Cream or scream? By Bryan Jones

My alarm clock screeched at 6.30 am. The first sensation I noticed was the stinging of my piles (or haemorrhoids). My second realization was the awareness of my appointment at the Colorectal Department of the local hospital. I spent 30 minutes in the shower, 25 of which was devoted to spring-cleaning the area in question. At the hospital clinic room, Mr Evans (the consultant surgeon) entered with a young female medical student. Following a brief interrogation about my bowel habits, I was lying on the bed with my boxer-shorts around my ankles. While the consultant probed my gaping arse, he conducted a tutorial. “Come and look at this; a big haemorrhoid on the outside and two more inside.” I heard the female student approach for a closer look. “Oh yes, I see them” she said. I could feel their breath on my buttocks. And I heard an echo. “So what’s the appropriate treatment?” he asked. “I guess he could try a steroid cream …” “If you wanted to caress the haemorrhoid and watch it grow,” he said. They both giggled; he was flirting, his finger up my arse. “We could band them?” she said. “If we tried to band this one on the outside” – wiggling it like a nipple to demonstrate – “he’d empty the ward with his screaming. No, this one we will have to lop off.” I dressed and left the clinic room, suspecting that my gait resembled that of a bloke who had soiled himself. Patients in the waiting area looked at me. I resisted the urge to scream, “You’re buggered if you go in there!”


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