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I go to the doctor a lot. I don’t know if it’s because of my weak immune system, injuries from being overconfident in my athleticism, or just poor life choices, but over the past few decades of my life, I’ve been averaging an ER visit about once every two years, with plenty of doctor’s appointments sprinkled in between. The reasons for my visits and the specialist may change, but one thing remains constant. Doctors are always telling me to do weird shit. At this point, I feel like it may just be a running joke, like my pediatrician just wrote “this kid does whatever you tell him to, enjoy!” in my chart 15 years ago. Whatever the reason, here are some of weirdest treatments doctors have given me.
A Nuclear Enema
The first time my butthole got violated. I remember the day as though it was yesterday. I was 12-years-old, and like many 12-year-olds, I didn’t want to go to school. Luckily for me, when I woke up in the morning, I had a stomach ache, a surefire way to be sick enough to stay home and watch movies all day, but not so sick I had to go to the doctor. However, in my tween wisdom, I decided to oversell it. “Moooom, my stomach is really hurting!” I whined as I pointed at my lower abdomen, visions of playing Xbox all day already dancing in my head.
But that dream was never realized. My mom, who had just had her appendix removed the year prior, was playing no games with abdomen pain. We didn’t just go to the doctor. We went to the ER. At this point, I knew my day was shot, but I wasn’t willing to give up the ruse. If I admitted to “feeling better,” she would know that I was faking it, and I would never be able to stay home sick again. For the good of my future, I soldiered on. The doctors, to their credit, took the threat of appendicitis seriously, and requested CT imaging to be sure. Of course, to get a clearer image, I had to have some kind of radiation water in my intestines, and before I could say “wait, I thought you were going to make me drink it,” a nurse had shoved a tube in my ass and hooked it up to what felt like a firehose. In retrospect, my mom may have just burned her deductible ensuring that I would never play hooky again. Respect.
Told Me To Be Abstinent
A year ago, I got a UTI. Previously, I didn’t know men could get UTIs, but apparently, I’m one of the lucky few, probably due to my immune system being worse at defense than the Buccaneer’s secondary. Which would have been fine, if my doctor wasn’t adamant that it was caused by an STD. He refused to believe my claim that I was in a monogamous relationship and had previously tested clean, and told me to not have sex for two weeks until some specialized STD test results came back. And guess what they said when they came back? Clean, baby. Ya boy remains undefeated. On the plus side, he also prescribed “daily masturbation to clean the tubes out,” so basically I just lived like I was 13 again for a couple weeks.
Prescribed Daily Baths
This occurred several years ago, after an unfortunate incident at my fraternity formal. My date had been attempting to give me a sexy strip tease, but in her drunkenness, accidentally kicked her high heel off, which flew across the room and hit me directly in the left nut. Two hours, one panicked cab ride, and $2,000 later, I was diagnosed with being a big baby. Well, technically it was a “testicular bruise,” but the tone the ER doc used to describe it to me definitely seemed to say the former. Anyway, he prescribed me 20 minutes in a hot bath a day for a couple weeks until the pain and swelling subsided.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “You’re complaining about a hot bath? That sounds awesome.” Wrong. First of all, baths are gross. You’re essentially making a stew of all your sweat and stink for the day, and then just marinating in it. #TeamShower for life. Second of all, what kind of life do you think I live where I can just run a bath and relax in it for 20 minutes every day? I’m not a kept man of some rich duchess. I have shit to do. Thirdly, I lived in a fraternity house at the time and those bathrooms were probably ground zero for several new strains of disease. I ignored this treatment.
Morphine (For Some Pretty Minor Stitches)
I fucked up a box jump a few years back and ended up splitting both my shins to the bone, requiring twelve stitches. To be honest, it sounds gnarlier than it was. I figured it would be a quick trip to the ER and I would be out in time to meet my friends at the bar, but the doctors had other ideas. The numbed me up, scrubbed out my wounds thuroughly (the feeling of someone touching your bones is deeply unpleasant, even when you’re numb), and plopped me in a bed for several hours while they figured out whether I was going to need surgery or not.
It was during this time that the Lidocaine wore off and I. Was. Hurting. The injury hadn’t been very painful, but after all the scrubbing and prodding they had done, my shins were on fire. I hobbled over to the nurse stand to ask for some ibuprofen and was told that they couldn’t give me any pills because I might need surgery and I had to have an empty stomach. “But we can give you a morphine IV!” the bubbly nurse said, in the casual tone of someone offering you a glass of juice.
Now, I’m not going to pretend like I’m above a nice high, but morphine? That seemed unnecessary. I wasn’t going to play around with an extremely addictive drug just because of a few boo-boos. Also, and more importantly, my phone was dead, and I really didn’t want to just be high, by myself, in a boring hospital bed. I’m a social partier, if you will. I politely declined, and twenty minutes later got my legs sewn up and a prescription for, just, way too much Vicodin.
I’m sure these are all valid treatments, but they sure feel unnecessary. Or maybe my doctors have a bet running on what’s the weirdest thing they can make me do in the name of medicine. Who knows. .