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5:25 a.m. - 2001-09-06


Alllllright...the doctor's office.

First off, like most men, I HATE going to the doctor. The doctor pointed this out when he asked me what was wrong and I went down a laundry list of things, starting with my head and ending at my toes.

He put it best when he said "Why do men wait until their bodies are completely falling apart before they come see us?"

I put it better when I said "We're all scared to death of your finger."

He laughed. I laughed. He abruptly stopped laughing, held his index finger up straight and scowled at me. I stopped laughing and shuddered.

So, I start babbling about all my ailments.

I may as well tell you people now...I haven't come completely clean on this diary about my ailments. Mainly because I didn't want the emails and messages saying "GO TO THE DOCTOR NOWWWW, UNCLE BOB!!"

But...I've been having some chest pains.

For ohhhhh...about a year now.

Y'see...I have a pretty high threshold for pain. For Pete's sakes...I broke a bone in my elbow last year playing Broom Ball, kept playing and scored the winning two goals without even knowing my arm was technically broken.

I've seen all these things saying "Oh...if you're having chest pains, it could be a sign of a heart attack!!!"

Or it could be heartburn. You just never know.

These pains have been sharp and quick. Each time I get one, it reminds me to pray and thank God for everything and remind Him that I'd like to stay around long enough to watch my boy grow up.

Anyway...I told the doc about my chest pains. My loss of hearing in my right ear. My weakening eyesight. My headaches. My bad back. My testicles. My knees. My sudden weight gain.

Technically, I have the body of an 80 year-old.

So we went down the list.

I had an EKG done...showed NOTHING wrong with my heart. But he's still wary of what's going on there.

Diagnosis: Chest X-Ray, Stress test.

I have fluid built up behind my eardrum which is much thicker than your normal eardrum. Y'see...YOUR eardrum is as thin as a Kleenex. Mine is as thick as a brick. I'm not hearing out of my ear, I'm "hearing" out of a bone behind my ear and towards my throat.

Diagnosis: Probable surgery.

Can't do much about my headaches until the tests come back.

Diagnosis: Quit yer damned whining, headache boy and wait ten business days.

Back problems are most likely due to weight gain.

Diagnosis: Lose weight, Tubby.

Same with knees.

Diagnosis: See last diagnosis.


Diagnosis: Not really mentioned. We have more serious issues at hand.

He juggled my boys in his hand for what seemed like hours. I wanted to remind him that he was NOT in Vegas and he was NOT rolling the dice, but when a professional has your balls in his hands, it's usually best not to try and piss him off. He then pressed his hand all over my nether region, which is a dream come true for most women, but I don't think he got a particular kick out of it.

Diagnosis: There ain't a DAMNED THING WRONG with my testicles, thank you very much. He gave me some antibiotics for the hell of it, in case there is something wrong, but he couldn't feel anything strange and in fact, complimented me on my perfect balls.

DOCTOR: Nice balls.

ME: Thanks.

DOCTOR: May I also add...quite an impressive pecker for a fat guy.

ME: Why thanks. Thanks very much.

DOCTOR: Do you find male doctors attractive?

ME: No. Why?

DOCTOR: Because ... it's so large.

ME: Nope. That's normal size, Doc. I'm flaccid.

DOCTOR: Oh my!

ME: You like?

DOCTOR: (licking his lips)Well. I'm not gay but...

ME: Go ahead, doc. I'm like the kid in "Boogie Nights". I understand when grown men want to grovel at the sight of my willie whacker.


ME: That's enough Doc. If you're good, I'll show you a few tricks I learned in college.

So there people...nothing wrong with my chimichangas.

He did say he was going to help put me on a diet to shed these extra pregnancy sympathy pounds, but wanted to wait until my blood and urine tests come back.

God...the urine test.

Keep in mind, I'm hard of hearing. We just went over this, I hear through my damned BONES, people.

The nurse opens the door to the bathroom, shows me these cups and says (I could swear she said) "Fill that cup up as much as you can."

Luckily, I had to pee like a pregnant lady on a road trip through the desert.

I closed the door, whipped out my magnificent schlong and went to town on that cup.

And the wall.

And the toilet.

And the floor.

And myself.

Peeing point blank into a cup was not the easy feat I thought it would be. There are two things you have to take into consideration:

A) The Splash Factor

B) Stopping

Peeing point blank into a cup produces a helluva splash factor. You pee and there's not as much distance provided when you're standing and peeing. So it hits the cup with such force that it's like holding a bucket in front of a fire hose. Pee goes EVERYWHERE.

So I panic. Because pee is on the walls, the floor, and splashing back into the crotch of my pants.

So I try to stop.

This isn't easy because I'm trying to get my wits about me thinking "Oh crap, I've made a heckuva mess in here".

I'm still trying to hold the cup o' pee in my left hand, my Peter O'Toole in the right hand and worrying about all the pee that's now pretty much covering the entire bathroom looking like a scene from a Wes Craven flick if he was more into golden showers than blood.

I finally manage to cut off the urine flow as I stand there with an overflowing cup. I grab some paper towels and do the best job I can scrubbing my urine off of the ceiling.

I find a magic marker and write my name on the cup. This is disturbing. I'm holding a hot cup o' pee and having to proudly write my name across the lid. Like I'm submitting it for an award or something.

I was told that once I was finished to put it in a metal drawer in the wall. I open the drawer and there's four other cups of pee in there. That's gross enough. I'm having to look at stranger's pee.

...All of them had like a dribble of pee in them. My cup was overflowing...there's was maybe a fraction of an inch deep.

I put my cup in there anyway, exited the bathroom and took a seat in Waiting Room #2.

Then I began to panic.

The nurse must not have told me to pee as much as I could. She must have said something along the lines of "Give us a few drops of urine." Because you have four tiny cups and then my cup of urine that looked more like a piping hot Cup 'O Chicken Soup than urine.

Why would they need THAT much urine?

To top it off...the nurses were kinda cute. I'm sure they opened that drawer and got a hearty laugh out of the Uncle Bob cup.

"My God...did he think we needed THIS MUCH??"

I'm sure my cup got held up in a laboratory somewhere and everyone got a hearty laugh at my weak bladdered expense.

I sat there mortified by my urine flow.

Luckily, nobody there made fun of me to my face. Looking back, I probably should have dumped out some of the pee and just gave them a "sample" and not a monument.


I almost forgot!!!

No fingers were inserted into my ass in the making of this entry!!

Yep...since I'm turning 40 next year, the doctor said we'd just wait 'til then before I get the dreaded anal probe.


Now I have something to look forward to!

I go back in two weeks for some stress test, where I'm hooked up to a machine and then have to get on a treadmill for three hours.

I wonder if I can take some Fritos and Fresca?

Susie got an appointment for a massage and facial today.

The spa called her late yesterday afternoon saying that they had a cancellation.

So...if they screw her over one more time...I'm firebombing the joint. No questions questions answered.


I've got a dentist appointment today, which is always a lot of fun.

The boy's waking up. You know what that means.


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