Today, I laughed sinisterly to myself listening to my husband describe his trip to the doctor. I had arranged for John to see the doctor because we needed some paperwork done for our insurance. I had assured him that it would be a quick visit, in and out, just height, weight, some blood tests, etc. Apparently the doctor had other ideas. John was informed by the nurse that he had to don a gown, doctor's orders. Not one to argue (unless it's with me), John complies. He told me that he knew something was up when the female doctor came in accompanied by a nurse. Before he knew it, the good doctor had reached up under his gown and given his scrotum a good roll around. Note: turning your head and coughing is not necessary. The sack past muster, and John thought he was in the clear, when all of a sudden a finger was probing his arse (thank you Outlander). "You are 40 now, so it's important to check your prostrate regularly," the doctor said authoritatively. "You'll be pleased to know that you're stool does not contain any blood." Now, coming from a medical family, I like to pride myself on knowledge of tests and anatomy, but I couldn't figure out how the doc had come to that conclusion without a proper sample. Guess what? A sample can be procured in a non-traditional manner, essentially "pulling out a plum." I believe the vet had done this for Van and Lily, but I always imagined it was because they were dogs and nobody really cared about their dignity. So, today, not only did John get our insurance forms filled out in a timely manner, but also discovered that old age brings other benefits other than wisdom and discounts.
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