23 yr old girl comes it with a toothache.
So i walk in and theres a cute blonde laying on her side in pain. So i go in and have her open her mmouth and theres an obvious cavity. oddly enough im not a dentist, so the best i can do is give penicillin and pain meds, so as im walking out, she says..
"doctor, this is really embarrassing... but my butt hurts alot..."
wtf? tooth ache and butt ache together? what did she bite herself in the ass?
"umm okay. whats bothering you there?"
"well it hurts when i strain since ive been constipated for the past week"
"okay, well, let me get a nurse and then ill have a look, and ill check for any blood"
"yea theres been blood too"
---- wonderful
so obvious things are hemorrhoids or anal fissures
so i have a look, and yup theres a cut in her ass thats hurting her.
ok so i turn to leave again, and shes like
"doctor, this is embarrassing, but..."
oh jesus now what????
" but i was wondering could this be from anal sex?"
"yes, when did you have anal?"
"about a day before it started bleeding and hurting"
"yea im pretty sure its from that"
"well could i still have anal? i really like it"
"um, yea sure, but id wait atleast two weeks for it to heal"
" umm one more questions , do you like anal sex?"
" umm i need to get to my other patients, ill get you some cream for your butt pain"
Showing posts with label anal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anal. Show all posts
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Guest Blogger
the first guest blog was a great story and people loved it , heres a new one from Kelli. once again its from the point of view of the patient, i know ull find it hilarious, i did.
Rectal Examination
By Kelli Petersen
One evening, I discovered blood in my poop. (Hey, if you can’t talk candidly to the Internet, then who can you talk to?) I’m not usually the kind of person who checks out bowel movements—unlike my boyfriend who not only examines it, but also takes an occasional picture and texts it to his friends. But as I reached over to flush the toilet, I saw a flash of bright red in my peripheral vision. I glanced down and saw small streams of blood lacing on and through the poop.
I made a sound like “muleh!” then started to flush the toilet, before pausing to wonder if I should somehow stick the poop in a plastic baggy. Would a doctor need to actually see it or have it tested? I decided a camera phone picture would suffice.
The next morning, I called my doctor’s office from work. Note to self: sitting at the front desk while fielding incoming calls and greeting visitors is not the place to call your doctor about bloody poop. The conversation went something like this:
Nurse: …and what is the problem you are experiencing?
Me: Um, well, it’s complicated…so, um, I think I may be sick?
Nurse: Sick with what?
Me: Well, there was something, uh, strangeaboutmypoop…last night…
Nurse: I’m sorry?
Me: Therewasbloodinmypoop…that’s why I need to make an appointment…
And so on. I was finally able to secure an appointment for the next day. Unfortunately, upon signing in for my visit, I was faced with sharing my problem with the front desk staff. C’mon, do they really need to know? I wondered. I gave the same stunted explanation as on the phone, except with hand gestures filling in wherever “bowel movement” should have been said.
Finally I was in the private examining room where I could speak openly about the issue. The doctor sat on a stool, slightly lower than the table upon which I sat, naked from the waist down, covered with what seemed to be an enormous paper towel. She asked about the color and consistency of the blood. Was it a dark red or brown? Or was it bright red?
Proudly, I pulled out my camera phone and declared, “I took a picture!” She stared at me for a moment before waving it away, asking, “How about you just tell me about it?” I described the poop in detail, adding creative flourishes here and there: “I would say the blood was the color of a red apple, freshly plucked from a tree.”
I answered more questions: no, I wasn’t constipated; no, I wasn’t feeling nauseous; no, I wasn’t allergic to anything. Finally, the doctor set the clipboard down and instructed me to lie down. Being a woman, I was well accustomed to being pants-less at a doctor’s office, so I shimmied down, ready to put my feet in the stirrups.
“I’m going to have you turn on your side, actually. Facing toward the window.”
Awkwardly, I turned onto my side, as the doctor snapped on latex gloves and rolled her stool behind me, putting her face level with my butt.
“Uh…should I, um, do anything?”
“Just relax, this may feel a bit uncomfortable.”
While looking out the window, I felt her spread my buttocks apart and put a finger inside the hole. “Try not to clench,” she instructed.
Taking her cue, I forced myself to relax and quickly found my thoughts drifting to sex. While she probed and examined, I dreamily looked out the window and focused on not moaning. In my head, the doctor had become a sexy 20-something man with strong arms, and who didn’t really have to do an anal exam (I was only there for an annual check-up, after all), but “just wanted to make sure everything looked good down there.”
