Scarier Than Anything Halloween Related.

I want you to know this entry is not for the squeamish or for those who happen to be interested in eating in the near future. I'm putting this out there because you're my fans friends and if there's anything I want in life, it's to be the most popular girl in the world an honest person.

AND I'D LIKE TO CLARIFY: My hospital visit was not because of some weird or crazy Jackass stunt. The following events have taken place because there is some kind of miscommunication somewhere in my lower GI area. I've suffered with a nervous stomach, hernia operation, and overall shittiness in my digestive tract my whole life. Just add this to the list.

So, remember way back a few weeks ago when I landed in the hospital?? Well, here's the juicy deets. And by juicy, I mean the complete opposite of juicy.

I've had a real asshole of a stomach my whole life, and it seems to be an asshole-to-the-10th-degree when I'm under a lot of stress. So when it started acting up the other week, I didn't think too much of it. -Mostly because I was in so much pain, thinking wasn't even a function I was capable of. And what really pushed me over the emergency-status edge was when I started pooping out things that should only be seen in Stephen King thrillers.

Following my mom's orders, I called my doctor. Because I have Kaiser insurance, I have to call a generic appointment number, leave a message with the attendant, and depending on how hilarious the office thinks my bodily malfunctions are, a nurse will call back within 24 hrs. Well, it seemed like they were taking my particular situation very seriously- passing me around to three different nurses, the last of which instructed me to go straight to the ER.

After I showered and made myself look closer to a normal human being, my mom took me to a nearby hospital. The nurse who escorted me to my room had warned me of the possibility of a certain exam... At which I scoffed and mentally filed under the category of "General Hospital Malarkey That Definitely Would NOT be Taking Place". But once the head honcho came in, it was time to face reality. There was going to be a rectal exam.

Did I mention it was a male doctor...?

A youngish, male doctor...??

A youngish, male doctor who brought in two trainees with him...???

Did I also mention I was also on my period...????

Yep. This was definitely one of my finer moments.

Dr. McButthole and I shared some some intimate details over a nice chardonnay and before I even had a chance to request the Surf N' Turf dinner, my exam was over. I was released on my own recognizance and sent home with instructions to get a referral from my general practitioner to see a Gastro Intestinal Specialist.

Thank god that's over with.

A few weeks later I go in to see my regular doctor so I can get this stupid referral and get back to having a normal, functioning lower half. It's only when I'm at my appt do I realize I'm going to have to take some more tests. Some more fun tests. The funnest of which involved ANOTHER rectal exam, only this one was much more dignifying and involved something that can only best be described as a Monistat suppository applicator. -Only it wasn't going in the Monistat hole.

Yep. Round two for the old poop chute.

This time went just as smoothly and included just as little wining n' dining.

After my doc and I had the old "it's not you, it's me" talk and decided to go our separate ways, she instructed me to go to the main Kaiser center to get some MOOORE testing done. At this point, I've learned my lesson on which tests I'm cool with and not-so-cool with and am thankful to learn that the next set of tests will be easy: blood work and stool sample.

By the time I get to the other office, I'm ready to go poop like STAT because, as my doctor so eloquently put it, "your butt doesn't know the difference between a finger a poop" and apparently rectal exams are often followed by a turd.

The nurse gives me a tiny "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" sized plastic bowl and points me in the direction of the nearest toilet. And it's at this point I realize... I have no idea where to hold this bowl in order to catch the thunder down under. My backside is all a mystery to me and my shit could be falling out of the back of my neck for all I know. So I take a guess, position myself, say a prayer- and like the sound of a Vegas jackpot- I strike shit gold.

As I'm at the sink, scalding my flesh of my hands off, I notice the nurse hadn't given me my brown paper bag. You know the one. -My "don't look at my shit" bag. At this point, I consider myself to be well beyond any kind of embarrassment, so me and I my shit make our way back to the waiting area. When the nurse sees me waiting, she waves me over, hands me a tiny test tube, another ICBINB plastic bowl, and a miniature 31 Flavors spoon, and instructs me to go BACK to the restroom and divide my shit up.

So... me, my shit, and all my newly acquired lunch containers head back to the ladies room. I lightly push open the first stall... and it quickly gets slammed shut. -But not before I saw the bare knees and granny panties of a 500 year old woman taking care of business. :::nightmares for days::: I go into the next stall and play Ring Around the Rosies with my turds for the next 20 minutes, paying careful attention to not contaminate anything (shit OR bathroom). Another round of scalding the hands, and we make our way back to the waiting area.

From this point on, it's smooth sailing and today I'm only left with a minor bruise on my arm that makes me look like a heroin addict and my pride that's only been somewhat damaged.

I got a call from my doctor's office this morning. Everything came back normal. Phew. At least I went through all that trouble for nothing.

So what have you learned from this entry? Absolutely nothing.

-But I'm telling you right now, I expect E.V.E.R.Y. one of my readers to comment on this shit because if this isn't Blogger of the Year material right here, I don't know what is.

Kim Jong-Il, OUT.