Mike Maddock

There are certain aspects of the medical profession I find very unattractive. I admire doctors and all they’ve been through to become doctors. I know I didn’t have the academic credentials or staying–power it requires to suffer through four years of undergrad, a few of years of medical school, and several years of residency. So, for what it’s worth, doctors have my complete respect and admiration.

But regardless of the financial rewards, I couldn’t imagine going through all that hard work to enter a profession where there is even a remote chance I would have to slip on a rubber glove and tell some stranger to bend over and touch his toes. Some things just should not be part of any profession.

Maybe I’m just bitter. I’m a man in my mid–30s whose experience with invasive procedures up to now involved a tongue depressor and several turns to the left along with some coughing. These kinds of procedures may scare the fool out of a two–year–old, or embarrass a pimply– faced teenage boy in gym class, but they don’t exactly strike fear in 35–year–old men. The glove does.

I’m not sure what a prostate is or what purpose it serves, but I do know it doesn’t need to be touched! With all our advances in medical technology and science, one would think this touching procedure, which involves pain, discomfort, and just a bit of abject humiliation, would be abolished from the face of the earth.

But it’s a sad fact we men in our mid to late 30s get to look forward to and eventually accept. That’s why I can’t talk to my father about the glove. He has seen the future and it isn’t pretty. I’ve tried to evoke a little sympathy from the women in my life but that’s pointless. I get laughed out of the room every time I try to explain my nightmare to them.

“Honey, you don’t know what poking and prodding is unless you’re a woman,” is what they say to me. “Welcome to our world!”

Well, I don’t want to be a part of that world! I’ve accepted the ear hair, snoring, and back pain. Do I really have to accept the fear that every time I go to the doctor’s office, I may be in jeopardy of walking out of there bow legged and humiliated? It’s not fair.

I know I’ve entered a new stage of life, but I don’t have to be happy about it. Up to now, life’s little aging curve balls haven’t been too difficult to deal with. I can buy a pair of scissors for those oddly placed hairs, take a couple more Advil if necessary for the new aches and pains, and snoring doesn’t really bother me, but what can I do about this new phase other than fake a smile and think of a happy place?

I guess instead of asking the women in my life for sympathy, I’ll have to ask them for advice. They’ve been dealing with these kinds of issues for a lot longer than I have, and they seem to be fine. Health is a lot more important than ego. Women seem to figure this out much sooner in life. I just hope my happy place is as powerful as theirs.