The doctor said something, which I missed. “Excuse me?” I hadn’t realized she had pulled away from the table and was making notes on her clipboard.
“Everything looks good down there. My guess is it was a bit of food poisoning, something your body didn’t like. Keep an eye on it and let me know if it gets worse or if you feel pain.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Thanks!” I smoothed my hair which, strangely, seemed to be more unkempt than when I arrived.
She paused for a moment, looking as if she had smelled something strange, then said, “You’re…welcome?” She quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.
I hopped off the table and pulled on my pants. Feeling more refreshed than I had in days, I swung open the door, and giddily walked out of the office.
http://BohoInTheBurbs.blogspot.com
Rectal Examination
By Kelli Petersen
One evening, I discovered blood in my poop. (Hey, if you can’t talk candidly to the Internet, then who can you talk to?) I’m not usually the kind of person who checks out bowel movements—unlike my boyfriend who not only examines it, but also takes an occasional picture and texts it to his friends. But as I reached over to flush the toilet, I saw a flash of bright red in my peripheral vision. I glanced down and saw small streams of blood lacing on and through the poop.
I made a sound like “muleh!” then started to flush the toilet, before pausing to wonder if I should somehow stick the poop in a plastic baggy. Would a doctor need to actually see it or have it tested? I decided a camera phone picture would suffice.
The next morning, I called my doctor’s office from work. Note to self: sitting at the front desk while fielding incoming calls and greeting visitors is not the place to call your doctor about bloody poop. The conversation went something like this:
Nurse: …and what is the problem you are experiencing?
Me:
Nurse: Sick with what?
Me: Well, there was something, uh, strangeaboutmypoop…last night…
Nurse: I’m sorry?
Me: Therewasbloodinmypoop…that’s why I need to make an appointment…
And so on. I was finally able to secure an appointment for the next day. Unfortunately, upon signing in for my visit, I was faced with sharing my problem with the front desk staff. C’mon, do they really need to know? I wondered. I gave the same stunted explanation as on the phone, except with hand gestures filling in wherever “bowel movement” should have been said.
Finally I was in the private examining room where I could speak openly about the issue. The doctor sat on a stool, slightly lower than the table upon which I sat, naked from the waist down, covered with what seemed to be an enormous paper towel. She asked about the color and consistency of the blood. Was it a dark red or brown? Or was it bright red?
Proudly, I pulled out my camera phone and declared, “I took a picture!” She stared at me for a moment before waving it away, asking, “How about you just tell me about it?” I described the poop in detail, adding creative flourishes here and there: “I would say the blood was the color of a red apple, freshly plucked from a tree.”
I answered more questions: no, I wasn’t constipated; no, I wasn’t feeling nauseous; no, I wasn’t allergic to anything. Finally, the doctor set the clipboard down and instructed me to lie down. Being a woman, I was well accustomed to being pants-less at a doctor’s office, so I shimmied down, ready to put my feet in the stirrups.
“I’m going to have you turn on your side, actually. Facing toward the window.”
Awkwardly, I turned onto my side, as the doctor snapped on latex gloves and rolled her stool behind me, putting her face level with my butt.
“Uh…should I, um, do anything?”
“Just relax, this may feel a bit uncomfortable.”
While looking out the window, I felt her spread my buttocks apart and put a finger inside the hole. “Try not to clench,” she instructed.
Taking her cue, I forced myself to relax and quickly found my thoughts drifting to sex. While she probed and examined, I dreamily looked out the window and focused on not moaning. In my head, the doctor had become a sexy 20-something man with strong arms, and who didn’t really have to do an anal exam (I was only there for an annual check-up, after all), but “just wanted to make sure everything looked good down there.”
The doctor said something, which I missed. “Excuse me?” I hadn’t realized she had pulled away from the table and was making notes on her clipboard.
“Everything looks good down there. My guess is it was a bit of food poisoning, something your body didn’t like. Keep an eye on it and let me know if it gets worse or if you feel pain.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Thanks!” I smoothed my hair which, strangely, seemed to be more unkempt than when I arrived.
She paused for a moment, looking as if she had smelled something strange, then said, “You’re…welcome?” She quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.
I hopped off the table and pulled on my pants. Feeling more refreshed than I had in days, I swung open the door, and giddily walked out of the office.
http://BohoInTheBurbs.blogspot.com
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