The Thing I’m Doing This Year #18
I’ve biked to work four times now. I’ve forgotten to bring underwear, socks and a towel, but that’s not all.
One day I had a doctor’s appointment to see about my iron levels. As you will recall, I was pissed because my iron saturation number was high and that I’ll probably have to do more blood draws. The day of the appointment, I had a pretty packed schedule, had a really upset stomach – nervous about this upcoming event in Orlando – with lots of trips to the bathroom, so I was starting out a little frazzled.
At this point I should note that the story I’m about to share contains TOO MUCH INFORMATION or TMI, as the kids say. If you don’t like TMI-type stories — intimate, private, personal details — you should probably stop reading right now. This story features over-the-top gross subject matter. You should seriously reconsider going any further. I wouldn’t. You’ve been warned.
I should also note that I’ve told a couple people this story and they laughed their asses off. It’s up to you.
So with that in mind, here goes …
I’m about to leave my office. I’m walking out when I think, “You big dummy, you forgot your car keys,” so I turn about and then it hits me … I didn’t drive today. I rode my bike to work and I have a doctor’s appointment … AND I CAN’T GET THERE … OH NO!
I already bummed a ride for lunch, so I decide to call the doctor and reschedule.
I google Dr. Karolides, but alas there are no doctors in Colorado Springs named Dr. Karolides. OH NO! I think that’s his name, but I only saw him a couple times 15 months ago. Obviously Dr. Karolides is not his name. I’m thinking of Dr. Karolides who was an English professor at my alma mater, UW-River Falls.
So now what? I call my doctor’s office and after a few minutes, I get the name … Dr. DeCarolis. Damn, I was close. His new office is near the Penrose Hospital on Nevada, just a couple miles from my office. Nevertheless, I still type in the address into Google Maps.
The Google Maps Lady was not on her game.
I’m already late to see the doctor, so when she tells me to go west of Fillmore over the interstate, I just do it, no questions asked. However, Nevada is to the east. Then GML tells me to turn left, NOW, on Chestnut, but I’m not crossing Chestnut; it’s a half-block up, so I go up to Chestnut and turn left and she says that’s not the way you want to go and orders up two left turns, which takes me right back to the intersection I was just at except, there’s NO OUTLET! IT’S A CUL DE SAC! OH NO!
She eventually gets me back on Fillmore and in no time, I’m pulling into the doctor’s office parking lot.
He is on the fourth floor, but I decide that even though I’m really late, that I’ve got to stop in the men’s room. I had to go.
I’m at the urinal, finishing up when my butt says, hey, you need to fart. So I said, okay, go right ahead.
KA – BLURP.
That wasn’t a fart!
OH MY GOD! I’VE JUST POOPED IN MY PANTS!
I’m not a praying man, but I start praying, “Please let whatever just came out of me, please let it be confined to the friendly confines of my butt cheeks. Please.”
I grab half-a-roll of toilet paper. I wipe. OH MY GOD! I just emitted a gas bubble filled with nothing but bile, shit and desolation. I don’t bother with a second wipe. I toss the morass from my ass into the toilet. I repeat that series of actions about five times.
Now it’s time to check the underwear. Oh dear. It’s not good. Now I have to take my shoes off, my pants off – CAREFULLY – and then the undies.
I thank my undies for their many years of service and throw them into the garbage. I put myself back together. Wash and rise my hands a few hundred times and head up to the fourth floor.
Checking in, they tell me that they’ve been waiting on me. I replied, “I’ve had a series of unfortunate events.”
The nurse checks my blood pressure. Shockingly, it’s higher than normal.
I wait for the doctor.
He finally arrives. As he walks in, he says, “Your numbers couldn’t be more perfect.” He is confounded as to why my doctor sent me over.
I’m thinking, “Can I get my $40 bucks back?”
But I say something about the high percentage of iron saturation.
And the doctor says, “Oh there’s nothing you can do about that. You can’t bring that number down. It’s a part of having hemochromotosis. I’ll send Dr. Miller a note.”
I was sitting there underwear-less thinking, so I never even needed to leave my office today?
P.S. It’s possible that I’ve been listening to Louis CK a little too much.
P.P.S. That’s not the first time that’s happened to me.
P.P.P.S. KA – BLURP
The next installment … “You’re My Boy, Blue!”