There are particular moments in life when we human beings find ourselves reluctantly surrendering our modesty. More often than not, these seem to involve medical examinations and requisite degrees of undress. For me, one such examination involved a procedure known as a flexible sigmoidoscopy.
Although proclaimed to be less invasive than a full-blown colonoscopy, try telling that to the parts about to be invaded. It’s a hard sell, kind of like trying to convince ancient Europeans that the Vikings are more amiable than Atilla the Hun. At least with a colonoscopy, you get a nice nap and a warm blanket afterward; with a sigmoidoscopy it’s more like being given the bum’s rush – both literally and figuratively.
Having arrived at my local hospital for said procedure, I exchanged my clothes for one of those attractive, knee-length, wrap-around, three arm-holed hospital puzzle gowns. A little nook was provided to store my clothing, but with no way to lock or secure it, I decided to carry my wallet and keys into the exam room.
The nurse was prepping the table upon which I would soon lie sideways, knees bent, as flexible tubing would be introduced to my lower colon. Funny, I never knew my lower colon had a name, but apparently he is known as Sigmoid. Named for Sigmoid Freud, no doubt.
As I stood waiting for the nurse to finish her preparations, I was unsure of what to do with myself and the keys and wallet in my hand. Regrettably, hospital gowns aren’t furnished with pockets. Fashion designers should really look into this.
“You can sit over there,” the nurse said. Fully expecting to see a chair in the direction she had indicated, the only thing I spied was a small filing cabinet. A number of thoughts raced through my head at once, and I silently questioned the professionalism of her instruction. “She really wants me to sit on that filing cabinet?” Ever a rule follower, I obediently walked toward it in my socked feet.
Nearing the filing cabinet, I saw it was a bit taller than your standard two-drawer kind, and I quickly realized via informal mental measurements that its top was higher than my posterior. Still, I decided I would give it the old college try. I successfully hoisted my bum upon it, and I sat there, legs dangling, ankles crossed, feeling rather accomplished.
The nurse immediately gave me an incredulous look. “What are you doing?” she asked. “You told me to sit here,” I replied. “No, I told you to set your things there,” she said. I could sense her judgmental thought bubble – “What an idiot!”
By this time, the exam table was ready for me, and I sheepishly slid off the filing cabinet. Sufficiently embarrassed by my misunderstanding, I ascended the table and surrendered Sigmoid to his fate. At that point, the formal presentation of my backside could bring no further shame than a grown man having climbed and sat upon a filing cabinet in nothing more than a hospital gown and socks.