

The first part of the procedure is the prostate check. That's done by the doctor inserting a finger (that feels more like a hand) and checking for enlargement of the gland. It's over quickyly, thank God. He says the gland is slightly enlarged but not atypical for a man my age. "You can tell Arnold that you've done your thing," he quips. It draws a chuckle from me. Hell, when you're embarassed you laugh at anything. Then the real fun begins. The lubricated tube of the proctoscope is cold but doesn't have any trouble finding a warm spot. The assisting nurse is there to call out the numbers to the doctor who is too busy looking through the scope climbing the intestine to watch any readings on the machine . She starts "5", then a few seconds later, "ten" and I'm thinking to myself "What do these numbers stand for? Distance or pressure? I assume its the distance in centimeters that the instrument has travelled up the intestine. "Fifteen". I guess one might imagine this process like the feeling of a reverse bowel movement. Now comes the discomfort. "Twenty" Now I figure it must be in inches not centimeters. "Twenty-five". My skin is starting to feel flushed and I'm starting to feel like a party balloon is inside me. "Thirty" And now I'm thinking feet instead of inches and weather balloon. "Thirty-five" and it can now be defined as pain. "It's almost over," my doctor assures me. "Forty," she says and I remember from the previous proctoscope exam that it is the magic number. Finally, after what seems like a glacial age, the instrument is withdrawn. I wipe the sweat on my forehead with my hand, exhale deeply and feel glad it's over.

He tells me I can go to the restroom to relieve myself and he'll be back later for the wrap-up and further information. You can imagine, it doesn't take me long to get dressed and into the bathroom where I quickly peel off my pants in anticipation of relieving my wind-filled abdomen. Well, I've got two horses at my place and I've been around them when they've expelled gas and I'll have to say that I'd have given them a fair run for their money in a Fart Off. It went on and on, and I imagined I could hear the nurses in the lab next door laughing. All that separated us was a thin wall with a little flimsy two way door that was used to pass urine specimens into the lab. Wiping a grin off my face and stiffling a laugh, I went back to the exam room.

I was still smirking when the doctor came back. I had to share the joke about me thinking the nurses were laughing. We both laughed. "Doc, will the blood tests indicate if I have leukemia?", I asked. He answered that they would and I responded, "Good, because lately I've had a friend of mine die from it and it's been somewhat on my mind."

I got the appointment for the dermatologist and settled up on the paperwork. I left the office feeling good, knowing that it was high time I had an exam. That spring I'd been pushing myself. It was a creative time for me, what with remodeling my old barn and creating some beautiful landscape art, but I was starting to feel some intense fatique at the end of the day. I was ready for bed at 9:30. Was I just getting older or was there something wrong?

June 7th