Wrecked Him? Darn near killed him!

Modesty or more so, good judgment should have prevented me from relating the following tale. However, should my bold retelling of this incident encourage another man to pursue a new road to better health, it shall have been worth the humiliation.
Some have hinted in the past that I am prone to hypochondria. Obvious symptoms of some horrible disease would impel me to see the doctor and then most often I would be chastised for my paranoia and sent packing. Happily, I have been improving. Sadly, not because these panicked trips to the doctor are less frequent, but that as I age my self-diagnoses are more often correct.
Also, as I age the conversations around the water cooler and in the coffee clutches seem to have taken on two distinct themes. The first theme is desperately morose. “Yes, it was just a ‘routine examination’. He went into surgery right away and once they opened him up they just sewed him back up. People need to get checked.” The second theme is brightened with hope. “Yes, if he hadn’t had that ‘routine examination’, they would never have caught it in time. Boy, is he ever lucky.” These legendary events danced in my head for a few weeks before I summoned up the courage to go see the doctor for the ‘routine examination’.
These ‘routine examinations’ are euphemisms for a violation of the inner sanctums of ones being. In my case, I had gone out of my way for 18 years to avoid such a confrontation. In fact my former doctor of all those years seemed as reluctant as I and we never did initiate such unpleasantries. Somewhere, in my hazy past was a dim recollection of an encounter with a substitute doctor but psychic defenses had buried the recollections so deep I couldn’t tell if they were real or just phantom memories.

Sometimes procrastination makes things worse. This is the thought I had when my new doctor entered the room. He stands a full head above me, a giant of a man, and as is custom in greeting me, he envelops my hand in his. His hands, his fingers are huge. I grow a wee faint.
People that know me may notice that I am not wont to use profanity. Expression of the vulgar has been exhausted in misspent adolescent humour. Also I desire to protect people with delicate dispositions that may stray upon these pages. As such, I will rely on the literary devices of metaphor and simile to describe what transpired next.
The time for the ‘routine examination’ came and I was curled up on the examination table half naked. “This may be a little uncomfortable.” he said. “Just relax.”
The procedure called for him to insert one of his fingers into my .. uhhh … armpit (metaphorically speaking).
He deceived me!!! What was supposed to be a finger entering my armpit felt like the handle end of a rowing oar. He somehow managed to weave it through my vertebrae to the base of my skull. Like a pitbull (simile) my armpit clamped down on this intruder desperately trying to crush it. My body was now ramrod stiff and semi convulsing. I made what would be a ch-ch-ch-ch-ch sound had it not been drowned out by the screaming of the physician. Sheer terror at the thought of being maimed and ending any hope of developing surgical skills caused him to jump back. This dragged me off of the examining table. I was momentarily suspended by my armpit, my hands grasping the floor and my legs flailing about in an obscene bicycle action. My armpit still behaving the part of a territorial beast eased up briefly to readjust its death grip. It was at this point the doctor was able to extricate himself with his full medical potential still ahead of him.
Remarkably, he found his composure immediately. As for mine, I thought I got a glimpse of it fleeing the room and most likely the building. “Shall we try that again?” “It is important that you relax.” He said.
(An Aside)
April 19th, 1977 I had found myself in Disneyland embarking on the Matterhorn ride. I loathed such rides but much cajoling from my hosts had overcome my objections. As we pulled away from the safety of the loading platform I started to have a panic attack. There was no way out! However, my brain did an incredible thing, it changed. The only way to adjust was to embrace the ride with a suicidal enthusiasm. At every dip of the car I was trying to dip even steeper. Every violent turn was initiated by me, I was in control. I enjoyed the ride so much I went again. Could I use this lesson again?
“I need to stop resisting.” I thought to myself. “I shall overcome this Matterhorn.” This time my accommodating armpit literally pulled the physician from his stool. “Was that his elbow?” “Oh, my gawd he thinks I’m easy”
“Is that OK?” he queried
(Another Aside)
When I am greeted in the street and I am asked “How are you?” I immediately reply “Great!” even if it has been a horrible day. On the otherhand, I am often scolded for taking too long to answer other questions. This is because I am weighing the gravitas of the words and want to give an honest and complete answer.

