I call mine fred

What looks like a grape, feels like a grape, but isn't a grape? Hmmmm…..let me see...

 Ugh...

I have been debating on writing this for obvious reasons—it's gross—it's private—It's embarrassing. 

BUT, the way I look at it, I may give a fellow sufferer a little comic relief to take their mind off of you know what...

So maybe you've been a silent sufferer or never been faced with one at all. Maybe you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about!

Hopefully the latter, but if you do know, you may want to read on.

(As much as I'd like to insert a picture here for pure shock value I most certainly won't–no worries.) 

HEMORRHOIDS!!!!!!! They're painful, itchy, inconvenient, and just plain awful.

OK, I said it.

Move on if necessary. Sorry to have busted up your nice little stroll through the web.

For those of you who choose to read on, you may actually enjoy this.

Well, my story is a doozie right along with what was inconveniently hanging around where the sun don't shine, and my experience was horrifying—so why not share. Right?

Childbirth comes with many blessings, but along with those blessings comes some curses…thank you very much Adam and Eve. 

So, after nine glorious (long) years something had to give, and it was my little buddy that finally did.

I won't go into all that creates that ghastly story, but I will fast forward to—The Appointment.

It was pure misery that drove me to the point of actually making the dreaded appointment with the proctologist, and I had one goal in mind and that was to leave that office with one less passenger.

No. Matter. What.

I had no idea that day what that actually would entail, but I was on the brink of finding out those gruesome details very soon.

I arrived at the office, signed in and started breathing deeply somewhat grateful for the opportunity to regroup so I could calm my nerves.

I was called back before my butt could hut the seat. Literally…just did a squat.

The nurse brought me in the patient room and the first thing I see is a table with a cushion where your feet normally dangle. 

Hmmm…why would they put a cushion there…..?  Not looking good.

The young, good-looking, (of course) doctor arrives and after a very brief introduction, recap of my story, and the charge by me to "Take it off!" says he will step out so I can "get ready." (Nothing gets you "ready" for this.)

After he makes his quick exit, I am standing there fully clothed, and the nurse said (confirming my worst fear) in a calm, soft voice (like it was no big deal at all), "Drop your pants to your knees and put your knees on the cushion and lean over the table."

Mmmhmm...

I'm sure the look on my face said it all as she started to tell me how the doctor deals with this all the time and how it was no big deal and that I would be just fine.

OK…so, I did it.

Here I am in all my glory (face down-ass up) as he makes his second entrance.

I am so utterly mortified that I just answer his questions in a muffled voice face-down (buried) into the table so I don't have to look at his face.

If they would have allowed me to have my head cut off for the procedure, I probably would've signed up.

As I am lying there thinking this just couldn't possibly get any worse, the table starts to move.

Yep, he's lifting the table up, up, up, in the air as if offering my bare butt to the gods of hemorrhoids for sacrifice.

Oh…good...Lord, you have got to be kidding me.

I feel very sure they are both looking at each other laughing as I'm moaning from the embarrassment of it all.

Just as I thought I had gotten through the most unbearable part of this nightmare, I hear a vaguely familiar noise.

It sounded like tape. (Lord please don't let that be tape.)

He tells me (after a joke by-the-way…hilarious) that unfortunately he has to get a better view.

Really…you're not close enough…? I mean he can probably wipe my ass with his bow tie right about now.

Soooo…..he TAPES my butt cheeks apart.

Yes he does.

As I'm laying there planning how I'm going to move and change my identity once this is all over, he tells me this is going to hurt and will be administering a shot so I won't feel it.

Sure…knock yourself out.

Finally, after making his assessment and blowing my little buddy up with saline to make it easier to see…really…? Not easy enough…?

He starts the slicing. I feel it.

He immediately stops and asks me if I need more numbing. Of course, I say no just so I don't have to prolong this medieval torture for one second longer, and told him I could handle it. 

As my life flashed before my eyes, peeks of long gone relatives I will be reunited with once I pass through the pearly gates, and blinding white pain I finally heard those glorious words.

"All done."

Thank you Jesus.

Then there's the ride home…It ain't over till it's over.

As I drove myself home from my own surgical procedure (I don't recommend this, ever) I thought I was going to pass out or throw-up one from the searing pain.

When it hit, it hit hard, but I got home and got my prescription filled for some pain medicine, and made it from the car to the couch where I finally passed out.

I did it. After nine years of various levels of suffering with this thing it is finally behind me..hee hee.

The doctor was as swift as it gets. He did a perfect job, and I probably won't have to see him again—ever.

So, moral of the story, Seize the day! Life is full of good and bad, ups and downs, story worthy embarrassment, but it does go on.

And for me it goes on passenger-free. :)