“Great” would not have been the appropriate word in my current position, but “Fine” would have sufficed to convey to the doctor that I was not unbearably uncomfortable. Instead my thoughts are constructing a more complete reply to relate the outcome of now being fully cooporative. I muse to myself “Hmmm, actually it’s an interesting feeling in fact it feels quite ni….” My own thoughts are drowned out by the screeching sirens of my gaydar. Awooga! Awooga! Awhooga! Danger!! “Ahh .. Fine” I say.
The ‘routine examination’ ends”. “Here, let me tidy you up a bit he says” gently wiping my armpit. I am but a child.
I dress myself and there is an uncomfortable silence in the room. I want to stay and talk but he ushers me to the door and I realize that he is dumping me for another patient. As I step into the hall I am confronted by a phantom from the past. It is the doctor from nearly two decades previously. I am in the presence of both my probing doctors. “Will they talk?” I self-query blushingly. “Is this how a woman at a dinner party feels when she realizes that she has slept with every man in the room?” I blush even deeper.
As stated earlier, my composure had long fled the building, and I started out in hot pursuit. In my haste I crashed into a nasty hardware faced young woman in the doorway. I was so rattled that I didn’t pause to apologize. I was moving quickly away from the scene of my dread but I still managed to hear her shout “Hey, watch where you’re going, Armpit!!

The Ringing!! The Cursed Ringing....

Sometimes it isn’t good to get what you want. I had joked the other day with a couple of the visiting Facilities Management guys whether they were having another mid-winter fire drill. They assured me that they weren’t and that they were on campus to perform other tasks. On a whim I printed off a copy of a previous blog (http://tripester.blogspot.com/2005/11/most-alarming-behaviour-i-have-ever.html) regarding fire drills on campus and gave it to them for a chuckle. One of the premises of the story was the horror of evacuating the building without any proper clothing to protect me from the bitter cold.
Today, one of them returned to our campus. He was having coffee and as I walked by he winked and said “You better keep your coat with you.” I returned to my office and when I left on another errand I had donned my boots, coat, touque, and gloves. As I wandered about the building performing my tasks I did receive a few odd glances. Thankfully no one asked me any questions even though that may be a testament to what they have come to expect from me. Even if they were quietly laughing at me it was I that would have the last laugh. I knew something that they did not. I smirked silently to myself. This is what it feels to be in on the inside - to be in the know. I was a seer - peering into the future and I reveled as I bathed in that wisdom.
Only….
The alarm didn’t go off. Was the fact that I was anticipating the event messing with time - the “old watching a kettle boil thing?” I started to get a little uncomfortable particularly as I was all bundled up and my inner core was reaching 105 degrees. Good grief… He’s messing with me. There isn’t going to be a drill!! The fiend!! The cruel fiend!! Panic started to set in. If I went and disrobed the alarm could go off or if I didn’t I would be bundled up all day with the certainly of organ failure at some point. Ahhhhkkkk!!!! I was better off being ignorant of what was to come. I am in a trap of my own making forged from my own incessant whining!!
I know that my brain chemistry has endowed me with some built in phobias. Over the years, I have identified claustrophobia (please give me some room), arachnophobia (particularly the likewise titled movie), and triskadekaphobia. (It’s a numbers thing). Anyway, I am always bemused when I discover a new one. All of a sudden, as I was walking down the halls, all I could see were bells - big red fire bells. Anywhere I turned a bell was looking back at me. They were silent but they all seemed to be throbbing. I have bellophobia!! I fled to the washroom but realized I couldn’t stay there forever without causing some other difficulties in these sex-offender-aware days. If only I could get to my office. I peeked down the hall to discover that the bell directly outside my office appeared to be the biggest, nastiest bell of them all. At this point my panic is uncontrollable. If I make refuge in the far reaches of my office, and the alarm sounds I will only suffer a mild infarction. However, should I be stationed directly beneath the mother-of-all-bells when it begins to sound, I am convinced that the coronary will be massive and my death face will exhibit sheer terror. I dash my ligyrophobic butt to my door. Just as in the movies, I drop my keys on the floor, I retrieve them and try again but my hands are shaking. My breathing is rapid and shallow. What is that tightness in my chest? Finally, the door opens and I am sprinting to the back of the room. No alarm has come. Will it ever come? I pace back and forth, back and forth. I try sitting and rocking holding my hands over my ears. "Go to your happy place" I chant. Still no bell. Finally, I gain a little solace by curling up under my desk in a fetal position singing (shouting) Silent Night.
When the alarm finally comes, I am calm but spent. I pour myself into the halls bleating weakly with my other compatriots and I am whisked with the rest of the flock into the cool outdoors. I have been to hell and back and never want to go back!
Knowledge of the future is a curse and should only be a gift for the gods and not mere mortals such as I. Should anyone from Facilities Management ever read these words. NEVER, EVER LET ME KNOW THAT WE ARE HAVING A FIRE DRILL. Please!!!